Hermione sat for a long time, lost in thought, moving only to occasionally reheat the water in the kettle or put another log onto the fire.
She was alarmed by how easy it was to separate the man she was growing to care for from the man who continued to ridicule her and her friends during the day. She had begun to start wishing she could be in Severus' company, when she was in fact sitting before him in class. He made easy company. He did not mind her thoughtful silences, nor her presence. At least, not that she could tell. She felt as though he enjoyed her being around, too. His laugh had been as pleasant as it had been unexpected, his face seeming to lose some of the hardness his rough life had given him.
She wondered whether his life of misery had ever offered anything pleasant. It did not seem so. He seemed so deeply unhappy that anything else would appear almost unnatural. Yet when he smiled… She smiled herself at the memory. It was as though he was an entirely different person. Her heart fluttered oddly, and she ignored it. There was no sense in making this any more complicated than it already was. He was different, that was all. She cared for him. There was nothing more to it.
She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, a book in her hands. What she read surprised her, but even the shock could not keep her from drifting into an unwilling sleep.
Severus stepped from the fireplace, the sleeve of his robe pressed firmly to the back of his shoulder. It wasn't so bad, this time. The wound hurt, of course, but it was the position that maddened him more than anything else. It would be extremely tricky to heal a part of himself that he couldn't see. His heart lifted as he saw Hermione on the sofa. She was sleeping, her mouth slightly open, her breathing soft. He did not like the effect he had on her. He was so very moved that she was here. She had stayed.
He decided he would wake her when he had healed himself - there was no sense in worrying her. She cared far too much about everything. His eyes were fixed on her face as he walked by the edge of the sofa, and he did not notice the half full cup of tea on the floor until he had kicked it over. The noise snapped her awake, and she jumped up instantly.
"Are you ok?" She asked, moving around him, trying to move his arm from his injury.
"I'm fine. I am more than capable of handling this myself." He said shortly, yet he let her move his hand.
"Take off your robes." She said softly. "And sit on the desk chair."
"I can manage." He spat. The tone would make most students flee, but she simply looked at him. He felt awkwardly defenceless under her gaze.
"You can let me help you, or you can struggle to do it yourself and risk making things worse." She said plainly. He made no move to do anything, and she continued. "Or you can just stand there. And I can stupefy you and then fix you. You don't really look like you'd be that quick at defending yourself…"
"Fine." He said with a resigned sigh. He was not in the mood for this. He unfastened his robes and pulled them off himself. He did not like people to see him this way. Few people knew that underneath his robes, he wore muggle clothing. Plain black trousers, a plain white shirt. He preferred his robes around others. They gave him a rather chilling presence, and he preferred that to looking how he did now. Human. Not approachable, but not the formidable potions master. He did not turn to check her reaction.
"Erm, Severus… You'll have to take your shirt off. It goes down your back a bit." Ugh. The evening was only getting better. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and slid it off his shoulders. He would not reveal anymore than he had to.
He was impressed with her thoroughness, efficiency and speed. She could easily become a healer if she desired. He wondered briefly what she would do once she had finished her NEWTs. She would make a decent teacher - a bit soft, perhaps, in his opinion. A healer, most definitely, though perhaps it would bore her too quickly. It would be a waste of her talents. Perhaps she would work in the ministry, though he couldn't imagine she would rest easily if she knew of the corruption. Maybe she wouldn't work at all. Perhaps she would settle down immediately, have children, get married. No. He couldn't imagine that for a moment. He closed his mind to the thoughts. It was not his business to know.
"I can clean myself." He drawled once she had finished her spells, and begun dabbing at the tender skin where the wound had been. He took the damp washcloth from her and moved to the bathroom, where he tried to position himself before the mirror in a way that he could actually see what he was doing. He scrubbed himself - perhaps a little too vigorously - and pulled his shirt back on. He hoped Hermione had left. He hated seeming weak and helpless more than almost anything else, and this was the second time he had accepted her help.
He was not so lucky. She was sitting on his sofa, pouring tea, her hair still dishevelled from sleep.
"How are you feeling?" She asked him. He glowered at her, though she took no notice.
"Like I was hit by a curse." He said. She smiled softly, ignoring the cold edge to his voice. She looked so out of place here. Or perhaps he did. The room seemed to change dramatically when she was present. The shadows dancing on the walls seemed less erratic, more pleasant, tamed by the soft glow of the fireplace. It felt like a happy place. He had not been happy in a long time. It did not anger him, that she changed his home so much just by being present, but it made him fill with curiosity. According to her journal, she was not happy, either. He was thinking of how to phrase his question about this, when she spoke.
"I didn't actually know that there was a magical effect when one magical person saves another's life."
"I never thought you to be one who admits to being unaware of things." He said, mocking. Though, of course, there was no magical effect. It was simple gratitude, common courtesy. Something even the wildest of beasts were capable of showing.
"I'm not stupid." She said, though there was no defensiveness in her tone. "And it would be wildly arrogant and presumptuous to claim I know everything. I'm neither of those things. I'm seventeen - perhaps eighteen, if you want to be precise. I have a lifetime of learning ahead of myself, and I'll still barely know a thing." He kept his face blank and controlled, though inside, he was frowning in confusion A few moments of silence passed, where she sat on the floor, leaving the sofa clear for him. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on them, and then her eyes snapped to him.
"It must irritate you quite a lot, not knowing how to end it."
"End what?" He asked. Her eyes did not leave his, and he resisted the need to blink. Despite her seemingly content impression she showed to the world, there was an unhappy heaviness in those deep brown eyes, betrayed the soft smile that played upon her lips.
"The Debt of Escaped Death." She said softly, as though he should know what she was talking about.
A/N: Sorry it took a few days for such a short chapter. If it's any justification, I suffer from sciatica (No, I'm not old, just unlucky) and have spent the past few days on rather strong medication which makes me lose any semblance of sanity. If I had written anything, it would have been as ridiculous as Severus and Hermione baking muffins to feed to the giant squid.
On a side note, this football is driving me insane. If I hear one more thing about England merely drawing with "a country who think football is a sport to be played with your hands", I will not be held responsible for my actions.