Chapter Four: Wounds

Hermione Granger was late again. Something was seriously amiss with that girl, Severus determined. The others seemed so dismissive of his concern. Perhaps they simply had more faith in the young woman. She was not herself, they admitted, but she would come back to herself soon enough on her own. She just needed time.

Time, Severus knew, did not heal all wounds. Some it left to fester.

By the time she was a full ten minutes late, professor Snape decided two things. First, he was not going to penalize her when she arrived. Second, if she did not arrive by a quarter after, he was going to go look for her.

A few more minutes passed during which the potions master assembled his work station and the one he intended for Granger. He dare not begin brewing in case he had to abandon it to track down that bloody Gryffindor.

At last, said lion made her appearance just shy of his mentally set deadline. Out of breath, hair flying behind her, she clamored in his otherwise silent classroom. "Sorry!" She gasped, clutching her side. "I was hurrying. I didn't mean to be late, no disrespect—"

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, tired of her blabbering. His eyes remained fixed on the ingredients he was carefully measuring. "You are not late." He lied, a flip of his wand under his desk twisting back the hands on his clock, making her nearly on time. She was smart enough not to argue.

He found himself curious as to where she had been, but was not about to ask. The goings on of a young woman could hardly interest him, he thought resentfully. But then again, this was no normal Hogwarts student, and if something were keeping Hermione Granger from class it might very well be something of import to him, to most.

"What will I be doing for my detention, professor?" She dropped her bag and rolled up her sleeves.

"You will be helping me brew some potions for Hogwarts stores enabling me to work more on …research." In reality, he was testing every sample he could from his rooms in order to find the source of the poisoning. For now, he continued to pretend he did not remember her last detention for her comfort.

She nodded, accepting his vague excuse.

"You may begin with blood replenishing potion. Everything is set out." He instructed.

She picked up her bag, walked to the table, and slung the bag on the table. A book tumbled from it to the floor by his foot. He picked up the copy of Advanced Potion Making, but something gave him pause.

Hermione felt her eyes grow wide as she caught a flash of recognition lit the professor's face. "This is mine." He said possessively.

"Well, it was." He frowned pointedly at her, still clutching the book. Why did that look make her feel so cold? She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I got it from Harry. I was going to use it."

"Use my personal notes to do better in my class, as Potter did." It was not really a question.

She shook her head. "No, sir, not for class. I was trying to compile some things together on potions."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She sighed. There was no point in trying to lie. She was bad at it, and he was brilliant at catching them. "I was sort of working on something for Harry and Ron."

"Working on something?" He repeated her words back to her with skepticism.

"It's a sort of guidebook. They really haven't learned enough for certain parts of their training, thanks to Voldemort."

"Riddle." He corrected gently. His expression said he could think of a few other reasons Harry and Ron had not learned the required material, namely they had not tried to learn it.

She nodded in agreement, to the name and the unspoken note. "And I was going to try to recommend some books, but they really need pieces of certain ones, so I've been copying certain sections for them magically and inserting my own notes. I thought your book might –"

"You thought you might steal my ideas."

"Not steal. You're a teacher. I'm just trying to teach them, help them with their work."

"A usual. I sometimes wonder if either of them would have made it past second year without your help. Don't you have enough work of your own to be getting on with? Or am I going too easy this year?"

"I took on too big of a project, actually. It made me late."

"I see. You can tell your friends no, you know?" He scathed, beginning to slice some slimy root ingredient she did not recognize. It must have been obscure. "And you had no intention of turning this conglomeration into a book of your own?"

She did not bother to hide her surprise. "No sir." She blinked. "I have never really thought about it."

He rolled his eyes. "Really? With your knowledge being entirely book obsessed you never thought of writing a textbook? Your name alone would sell it."

For a moment, she let the thought wash over her again and again like a wave being steadily more and more convinced she had never heard something so perfect nor so obvious.

"Professor, that's brilliant!" She grabbed his wrist without thinking, as if she was afraid she might fall. "I was trying to leave in the necessary bits and the context for them to understand but down the word count so people like Ron and Harry would actually read it all. Knowing them, I could write something geared towards students, but,"

"Miss Granger, please stop squeezing me."

"Sorry!" She released him as if stung, but her excitement did not dissipate. Her eyes fell on her potions master's dark one. Suddenly, she saw something she had never seen before. She swallowed, her excitement making her bold. "Sir?"

"No."

"But I haven't even asked anything yet, sir."

"No, but I can tell by your expression I am going to say no. Let me save your breath."

"But professor, you're one of the greatest potions masters, and your notes—I'm sure you have more than this—from years of studying, brewing, and teaching! You're an authority. And I could research and edit everything for students, since I'm so obsessed with books, as you say."

"Miss Granger, what are you proposing?" He sounded if he suspected and feared exactly what she was talking about.

"Have you written a potions text?" She asked shyly.

"And you would want to work on this with me jointly?"

"Well, not really jointly. You're the authority, but as far as a researcher editor, I think I would truly be an asset."

"Indeed, you are more than fit for the job, but have you forgotten your little side project alone has overwhelmed your time so much it has landed you in detention?"

Severus Snape thought he was being kind, or at least polite. He truly did. He had understood the two of them to be having a perfectly rational conversation about the possibility of them combining efforts to create the kind of text he had always needed but never had the mind or time for, though Granger certainly did not seem to be able to balance so many obligations at the time.

He had thought his question, suggestion really, had been gentle and fair. Clearly, he was wrong.

Of course, he only surmised he was wrong when the most shocking of all things resulted. He literally started in his seat. For a moment, he did not understand. Had she hurt herself with potions knife, been burned? Because a single beat after his simple question of her schedule being too full, Hermione Granger burst into tears.

"Miss Granger!" He tried not to yell, rounding the work table at once. "Are you hurt?"

She had small white hand clamped tightly over her mouth as if holding something inside her. He half thought she might choking, or about to be sick.

She was trying to smother the pitiful noise and pulled her face away, hid her escaping tears behind her hair. The faint sob and the hiss of salt water tainting his potion gave her away. She tried to force her body to obey, he witnessed. He could see the struggle as her torso trembled. Her own face was horrified at her outburst.

"What is the matter with you?" He demanded.

"Nothing." She dumped in ingredients quickly, avoiding his eyes. She checked her notes, stirring five times counter clockwise. Again, she was distracted as she nearly stirred too many times. He stayed her hand but released it almost immediately.

"Perhaps I should have asked you to brew a calming potion first." He quipped.

She snorted, shaking her head once. "Barely works anymore, anyway."

"Yes, I know what you mean." He said darkly. He had not realized she had needed so much calming.

"I'm fine anyway, professor. Just ignore me." She waved him away back to his work.

She surprised him by asking, "Are you feeling better, sir?"

From his work station behind her, he raised another eyebrow. She knew perfectly well he was recovered since he was not trying to seduce her so eloquently. He was suddenly able to recall his words. It seemed he had just repeated "I want you." He grimaced.

She was sniffling as she chanced a glance at him, eyes glistening. He supposed she was just trying to make some other conversation.

"I'm perfectly well now. Thank you for your concern."

Her body was like clockwork. She should be safely behind the doors of the prefect's bathroom, weeping into her warm lavender bath until she felt relaxed, listening to Louis Armstrong tell her to keep smiling. As long as she was smiling, the whole world would smile at her.

Louis was wrong. No one was smiling at her now. Certainly not Snape.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the potions master with curiosity. He was not brewing a usual potion. He seemed to be testing a number of different vials for something. She wondered if perhaps it was all the drinks from his private quarters and if he was testing for which one was contaminated. It's what she would do.

But that did not necessarily mean he recalled what happened. Naturally, the headmistress would have told him he'd been poisoned, perhaps even that Hermione had found it out and helped him in time. Is that what made him angry with her, being vulnerable or in her debt?

She knew she might be able to suggest which sample to test first, but she might also have nothing of value to impart. Admittedly, she was curious. What motivations could one possibly have to slip Snape the love potion? And who might that person be?

"May I ask what it is your researching, sir?"

"Something new." He mumbled.

She nodded, concentrating to complete the should-be simple potion. Things seemed more difficult than usual. Maybe it was as Ron said; it was hard to focus on theory and busy work when you had a taste of real life. Maybe it was as she suspected. She was slipping.

The potion that was supposed to be green, turned purple. It hissed. "No, no, no, no." She grabbed the edge of her cauldron and peered into it, as if it might sympathize. She was soaked in frustration with herself, but then she realized she was not alone, and humiliation seeped in, making her feel sick.

"Too much Valerian." Snape noted nonchalantly. "Easy mistake." Anyone else might have been relieved by Snape's lack of scolding, but Hermione Granger did not make easy mistakes. She had brewed this a dozen times before!

"Damn!" She slammed her fist on the table, making the skin sting. It was only after she unfurled the hand and stared at it as if it had acted on its own that she realized what she had done. What was he going to say?

She looked at him. He had paused mid motion and was staring at her. For a moment, they held each other's gaze. He slipped off his gloves. "Quite." He said bitterly vanishing both their potions.

"I found nothing." He clearly couldn't believe it himself. She wondered at that. If none of the samples seemed to be tainted, how did he get the potion? "A rather unproductive evening altogether; nonetheless you served your time out and may go, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir. Goodnight." She said as she shouldered her bag. He only nodded in return, and she left the room, heading to the bathroom. She'd summon her clothes if she needed to. She had almost offered her assistance, but she could not even brew a simple blood replenishing potion, so what on earth could she offer? She had not even the time to commit to project she had proposed, right before she'd burst into hysterics for no reason.

Severus Snape knew her the least, she assumed, of any of her teachers, friends, or members of the Order, yet he had thought of the perfect position for her—crafting books. It made sense really. She could also work with her friends, Mr. Weasley, and the muggle studies professor to work on something about muggles; it would be relevant being a muggle born who helped defeat the Dark Lord. Then, maybe she could work on something to bring about more understanding towards werewolves, dedicate it to Lupin, let people know what he had contributed.

There were so many possibilities. For the first time since she entered Hogwarts hospital wing after the battle, she could see something coming next, something to work towards. And she had Snape to thank, strangely enough.

She slipped into her bath without thinking, forgetting to switch on the music at first. She was not listening to the big band this time—her mind was busting with ideas again. It was as if it were coming back to life, cell by cell.

She sank into the water, her body relaxing letting out that breath she'd held in all day. She floated in the bath, thoughts floating in and out of her mind one face swimming to the surface again and again. Well, not exactly a face.

Severus' arms… when his sleeves were rolled up to his elbow at his workstation, were solid lengths of muscle and bone. Each slice of the knife, each stir of the potion rippled the surface as soft and white as milk. So masculine, she thought shamelessly, biting her wet lip. She remembered how tight his grip was on her waist that night in the dungeons as he pulled her against him. She had known he was tall, but he was also surprisingly strong.

What was she doing? She salt bolt upright, choking a little on the water. She had just been thinking about professor Snape…like that. The man gave her a few decent words and one idea, and she was practically fantasizing about him.

That was not like her at all. She hardly ever thought like that. Even about Ron.

Ron. With a pang of guilt she recalled she was dating him. She'd certainly be hurt if Ronald was thinking about the look and feel of another woman. And although the boy was oblivious to most interests and flirting, there was plenty of it. He was a hero, friend of the famous chosen one. There were plenty of women in public and in auror training who wanted him. She had snapped at more than one at first, but soon grew to ignore them.

Ron was not disloyal. Ginny applauded her for keeping her jealousy in line. Hermione felt she did not deserve the praise. She should feel jealous. She knew she should.

It had been different, she recalled in the safety of an otherwise empty, moonlit room, when Snape had kissed her. Sometimes with Ron she liked kissing, sometimes she felt a little flutter in her chest. When Snape took a hold of her, his eyes swallowed in lust bearing down on her, her whole body had responded. There was not a flutter like a small bird was in her ribcage; it was like phoenix on fire, wings spreading broadly. Her heart thumped too hard. It wasn't even the kiss, it was the way they were so close. She closed her eyes.

'Get a grip, Granger!' She screamed at herself.

It was no use. She was thirsty, her throat painfully dry. It was if she was drying up entirely and the only thing that would help her was the wet touch of his lips.

Good gracious that was scandalous, and a little overly romantic for her style. He was her professor and would probably dropped dead if he knew what she was thinking, and one look in her mind and he would see it. What had gotten into her?!

And then, before her mind had been entirely swallowed by the fog of the toxin, Hermione Granger had one more clear, coherent thought: she had been slipped the potion. She had to get to the dungeon immediately.

Someone knocked urgently on the door.

Severus Snape heard the incessant wrapping on his private doors as he had dressed for the evening, so he opened it and in came someone, brushing past him without asking. She was the height of Hermione Granger and smelled of lavender.

Her hair was slicked back against her elegantly, her slim white neck. It was wet.

His face fell in shock as he realized her whole body was wet. And she was only wearing a bathrobe. It was not a Hogwarts robe, but a light pink and black. Her back was pressed against the back of his settee, one leg, shining with lavender oil, peaked out from her robe. She had not realized. His eye began to trace its slender length until he noticed: it was Hermione Granger.

"Miss Granger, what's wrong?" He asked levelly.

"I was taking a bath,"

"So I surmised. This is really in—"

"And all of the sudden I was just overwhelmed." She struggled as if she was having trouble breathing, clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Do you need something?" He took a step forward.

She held her robe closed, clutching at her chest. "I need," She struggled, eye glistening. "The antidote."

His eyes opened further in realization. She was trying to restrain herself. She was doing a remarkable job, he thought ruefully, compared to himself. Of course, she had seen it coming.

He went directly to the shelf, then approached her with a small bottle in hand. "It's particularly nasty but," And that's when he made a mistake. She slipped as if she were about to fall and he caught her by the elbow.

Her eyes were on his, so warm and brown, so large and luminescent that he could not look away. The pupils were dilated. Her thick lashes batted slowly as she looked up at his, tiny drops of water on their tips. Her mouth was open a tiny bit, and her soft hand touched his own. He was not used to the gentleness of the contact or the way it seemed to soften him too from the inside, well mostly soften.

She pulled his hand towards her so slowly he did not even realize it was moving until his hand was on her waist. He pulled it away instantly, but she did not let go.

"Touch me." She breathed. The air was full of the scent of soap and lavender. His head swam with it.

"Miss Granger, you're not yourself." He knew how impossible it was to pull yourself back with this toxin in your veins once you got this close.

"Kiss me." Her neck reached towards him, soft lips parted.

"No." He told her as gently as possible. She stopped, looking stung. "Drink this." She eyed the vial untrustingly, then looked imploring into his eyes. He sighed. "Drink this, and I will kiss you." There, he would lie as she had to get him to cooperate.

"Promise?"

"Of course." He cupped her jaw in his hand to guide the liquid to her lips at once. Her own hand moved instinctively to his on her cheek. She swallowed, then looked up at him through her eye lashes.

It was as if a cool breeze had hit him in the face; it took a moment for the potion to work even when it was taken directly, he realized.

"You promised." Her voice cracked with betrayal, eyes welling with tears for the second time that day. It was the protectiveness that made him want to stop those tears from falling yet again. She'd had enough.

"I—" He cut off his explanation. It would do not good until she came to her senses. Her fingers closed around his hand still on her face. A fat tear glided down her cheek, wetting his chapped hand. That was it. Slowly, he leaned down, giving her ample opportunity to pull away, and pressed his lips chastely to her other cheek.

He remained there for a couple breaths where he would be unable to read her expression. Then, he slowly released her, straightened, and took a step back, surveying her.

As her senses returned, her pale skin lit up with a bright blush and her hand covered her mouth.

"Oh, my…oh no, I…." She had to sit. "Professor, I am so, so sorry."

"It's quite alright."

"No! It's not." He pretended he did not flinch a little at that. "I can't believe I did that to you." But her tone was disbelief that he was the subject, more like sympathy for him as a victim. "Please, forgive me." She looked up at him, desperate.

"Miss Granger, you are entirely forgiven." He told her frankly. "After all," He went to the bottle he had already tested and poured them both a little drink to calm the nerves. "I think it more or less makes us even." He handed her a glass, tilting his own towards her.

"So you do remember?" Her hand played with her robe, her eyes fixed on his carpet, he noticed, when she asked.

"Perfectly. I thought it might be easier on you if you believed I did not, hence why I have not apologized. You must know i—"

"I know." She said.

"Well, you could at least let me finish." He said when he recovered. She snorted a bit.

"There's something else. We're both targets too." He frowned, sipping his drink. The trickle of it burned his throat all the way down.

"It would seem so."

"And it doesn't make you go for the first person you see." He waited for her to explain. "I ran into two students on my way down here."

Well that was interesting. They were silent a moment, sipping their drinks. He noticed she did not grimace at hers, but emptied her glass. Finally, he asked, "Have you told your friends?"

She shook her head.

"Good. I do not think that would be wise."

A/N: Your response has been amazing. Each one of your reviews, follows, and favorites makes my day! Thanks so much for reading.

This chapter certainly changes things. It will take some time to reach the M rating I expect, but this potion made things a tad scandalous. Good or bad? Do you think she will tell the others? What will happen if she does?

I'd simply love it if you took a second to review and let me know what you think!

Yours,

Elsie