Chapter 7
Hermione steeled herself and walked slowly over towards him.
"No more," she said softly, gently plucking his wand from his fingers and laying it on the sofa beside him. "No more of this."
His left arm was underside-up, showing his dark mark scored with ugly open slices. She placed her hand underneath, allowing his blood to drip on to her fingers and showing him by her unflinching acceptance that she did not care.
She took her wand from the waistband of her flannel pyjama trousers and aimed a light healing spell at the deepest of the cuts, which began to seal instantly, the blood flow drying up and turning to a raised sliver of a pale scar as she moved her wand up and down the incision. She repeated the process for each of the cuts he had made to his arm. He remained resolutely silent, watching her intently, his head slightly bowed with his lank, still-damp hair falling into his eyes.
Once each cut had been sealed, she sent a Tergeo to clean the blood from the floor, and conjured a soft, damp cloth to gently cleanse the blood from the healed cuts and the surrounding skin, finally cleaning her own hands afterwards. She vanished the crimson-stained cloth, and set the same drying spell and warming charms over the Professor as she had done for herself in her chambers.
She knelt before him on the rug in front of the sofa, as he had not changed his position, and took his cold hands between her small, warm ones. He did not pull away. His eyes downcast, she looked upon his angular face, prematurely lined around his eyes and mouth, his aquiline features dominated by his hooked, overlarge nose and his thick, black eyebrows. No, he was not a handsome wizard, but he was arresting, striking, and utterly unforgettable.
His hands and forearms were littered with scars, not least the ones she had just healed with her vinewood wand. There were nicks and scratches which were so common after mishaps in the Potions lab, there were large scars which looked like gouge or stab marks. She knew that when he lifted his head she would be able to see the infamous scar to his neck left by Nagini's near-fatal attack, and resolved to do her very best not to stare or gape at it.
"Professor," she began. He did not meet her eyes and kept his head resolutely down.
"Professor Snape." She repeated, a little more forcefully, which made him look up, his endless black eyes meeting her soulful brown.
"Nobody should live like this, Sir." She told him softly, remaining respectful and returned to using his full title despite having already called him Severus and having his tongue down her throat not so long ago.
"Whatever you may think, you do not deserve to live like this."
"I think you have a very unrealistic expectation about what I deserve, Miss Granger." He replied, shaking his head in regret.
"I agree that at the moment I can only presume. But would you allow me to find out? Would you allow me close to you? I do not wish to push, or pry, but when a person is reduced to cutting themselves to feel their life blood flow; they need help, whether or not they are able to ask for it."
He looked at her sadly, but with confusion, as if she was growing a second head.
"You are a very unusual witch, Granger. You are also most wise way beyond your years. However I must draw your attention to our ... activities ... beside the lake tonight and must point out that being close to me is not the safest place for you to be."
She sighed and released his hands, and pushed herself from her knees to a standing position.
"You should feel no guilt or remorse for what happened between us earlier. I am an adult, Sir, I will be twenty in a few months, and I am no longer a student under your care. I have a full-time job at the Ministry, a very grown-up deposit account at Gringotts, and although Molly Weasley does indeed still do my laundry, I believe that most of my teenage angst and immaturity was blown up with one of Voldmort's horcruxes that I helped to destroy."
He looked pained, and Hermione knew she had identified at least some of the cause of his current distress, although her slightly flippant mention of Voldemort may not have been the best choice of words. She tried to collect her thoughts into some kind of articulate and thoughtful order before continuing.
"I am offering you support, because I think you need it. Yes, I do find myself attracted to you, but if that kind of relationship does not appeal to you, my offer of friendship is still there. Nobody should be alone, Sir. Not even you, before you argue."
She walked over towards the fireplace she had entered from and took a handful of Floo powder from his Hogwarts-issued pot at the mantel.
"I am here until tomorrow afternoon if you would like to see me. After that you know where I live and where I work. I do not make this offer lightly. If you need someone, I am here and I am loyal. I promise you that."
"Gryffindor." He accused, with a slight twist to the corner of his mouth.
"And proud." She smiled, throwing the powder and stepping into the now green flames before spinning back to her guest room.
The Floo spat her back out onto the scarlet rug, back where she started, and she gave herself a little shake. Out of all the things she had expected, to find the strong, notoriously-powerful wizard Severus Snape self-harming was not one of them. Mental health care was not a strong point of the wizarding world, it was one of the few areas where they were surpassed by muggles. Snape was evidently suffering from some kind of post traumatic stress disorder, and to be suffering it entirely alone would do his recovery no good at all.
She hoped that he would think on her words and accept her offered hand of support, but knew he was not a man to be pushed or cajoled. Everything would have to come from him.
She turned her wand on the fire to reduce it to a slow burn to keep the room warm; then padded across to the large four-posted bed, made up with many soft feather pillows, crisp white sheets and an insanely fluffy scarlet quilt. She slipped in between them; feeling dwarfed by the size, and snuggled down to sleep, hoping her mind would not be turning too long about how delicious their earlier kiss had felt, right down to her gut.
- xxx -
Severus watched the fire glow green as Miss Granger was swallowed up by the flames and flooed to her chamber. He turned his arm over, the one she had healed, inspecting her wandwork. She had done a good job, but not too good; as the dark mark now had several pink scars running through it, disfiguring the design. Good. If he covered it in scars it might disappear completely. He wondered if she had not healed the scars to perfection deliberately. He would not put it past her formidable mind to have done so.
He sat back on the hardened grey cushions of the sofa. She really was a remarkable witch. Everything that came out of her mouth was backed up by logic that he could not possibly argue with. The insufferable know-it-all he remembered (and he'd only called her that because she was always bloody right) had turned into a whip-sharp young woman. He was completely attracted to her, to her logical mind, her caring nature and yes, to her delicious body. If only he could find some way to be with her without feeling like a lecherous old pervert. Maybe find a witch just like her but twenty years older.
He was over-thinking things, he knew. The hypnotising draw of his blood-letting self-harm was now passing, and a sense of reality was setting in. Why the hell should he not take what was being offered? Who gave a damn what he did, anyway?
He stood up and stalked over to the fireplace, barefoot and clad in his trousers and shirt-sleeves. He snatched up a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the flames before he could talk himself out of it.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the fire as it glowed green.
- xxx –
Hermione was snuggled in bed, not asleep but was turned to face the wall when she heard the Floo activate. Her eyes opened and her mouth crooked up in a small smile - he had come. He had heard her. She turned over in bed to face the fireplace; Snape was standing barefoot on the hearthrug, looking incongruous and slightly awkward with shoulders tensed, hands in the pockets of his black trousers, staring at her with those intense, obsidian eyes.
She purposely didn't say anything, just tucked her arm under her head on the pillow, and looked at him. He needed to speak first.
"I need to ..." he began, his voice slow and deep, "I need ... Can I ... Can I hold you?"
She gave him a small smile, and pulled back the covers in invitation to join her. He looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so, and after only a short pause in which she presumed he was having a little tussle with the conflicting thoughts inside his head, he walked slowly and deliberately across the dark room, lit only by the fire, and sat on the edge of the bed where she had opened the covers, his feet still touching the floor.
"And the rest." She whispered.
"Granger, this is highly irregular ..."
"Ssh. Not the time. Come and hold me. Please?"
He swung his long legs into the bed, laying his head on the pillow and twisted around to face her. She pulled the covers over him and he was struck with a strong reminder of his fox patronus tucking its tail around the visiting otter to bid it to sleep.
"Granger," he began.
"Yes, Sir?"
"What form does your patronus take?"
She smiled at him.
"It's an otter, Professor, rather perky and irritating, a little like its owner. Perhaps you may have seen it?" Her eyes glittered with amusement in the soft glow of the firelight from across the room.
"Perhaps I have." One corner of his mouth curled up high in a genuine, lop-sided smile that for Snape, resonated with warmth.
She took his hand, and pulled it around her waist as she spun in the bed; facing away from him, leaving them spooned together with his strong arm pulling her close into his chest. With an audibly deep breath he resigned himself to their position, and slid his other arm carefully beneath her hair and under her neck so she was resting on his bicep. He buried his face in her curtain of wild hair, inhaling the smell of her floral shampoo and the fresh rain that had fallen upon her.
"Thank you for sending it," he growled, low and resonant into her ear.
"It was my pleasure. Just a little annoying festive cheer," she grinned, closing her eyes.
He pulled himself tightly in behind her, unable to believe what his arms were full of. A bundle of young witch; soft, warm; and making no demands on him at all. His eyelids began to feel heavy as if the very scent of her hair contained a soporific.
"Granger?" he growled, before sleep took him completely.
"Mmm, yes?" she replied, clearly already halfway to dreamland.
"Of course that kind of relationship fucking appeals to me. Stupid girl."
She murmured something unintelligible in response, and snuggled herself deeper into his arms. No further words were spoken, and very soon their breathing had evened out indicating their descent into a peaceful sleep as Severus Snape relaxed into the arms of the first woman he had ever slept alongside in his entire life.