Chapter 11

Hermione pulled back from Severus, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. She had made a soggy mess of his shirt, soaked through to cling to his skin where her head had been buried against his shoulder. But it was nothing magic would not fix.

What magic could not do was sort out the current mess of her emotions. Cheering Charms or Calming Draughts were only temporary measures, and would not deal with her feelings. They would only delay dealing with them, and bottling up her emotions would do more harm than good. Not that there was much danger of that, as her past few minutes of sobbing in his arms had proved.

No, helping her was up to him. There was no magic solution, no wave of his wand or an expertly brewed potion that would work.

Although Lucius would have more practice and expertise at giving comfort, he was also part of the problem, if the way Hermione had flinched at his last touch was anything to go by. No, he was on his own.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Severus asked tentatively. And winced. That was clumsy at best and insensitive at worst, but he was trying.

She shook her head, her face crumpling as she tried – and failed – to restrain more tears.

'I should have kept my mouth shut.'

Severus touched her shoulder, only for Hermione to flinch. He drew back as if he'd been burnt, stricken. Was he part of the problem too, then? He stepped back. Should he leave?

Before he could do more than consider it, Hermione staggered back into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand buried in her hair, the other stroking her back, until she pulled away again. Her tears were once more under control, her eyes dry and reddened, cheeks tearstained.

"Sorry," she croaked, her voice raw. "Not your fault. I … I just …" She grimaced and plucked at her nightgown. "I feel dirty."

"I'll run a bath—"

"No," she blurted.

Of course. A bath would mean lying around in water that she wouldn't be able to help thinking of as dirty. But there were no showers in Malfoy Manor. Plenty of baths large enough to share, no showers. Too Muggle, perhaps? That was something that they would have to rectify. For now, it was hardly the time to start experimenting with spells to create a magical shower.

Hermione had taken a single step towards the bathroom before she stopped in her tracks, obviously coming to the same conclusions as him. And a step further: "I'll be at Spinner's End," she murmured.

'Oh no, you don't!' He grabbed hold of her before she could Disapparate.

"I am not letting you go alone. Come to that, you're likely to Splinch. Let me take you Side-Along."

She bridled, twisting around to glare at him, her eyes once more brimming with tears.

"No argument, please, Hermione. I'm trying to help."

Her lips thinned and she looked away. But after a moment, she nodded reluctantly.

Severus took a firmer hold of her shoulders, eyes sliding half-shut as he focused his mind on their destination. After a second in the tight squeeze of Apparition, they stood in the dark bathroom at Spinner's End.

Magic could interfere with electricity, so he manually pulled the dangling string to switch the light on. It wouldn't do to blow the lights out in the whole shoddy house.

There was a spider in the bath, as usual, but a zap from his wand took care of that. It was big enough to be used as a potions ingredient, otherwise he'd have let it live as Hermione wasn't scared of them.

He picked up the dead spider. "I'll be right back, I'll just bottle it." He kissed her forehead to seal the promise.

She caught hold of his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. "I want to be alone," she said quietly, the tremor in her hand belying the steadiness of her voice.

"But is what you want the same as what you need?"

"Yes," Hermione snapped, her voice cracking. "Please. Let me have some space."

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. He doubted that she was right. Being left alone in her state couldn't be better than comfort and company. He should say no. But how could he, when she looked at him like that?

With the bottled spider stored in his laboratory in the cellar, Severus sat down at the top of the stairs, the narrow landing illuminated by the light streaming under the bathroom door.

The water pipes were banging, almost drowning out the sound of the dilapidated shower he had installed upon inheriting the house. While baths were all very well, he'd never liked lingering in them. A shower was so much quicker and more efficient.

Quicker in theory, anyway. Yes, Hermione was female and so it was her prerogative to take longer, but at this rate she'd drown herself— She wouldn't, would she?

Severus scrambled to his feet and knocked on the door, loud enough to be heard over the pipes and the running water. No answer. He tried the handle. She'd locked him out. Why would she do that, unless …

He blasted the door off its hinges, not waiting for the shower of dust to clear before he dashed inside and yanked the shower curtain aside.

'At least she hasn't drowned herself,' Severus thought as he caught hold of Hermione's wrists and gently pulled her hands away from herself. He ignored the still running shower, after turning the temperature down. What did it matter if he got wet?

Hermione had done her best to scrub herself raw, with the water uncomfortably close to scalding, producing a boiled lobster effect in places. Thankfully he had got there in time before she seriously hurt herself. A muscle in his jaw twitched at the thought.

'I knew I should have stayed!'

Teeth clenched, he slowly counted to ten. It would not do to react angrily. Even if her dripping wet body wasn't shaking with near-silent heaving sobs, anger was not the answer.

'Oh, Hermione. What am I to do with you?'

Severus sighed. Once she'd stopped trying to pull away from him, he let go of her wrists. She let him put his arms around her. He held her close until the worst of her tears had passed, his shirt absolutely sodden by the time he drew back in order to retrieve the soap.

After working up a lather, he gently ran his hands over her skin. To his relief, she didn't tense under his touch. He hesitated when he came to her breasts; he didn't want her to mistake this for a sexual advance.

"No … no, it's okay." Hermione sniffled miserably. She looked at him through bloodshot eyes. "Don't stop. I need to trust you."

He did as she asked. All the same, he did not linger on her breasts or between her legs. She might trust him, but could he trust himself?

Hermione took a shuddering breath. "I know I shouldn't feel like this."

"Like what?" Severus asked, lathering up his hands again. That she was opening up had to be a good sign.

"Guilty. That I enjoyed it. That I feel dirty, used. It's not your fault, or Lucius's."

He stopped, soapy hands on her back. "I was the one who made you enjoy it."

"Don't you start feeling guilty too." She held his face in her hands. "It was better than the alternative. It wasn't rape, even if my stupid, stupid, stupid body makes it feel that way." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

This time she didn't let him embrace her, rubbing her hands over her face until the tears had stopped. "I'm pathetic. Weak. You and Lucius aren't falling apart, and it wasn't any easier for either of y—"

Severus cut her off with a hard, firm press of his lips against hers. "You can be silly at times, this being a prime example, but weak? Pathetic? No."

He pushed his wet hair away from his face, where it had been plastered by the cooling water from the shower. Time to rinse her off before it got any colder. He unhooked the showerhead and ran it over her, the remains of the soap trickling away. She yelped when it went completely cold and scrambled out of the bath.

The ragged towel hanging from the radiator was a little dusty and coated with spider webs to be used. It hadn't been that long since they'd last been here, but the bathroom was a magnet for dirt. Besides, the fabric was too rough for Hermione's irritated skin.

Hermione's teeth had started to chatter. Come to that, he felt cold in his wet clothes. He pulled her close and Disapparated.

Uncomfortably close to his ear, Hermione screamed. She staggered back, almost slipping on the warm tiles of his bathroom.

"Warn me before you do that!" she gasped, rubbing at her sternum. She glared balefully at him, and snatched a towel from the rail behind her.

"It diverted you from your feelings." Severus finished casting a Drying Charm on his clothes, then strode over to her and wrapped the towel around her shoulders, gently rubbing her dry as he spoke. "Which reminds me: a lesser woman would have 'fallen apart' – as you put it – before St. Mungo's released you."

He paused in order to dry the worst off her hair. "You have been under a lot of pressure. You still are. I do not think less of you for being emotional."

She muttered something that ended with a wail of "in front of Lucius!"

"Lucius has been a married man before. He knows better than to think that you were weak for crying."

Now that she was dry, he replaced the towel. Severus walked over to the open cupboard lining one wall, his eyes searching the shelves packed with assorted potion vials and jars. Where had he put it?

"I made you a healing salve, specifically designed for intimate areas." He fished out a small jar. "I thought, as you are somewhat unaccustomed to sexual activity, that you might be sore."

"I'm not at the moment. But chances are that I will be in the morning."

Severus gave her a sceptical look. "You almost scrubbed yourself raw. After washing and drying, that must sting." He opened the jar. "This is most effective if applied by the maker."

Hermione gasped at the first dollop of the salve, squirming under his touch. He smirked: he had neglected to mention that it was also ice cold until it was rubbed in.

"Rub it in. Once I've literally applied it, your touch should not cause it to lose efficacy." That and he didn't think it wise for him to rub it in around her genitals.

When all of the scratches and sore patches of skin had been coated – and had begun to heal – Severus replaced the jar on the shelf.

"Let me know if you need it again."

He took her hand and led her into his bedroom, then through the adjoining door into hers.

Her cat wound around their legs, butting its head against his hand when he leant down to stroke it. Hermione had pulled on a fresh nightgown by the time he straightened up again. Before she could get into bed, he caught her face between his hands.

"If you did not feel, you wouldn't be the Hermione Granger I know." He kissed her, lingering longer than the last time.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Aren't you coming to bed?" she murmured against his lips.

"I won't be long…" Severus trailed off. He stared up at her, momentarily dumbstruck. "Coming to bed? Not going?"

"I don't want to be alone. And Crookshanks isn't … well, he isn't you."

Severus felt the corners of his lips quirk upwards. "Then I'll stay." He stepped back, out of her arms.

"Er … Where are you going?" Hermione asked.

Severus paused on his way to the adjoining door, before Hermione answered her own question.

"Oh. Pyjamas."

"Indeed."

By the time he'd changed into his pyjamas and performed his ablutions, Hermione was asleep, her cat curled up at her feet. Yellow eyes watched him slide into bed behind Hermione, spooning against her, but there was no hostile hiss. Perhaps that meant that he wouldn't be ambushed in the middle of the night by a sharp-clawed fur ball. The yellow eyes narrowed malevolently. Temperamental brute. It had found him trustworthy enough before he got into bed with Hermione.

"Do it, cat, and you will find yourself locked in the aviary. If some of the occupants don't rip you to shreds, Lucius will."

The cat turned away, tail hiding its face. Hopefully it had got the message.

"Nox." Even without his wand, the magical lights went out at the verbal command. He soon joined Hermione in slumber.

Hermione hesitated outside the breakfast room. Severus had gone straight in, only to pause and look back at her, his eyebrows lowered in concern. She tried to smile, to signal that she was fine, but her stomach was lurching with anxiety-induced nausea.

The idea of eating made her feel worse, but her mother had hammered the lesson into her during her childhood that breakfast was the worst meal to skip. Maybe some dry toast would go down.

Or maybe not. At the sight of Lucius, she had to take several deep, slow breaths. Now was not the time to have a panic attack.

"How are you this morning?" Lucius's voice, laced with what sounded like genuine care and concern, calmed her stomach.

"Fine," she said, too quickly; both men raised an eyebrow, mirroring each other. "Better, anyway."

She walked over to the table. Hermione had to steel herself not to flinch when Lucius courteously moved the chair opposite him for her to sit down, even though it was with magic. It wasn't as if he was looming over her.

'This is ridiculous!'

Hermione sat down and shuffled her chair towards the table under her own power, before Lucius or Severus could. She'd been pampered enough already.

Once Severus had sat down next to her, she tucked into some toast, covered by thinly spread marmalade. The food was tasty, the company easy on the eyes, but the conversation was stilted. And virtually non-existent.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, breaking the awkward silence after they'd finished eating.

Across the table, Lucius blinked, nonplussed.

"About yesterday. My …" She fumbled for the right word. "My reaction just made it worse for all of us."

Lucius slowly reached over the table and patted the back of her hand. "Don't worry about it. If anyone was at fault, it was the Wizengamot."

Beside her, Severus tensed. Hermione was barely aware of that, her stomach lurching again while she struggled to relax under Lucius's light touch. At least it wasn't as bad as it had been the previous day. Perhaps, given time, she wouldn't flinch?

Before she could become accustomed to the friendly touch, Lucius withdrew his hand. His lips twisted into a wince that what was probably meant to be a smile. And the look in his eyes …

Oh, she hadn't intended to, but Hermione could tell that it had hurt him. Lucius Malfoy was as human as she was.

Yes, the Wizengamot had a lot to answer for …

Severus cleared his throat, interrupting Hermione's dark thoughts before she could think of suitable punishments for the Wizengamot and their pet Ministry.

"Let me guess: we don't want to know." He pointed at the fragments of what appeared to be newspaper in the fireplace.

"Quite." Lucius curled his lip. "I'm not sure it will do much good, but I have drafted a letter to the Prophet's editor. A reminder that everyone is subject to this legislation, and a veiled warning that he will not want his own dirty laundry airing, or that of his surviving daughter. Basically, for him to cease and desist.

"Speaking of ceasing and desisting," Lucius drawled, looking directly at Hermione, "Please refrain from inflicting further damage to our home. Malfoy Manor doesn't take kindly to it, and even if it wasn't sentient, a home should be afforded all due respect."

For a moment, Hermione didn't know what he was talking about. Then she remembered: the irreparable damage to his study door when Harry had fled. Oops.

She cringed, willing herself to disappear. "Sorry, it won't happen again."

Severus stifled a snort at her words.

Lucius bared his teeth in a wide grin. "Oh, I've no doubt that you'll lose your temper again. But please use less permanent hexes in future. For your own sake, or you may find yourself locked out of any room you can comfortably sleep in."

"What about the drawing room?" Severus asked.

Hermione stiffened at the mention of that room. It might not have the same nasty effect on her now that the atmosphere had been purified by a team of expert curse-breakers, but the mere thought of it still triggered bad memories.

"Hmm. Good point. I hadn't considered that." Lucius stroked his chin, deep in thought. "To ensure that the house doesn't bear a grudge, the best solution would be to modify the house plan. Not now, though. Malfoy Manor is most likely to accept changes at night, when it is most sleepy."

"Malfoy Manor's like Hogwarts? It's alive?" Hermione asked, her tongue finally caught up with what her mind had tried to compute since just before she'd apologised for the damage.

"How else would I be able to adjust the wards without casting a spell? If you're interested in the technicalities, there are several books on the subject in the library."

On another day, Hermione would have bounded to her feet in her enthusiasm. Even with her subdued mood, she felt irresistibly drawn to the library.

Lucius rose to his own feet. "Before you lose yourself in the library, I'd like to show you my aviary."

"Er, thanks, but …" she trailed off, wondering how to politely say that she preferred the most boring book to any bird.

Severus also got to his feet. "Trust me, the library can wait," he whispered into her ear, his breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "The aviary is worth seeing."

It was. Lucius's precious aviary was a tower, with a spiral staircase in the middle allowing access to the upper floors. The entire structure was made of glass, with the floors and stairs frosted into opaqueness, while the walls were so clear that they didn't appear to be there.

"Don't the birds fly into the walls?" she asked, watching the albino peacocks strut about. "Or walk into them, in their case?"

Lucius just smirked. He walked over to the wall and proceeded to wave his arm through it. "What wall? There are wards to prevent intruders and accidents on the upper floors, mind."

He led them upstairs, where golden pheasants preened. Neither man lingered, merely beckoning her further on.

A Fwooper occupied half of the next floor, beak wide open in song. Thankfully the Silencing Charm was intact; their situation was insane enough without them following suit.

Lucius held his arm out, to stop her exploring the other side of the room. Surely he didn't keep any dangerous birds?

"Look." He pointed to a small nest, where a fluffy yellow ball rested, moving slightly as it breathed.

It wasn't until she saw a yellow blur zoom past that Hermione realised what they were.

"Snidgets?" Another reason to dislike Quidditch. The poor birds had been hunted almost to extinction for the love of that game.

"Indeed." Lucius sounded smug. "I am a certified breeder." From what she had read, he deserved to be so satisfied; a licence to keep Snidgets couldn't be bought. Additionally, he had to have a way with birds to get the flying balls comfortable enough in his presence to breed.

And he did. The flying Snidget swooped down to land on his outstretched finger, chirping up at him. Hermione had to smother a snigger when he cooed back at it. Then it zipped off, back to its mate on the nest.

He looked up and cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed. "Next floor!"

Shaking her head, she followed him upstairs, Severus right behind her.

The sight of a bird she thought of as extinct stumped her, and almost sent her – and Severus – tumbling down the staircase. Hands on her bum, Severus halted her in time.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, angry with herself. A Diricawl. Not a dodo, although that was how Muggles knew them. Or had known them.

She stormed off the spiral staircase onto the next floor. Startled by the sudden noisy movement, the Diricawl vanished, leaving a cloud of feathers behind it. A few seconds later, it reappeared in its nest, peeking out nervously.

"I have a new acquisition," Lucius said, an almost childlike glee in his voice. He was standing by a wren-sized blue bird.

"How kind of you to supply me with Jobberknoll feathers," Severus drawled.

Lucius's face darkened. "You must be joking."

"Not at all—"

"Jobberknoll feathers are important ingredients in memory potions," Hermione parroted, before covering her mouth. This time, there was no snide comment about her being a know-it-all, though.

"Precisely. They may be useful in experiments to restore your missing memories, and those of all cured plague patients."

"Very well," Lucius growled. "Upstairs."

The next floor was home to a handful of eagle owls. Lucius paused briefly to stroke their heads, before continuing upwards.

"Don't the owls hunt the smaller birds?" Hermione asked.

"The wards stop all of the inhabitants of my aviary from fighting or consuming each other. Apart from one."

She frowned, opening her mouth to ask what sort of bird could do that. Then she reached the end of the spiral staircase and emerged onto the top floor, blinking in the sunlight.

The sight of the resident bird distracted her before Hermione could get any more than the vague impression of nothing but sky overhead.

"You have a phoenix?" She bit her lip. That was a case of foot in mouth to almost rival Ron at his worst.

Lucius didn't take offence. "Actually, he's technically Severus's. Although I would argue that he is his own. You've met him before, I think."

The swan-sized bird raised his head and ruffled magnificent scarlet and gold plumage, disturbed from his doze. Eyes darker and more piercing than Severus's regarded her for a moment. The phoenix warbled in greeting and … recognition?

Hermione swayed on her feet as something stirred in the depths of her memory. It remained elusive when she tried to grasp it, slipping through her mental fingers.

"Hermione?" Severus touched her shoulder, but her attention was held by the phoenix.

He – Fawkes, the name suddenly slipped into the forefront of her mind – cocked his head to the side, and sang again.

This time, what stirred in her memories didn't slip away.

'She was somewhere dark, lit only by the glow from her wand and the phoenix, his feathers shining.

Severus was there, he was getting to his feet, holding onto her for support.

No, he was lying in a slowly widening pool of blood. Hermione gagged.

Fawkes appeared in a flash of fire, unearthly phoenix song filling her ears.

She was holding Severus in her lap, his head in her hands, Fawkes perched on him, tears trickling and—'

Pressure built behind her temples, from a dull throb to a sharp, continuous ache. Her ears were ringing, she couldn't hear, the fingers shaking her on the edge of her awareness.

Head clutched between her hands, she barely felt her knees collapse under her, the floor tilting to meet her. Darkness would have been welcome.

AN: Many thanks to septentrion and JunoMagic for betaing and getting this back to me so soon. And to Kribu for alpha reading.