SS *** HG
The last several students were scurrying into the dungeons when Hermione finally elected to waltz in, travelling cloak billowing behind her and hair a bushier bramble than usual. Stepping into the supply closet, she gave him a nod while she exchanged the cloak for her Potions robes.
"Sorry for cutting it so close," she murmured, swiftly plaiting her hair into a braid. "I went to St. Mungo's and picked up the first set of case files from Richard."
Snape did not reply, annoyance and exhaustion having turned his mood caustic enough that he knew that he'd have to watch his tongue, lest he start a fight in front of the students. After a night of no sleep and teaching a day's worth of classes, he really could have used her help in preparing for the N.E.W.T. class; he'd been first surprised, then deeply irritated when she'd not come early to help him as was her normal habit. You can't really blame her, the small voice of remaining reason in his head remarked. You normally ask her for help the night before, and as you've not spoken to her since yesterday morning, it's not as if she knew you needed assistance, nor that you are running on no rest…
Picking up the basket of writhing, hairy caterpillars, he handed it to her and made for the bubbling cauldron that sat on the centre island. Suppressing a grunt of exertion, he picked it up and simply said, "We are continuing the variations of the Shrinking Solution today; mind when the students go to put the Shrivelfigs in. Any hint of green vapour, hit it with an Evanesco. Watch Perkins and Smythe-Blount in particular. "
Holding the door open for him, she nodded. "Understood, sir."
Sweeping into the dungeon, he pinned the class with a hard, black stare. "Miss Jones, you are perilously close to being tardy. Do not think being in Slytherin will grant you any leniency…"
By the time that he was halfway through his lecture, Snape was firmly functioning on autopilot. He'd given this particular speech enough times that he no longer needed to consult his detailed notes sitting on the lectern; instead, he focused his gaze outward, observing the manner in which the assembled seventh years took in the material.
Robbins, he knew, was doodling- that was patiently obvious from the way that her quill moved in large, concentric circles, and then in a flurry of short, quick lines as she sketched something in. Whitehall, by contrast, was writing so fast that the feather on his quill almost appeared to be vibrating, and the look of intense, wrinkled concentration upon his face made him appear to be highly constipated and in urgent need of a lav. Glancing towards the left side of the classroom, he saw that Jonas Smythe-Blount had a calculating gleam in his eye that did not bode well for the practical section of the lecture; Snape made a mental note to stay close to the Gryffindor just in case.
Shifting from his lectern to the demonstration table, he began adding differing amounts of leech juice to the clear phials standing ready. "As you will observe, the quantity of leech juice added can drastically change the viscosity of this potion, and thus, the purpose…"
As the students shifted and collectively leaned forward for a better view, Snape's attention was abruptly torn from their prosaic and juvenile visages to that of Hermione, perched casually on a stool at the back of class. The hair on his back of neck stood abruptly to attention, and he felt a sense of foreboding settle in his gut as he observed her careful, watchful blankness.
Flashes of her from lectures long past came to him them; Hermione, age eleven, in all her buck-teethed and wild-haired glory, every muscle in her body pulled taunt with the force of her fervent hand-waving and all-consuming drive to be called upon. Hermione's younger behaviour had so infuriated him, as a matter of fact, that he'd taken a perverse pleasure in not calling on her; of letting his gaze slide past her as if she was not in his class.
But bull-headed Gryffindor that she was, his avoidance of her had been like waving a red cape, and she'd only increased her assault upon his sensibilities by refusing to put her hand down even when it was clear that he would not call on her. At the first sign of his indifference, her pointy little chin would jut forward, and she would positively squirm in her seat, stubborn brown eyes begging and demanding at same time. If he let it go on long enough, she'd emit near-silent huffs of exasperation, causing the other students to either glare at her in annoyance or titter at her foolishness. Thankfully, her the worst of her behaviour had been curbed somewhat once she'd made friends with Potter and Weasley; once she'd had the boys to boss around, it had taken a bit of edge off.
God Almighty, but the monikers of insufferable and know-it-all had only just begun to describe how truly frustrating she had been as a student…
As an apprentice, he actually enjoyed her presence in his dungeon. She knew how to keep her mouth shut, for one thing, and let the students make the all-important mistakes that allowed for growth. Moreover, she gave him an audience to play to and understood some of the sly humour that lurked in his lectures; he would often meet her gaze over the oblivious heads of the students to find hints of barely-suppressed mirth dancing across her features.
Those bourbon eyes were steady on him now, no hint of her younger self shining through… and nor was there the customary warmth, or mischief. The weight of her gaze was like being stared at by stranger.
No, not like being stared at by a stranger, he thought, his internal hackles rising in recognition of some cue in her body language. She's looking at me as if she's judging me, and finding me entirely lacking.
His decision to not speak to her the day before- or this morning, when he easily could well have- loomed large in his mind. It was the height of wishful stupidity to think that she had not noticed him pulling on her magic in the moment; it was sheer idiocy to think that she hadn't immediately sought out answers and started putting certain salient facts together… such as the enormity of his folly in changing the apprenticeship ceremony.
Bollocks. This is going to get ugly.
The remainder of the class passed without incident, but he was prevented from having a quiet word with Hermione by the sudden mob of Slytherins that appeared in the dungeons at passing, demanding to know about the happenings with Greengrass and Prewett.
"Silence!" he finally bellowed, putting up a hand in warning. "I have no time to sufficiently answer your questions now, nor will I outside of the privacy of the Common Room. Rest assured that both Miss Prewett and Mr. Greengrass are well; as for the rest, it will wait until I speak with all of you at once. We will have an all-house meeting at four. Now, get to class before I take points off the lot of you!"
His glare and parting warning were enough to push them out the door… just as the wave of sixth years entered. Biting back a snarl, he whirled back to the front of the class to start hasty preparations, only to find that Hermione had already set the table up.
Placing the bottle of Doxy tears perpendicular to the dragon's blood, she met his regard calmly. "I left the stasis charm on the cauldron," she informed him.
'Thank you," he said, fighting the urge to start throwing things.
"You're welcome," she responded, bobbing her head at him like the perfect little apprentice. Her sudden show at non-ironic subservience did not make him feel any better.
Fuck a duck. I am so, so screwed.
After what felt like an approximate aeon later, his last class of the day was finally over and he set the poor sods scurrying on their merry ways. Gripping the lectern with both hands, he contemplated whether or not a he wanted to take a headache potion; it did not combine well with any of the heartburn remedies, so it would necessarily be one or the other.
So, which is worse… the head or the stomach?
Hearing the door open again, he peered up sourly and registered the bothersome and entirely unexpected presence of one Professor Neville Longbottom.
"Here for remedial potions, Professor?" he asked a touch snidely. "I afraid you've missed the class entirely."
Longbottom only smiled. "If I were, I would most assuredly come to Hermione, not you." He paused, and looked at Snape measuringly. "I understand that you are in a spot of bother."
"In what way do you mean?" Fleetingly, he wondered if Hermione had complained to Neville about his behaviour the previous day, and questioned just how much the younger man knew about the particulars of their binding. He was under no illusion that Longbottom truly like him; he had been making the effort for Hermione's sake. And if she wasn't happy with him… well, whilst he had no concerns about taking on Longbottom if it came to that, he had rather enjoyed actually getting along with the Head of Gryffindor for a change.
"A little birdy told me that you had a long night, and from the looks of it, you've had an even longer day."
He rolled his eyes, grateful that Longbottom apparently had only been referring to the obvious troubles. As a fellow Head of House, he'd have been fully briefed on the recent situation. "And it's a day that's only getting longer, as I've now got an emergency House meeting, then supper supervision, followed by rounds. So unless you have something pressing to say to me, I'll bid you adieu." Moving from behind the lectern, he made for the front aisle, stopping only when Longbottom did not get out of the way.
Cocking his head, Longbottom smiled at him again in a fashion that was quickly becoming aggravating. "Ah, but perhaps I can be of help, Professor."
"I highly doubt it," Snape said, starting to feel properly angry.
"Allow me to propose a trade, then. I don't have supper or evening rounds tonight. I'll cover yours, and in return, you will brew some Mandrake fertilizer with splash of extra stong slug repellent. Sound like a good deal?"
Indeed, it was far too good of an offer to pass up; it meant the difference between his day being done in only two hours, versus another six. "I won't have time to brew it until the weekend."
"I can wait until Sunday evening." There was that ruddy smile again, and Snape wondered at what he was missing.
"Fine. Now, if you've nothing else, move. Granger is in the storeroom." He motioned towards the closed door with irritation.
Longbottom stepped aside. "Oh, I wasn't here to speak with Hermione, I came to speak to you. Poppy asked if I'd cover for you tonight, and being the kindly sort myself, I naturally agreed." His smile turned more than trifle smug as he let the comment hang in the chill air of the dungeon. "One hardly needs to take remedial potions if they have the Potions Master himself do the brewing, don't you think?"
Longbottom wasn't stupid enough to stick around for his response to that bold sally, instead legging it for the safety of the storeroom. I've been had, Snape thought, a shred of mordant humour pushing through the bubble of his irritation. By a bloody Gryffindor, none the less. One night of no sleep, and I've been reduced to all the cunning and detection powers of a mere Hufflepuff. I really am getting soft…
The meeting, for all intents and purposes, went rather well. It was made all the easier by the simple fact that Aelius Greengrass did most of the speaking while he stood back, holding up the wall. Prewett and her brothers were not well enough to leave the Hospital Ward to attend, but she and Greengrass had spoken at length and decided on what to say to the rest of the House. Greengrass had duly narrated a more restrained version of the previous day's foibles, and the resulting questions were far more sensitive than he'd expected.
After going through some of the changes brought on by the arrival of Prewett's brothers, he had ended the meeting with a quiet, if firm statement.
"We were extraordinarily lucky yesterday; had any one of several things gone differently, we could be planning funerals rather than childcare arraignments. Pride," he intoned carefully, "…is important, but not at the cost of life or health. Should any of you have any issues that need addressing, large or small, I ask that you come to myself, Professor Granger, or any of the other prefects, as Miss Prewett did. We are Slytherins, and we take care of each other. Is that understood?"
Making eye contact with the members of his House one-by-one, he gave a final nod. "Excellent. I will leave you all to make your way to supper, then, and wish you all a good evening."
Finally letting himself into the rooms, Snape took an appreciative sniff at the air, wonderfully redolent of stewing tomatoes and garlic. It was such a welcome, purely domestic greeting that he stopped, confused and comforted all at the same time. Hermione didn't take any of the meals in the Great Hall, and while she could order from food via the House-elves, she more often than not cooked for herself; she must be doing so tonight. Stomach giving an appreciative rumble, Snape wondered at his chance of getting her to feed him tonight. Given his behaviour the last two days, as well as their looming conversation, he rather thought that the likelihood hovered somewhere around naught and nil. For a brief moment, he thought about slipping into his rooms and postponing the conversation yet again, but recognizing the impulse as the cowardice that it was, forced himself to walk down the hallway to Hermione's door.
It was wide open, and peering in, he saw her leaning against the kitchen counter, reading from a thick manilla folder, a pot of something bubbling away on the hob. The earlier blankness was gone, replaced by a tired sort of horror, and vulnerability that he'd not seen from her before. It stirred at his own emotions, rousing a protectiveness that he'd thought long dead. And so you'll what? Offer to slay her dragons, never mind that you are biggest dragon of them all?
Sliding forward on silent feet, he asked, "Is that one of the files from St. Mungo's?"
Giving a startled shriek, her free hand flew out, striking the bottle of red wine next to her. Only a non-verbal Freezing Charm from him kept the wine from hitting the floor; with a slight flourish of his wand, he sat it back upon the counter, contents still rolling about wildly.
"Am I going to have to put a bell on you?" she snapped with some asperity.
"You're more than welcome to try," he returned calmly, and glanced down again at the file in clutched in her hand.
"Yes," she said after a moment, seeing where his attention had gone, "…this is one of the files. The rest are on the table."
Taking it as an invitation, he flipped through the heavy stack, wondering how many of the people he would know. Several, as it turned out, and he looked for more information on the cover of the files, trying to decode the jumble of stamps and scribbled notations written on the fronts. Seeing a black rune the on corner of nine of the files, he gazed at Hermione.
"More than half of these people are dead," he murmured, understanding at least some of her mood. The knowledge of what he thought would be his impending death during the war had certainly not sweetened his temper any, and he rather imagined it would also not make her any happier; perhaps that, rather than anything he'd said or done, was at the root of things. Maybe.
"Yes, they are," she confirmed, and took a sip of her wine.
"You are not going to die," he stated with as much conviction as he muster up. Dragons be damned…"We'll figure it out, I promise you."
"You can't promise that." Her mouth tightened, and something in her eyes shifted.
"I can promise you that I'm not going to give up." Pausing, he debated what to say next. "Look at how much we've learned in the last six months. I've almost got the prednisone ready to send off to St. Mungo's for trials, and as you get more data from the files, we should have a better idea where to focus research."
She didn't respond to his line of reasoning, instead turning to the hob and staring at the pot of noodles on a rolling boil.
"Have you eaten?" she asked, back still to him.
"No," he replied cautiously.
"I've made spaghetti if you want to join me."
"I will."
Flicking off the heat, she picked up the pot and took it to the colander waiting in the sink. "Why don't you get the plates and silverware out while I finish the food."
"As you wish."
Snape was just putting down the forks when she spoke again. "Here, catch." Turning, he caught the bottle of crushed red pepper flakes she tossed. "Since you seem to like your food at nuclear spice levels…" she added with a slight smile.
He smirked, suddenly glad that he had gone with the heartburn potion. "As would you, had you lived on a bland diet for close to ten years," he told her, placing it next to his plate.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at that. "Ulcers," he explained. "Many of the medicines used to treat them interfere with the most commonly used pain relievers. I could somewhat control my ulcers with diet, but unfortunately, could not do the same with the symptoms of the Cruciatus Curse and the other bog standard curses that came part and parcel with being a Death Eater."
"And so now you are making up for lost time?"
"Something like that."
Handing him a plate of pasta, she gestured towards the sauce. "Well, then, help yourself."
They both ate quietly, lost in thoughts he imagined that neither really wanted to discuss. Still, her gaze was direct when she finally started her questioning.
"Tell me about yesterday. I heard bits and pieces from Minerva and Poppy, but not enough to really make out what happened."
"Do you want the abridged version, or the long of it, complete with the all the gory details?"
Her mouth quirked. "Let's start with the abridged tale and go from there."
Walking her quickly through the various issues and implications of the Prewett Wards, he reached the point in the day when he had started drawing on her magic; pausing, he took stock of her expression. That horridly blank look was back, and it disabused any notion of glossing over the next part.
"…and then something rather… unexpected occurred. I… pulled on my magic, and somehow also received a bit of yours." He stopped, and felt a flush race up his neck and ears, aware that his explanation had been altogether lacking in style and substance.
To his surprise, she did not evidence any anger at his admission, looking only vaguely thoughtful. Nodding, she said, "I know. I was in the storage closet putting things away when I felt it. At first I thought it was some strange new symptom of my illness, but then it became pretty clear to me that it was… not."
"What happened to you?" he asked, wondering just how much of the events at Prewett Hall had bled through their bond.
"At first, my wrists burned, and then it shifted into a sensation a bit like using a Portkey." She shrugged. "Then it just hurt, a lot, and I passed out."
"Were you injured?" he asked, feeling guilt knot his insides up just that little bit harder.
"Bruised my arm, that's all. The students had already left, so there was no need to make messy explanations."
"What did Poppy have to say?" Thinking of the Healer, he realized that she too would be none to pleased with him; he did not want to guess her reaction when she found out that he and Hermione shared some sort of soul bond. She's liable to break my nose again, just for the hell of it…
Hermione stood and started gathering the dishes. "Nothing. I didn't tell her. I was alright, and she was rather busy last night." Placing the dishes in the sink, she turned back to look at him. "Did you mean to pull on my magic like that?"
"No, I didn't. To be honest, I didn't know that was possible; at the time all I was thinking about was breaking the wards. Neither myself or Prewett had enough energy left for another go at them."
Conversation stopped as Hermione filled the sink with hot water. Twisting the spigot closed, she stilled for a long moment, staring at the sudsy water. Her hair obscured her expression as she half-turned back to him. "And what are your theories as to why you were able to do such a feat?"
Throat tightening, Snape thought about possible answers. She hadn't gone off on him yet, which might be a positive sign; on the other hand, her line of questioning yet far had set them on a very deliberate path, and he just couldn't picture her taking this entire set of revelations with complete equanimity. He knew he deserved her wrath- for a multitude of reasons- but there was a kernel of pure terror growing in him. She'll be mad at you, but it won't be the end of the world; think about all the times that she forgave Potter and Weasley for their various misdeeds. Surely she'll do the same for you…
"I have several," he finally said, carefully. "I think that it all relates back to the apprenticeship binding; it was clear then that we greatly modified the bond, and this only further proves that supposition." She said nothing, and so he went on. "Given what I was able to do yesterday, along with the manifestations during the ceremony, there is only one class of bonds that display that sort of characterises. I think that we created a type of… soul bond."
She had to known all of this; there is no way she would not react at all had this been new news to her…
Her next question, finally laced with an edge of fury, made him perversely feel better simply because he could read the emotion behind it.
"And how long have you held that particular supposition?"
"Yesterday confirmed the theory, obviously, but it's been something I've been trying to work out for awhile."
Her hands went to her hips, and there was no mistaking her ire. "Severus, how long have you thought that we share some sort of soul bond?"
"Since the week following the ceremony." He could not look at her.
"And you are just now getting around to mentioning it to me?"
"I was rather… unsettled by the whole notion," he muttered, defensiveness creeping into his tone. "And what was I supposed to say? 'How was your day, Hermione? Oh, and by the way, I've done some research and it looks like we've managed to create a rarely seen type of soul bond? Hope that you don't mind being irrevocably tied to a Death Eater and murderer. Now, could you be good little apprentice and do the prep work for my N.E.W.T.s section so I can catch up on my grading?' "
His sarcasm acted as the straw the brook the camel's back. "Oh, bugger unsettled! You want to hear about being unsettled? Try unexpectedly losing consciousness in the Potions storeroom, and having a near panic attack thinking that it's sign that your chronic illness is getting worse, only to find out from a random staff member that it's due to a ruddy soul bond. Then have another panic attack because this particular type of soul bond means you share magic, and thus you've possibly passed on said incurable illness!"
Hermione took a ragged breath and continued shrilly. "…And that was all before lunch! Bugger your unsettled!"
"I'm sorry, alright!" Snape shouted, his own rage and fear and a welter of other emotions bursting free. "I told you that I wasn't any good at this. I didn't know what to say, but it's not like I was trying to trick you into creating this sodding connection... What more do you want from me?"
They were, quite suddenly, face-to-face, close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off Hermione like an enraged sun.
"I want you to trust me! I want you tell me things when it's something that's going to affect the both of us rather than pretend that it doesn't exist!" She punctuated each statement with hard jab to his chest with her finger, and he could see in her face that she meant to carry on for some time. "You stood here, not three nights ago, and promised me that you'd help me figure this thing out. I only needed to ask, you said! All the while, you knew, and you said nothing!.."
"I'm sorry!" he shouted again, desperate to make her understand. It hadn't been like that. He would help her, was helping her… Oh, god, he thought frantically, the earlier heartburn and headache returning with a vengeance. I'm going to lose everything again…
Her finger jabbed at him once more, and he grabbed her hand, yanking her into the length of him. For a split second, he saw only her shocked brown eyes, and then there was nothing but an explosion of magic around them.
Hermione was yelling at him- the man had the unmitigated gall to think a bald 'I'm sorry' was going to cover it- when it felt like someone detonated a Dementor in the room; she almost couldn't breath for the rampant emotions and memories suddenly running amok.
…fear…
…the floor was cold and unyielding underneath him, and he forced back a shiver. He'd sit outside the Gryffindor Common Room for as long as it took until she came out. If she would just listen, just let him apologize, she'd understand. He was so sorry…
…despair...
…a bitter sort of satisfaction came as people edged around him in the Malfoy's crowded ballroom. A woman looked up at him, brown eyes gone wide with fear. He sneered at her, and she practically threw herself into the wall in her haste to get out of his way, silly cow that she was. What, did think that he was going to ask her to dance? As if he wanted to...
…self-loathing…
…disbelievingly, he read the line for a forth time. 'Spontaneous soul bondings most often occur when the following conditions are met: firstly, the binding happens in a traditional place of power and oath-taking, such as a stone henge or swearing room, secondly, significant alterations are made to an existing binding ceremony, and finally, that the parties involved have a shared intent…' Fuck. A bloody soul bond? That can't be right! Granger is never going to believe that I didn't plan this…
…doubt…
…Poppy, biting back a yawn as she gazed at him consideringly. "…for a man who often professes a strong reluctance to involve himself deeply in the matters of others, you certainly have a habit making vows and commitments that require you to become rather… entangled."
Sentiment was hitting her so fast that she barely had time to process what she was feeling before another barrage came, and it was all she could do to cling to the only thing solid that she could sense- in this case, Severus. In doing so, she became aware that what she was experiencing was coming from him; while the remnants of her anger and fear were still pressing at her, his emotions and random memories had seemingly taken over.
Physical sensation starting flooding back then, and she could feel the singular texture of bare skin under her hands. Severus was shivering, sides heaving wildly as he fought for breath, and it was that more than anything that finally kicked her brain back into gear.
How on earth did my hands get under his shirt… no, never mind, think happy thoughts. I've got to do something to calm him down… Project my happier thoughts over his, like this is a real Dementor attack…
…the joy of working companionably in the laboratory together. Severus glancing up with a half-smile on his face, and feeling like she'd finally found a place that she could belong…
…she couldn't even blink, and her chest didn't move up and down, and yet she knew that she was alive; after all, there was familiar speckled ceiling of the Hospital Ward above her! But the inability to do anything more than think in crazy circles was driving her to panic: Had they figured out that it was a Basilisk yet? And who was the Heir to Slytherin? Suddenly, there was the sound of wood being dragged across the stone floor, and Hermione would have jumped, had she be able to. Two welcome distractions unexpectedly filled her starved senses… the smell of herbs and smoke, and then a rich, dark voice filling the space, the almost physical reverberations of it causing something feminine in her to perk up. 'A Careful Reconsideration of the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood, by Deter Malcolm…' A man intoned, and then Hermione heard Professor Snape give a derisive snort, murmuring, "Careful my arse. The only thing Malcolm is careful about is not getting caught when he nicks his apprentice's far superior work.' Then he began to read from the Potions journal, and for the first time since she was Petrified, Hermione felt safe and secure, like it might all turn out okay, after all…
…his solid, warm, intoxicating weight next to her. His black eyes flashing teasingly, "You are taking rather free liberties with both my settee and my alcohol." It was a struggle to not lean into him, to reach over and run her hands over the breadth of his chest, and then lower…She felt like she could spend a hundred years getting to know him, and it wouldn't be nearly enough…
…the scent of curry, strong and spicy. He lounged against the door frame, the causal lines of his body language contradicted by the odd, serious light in his eyes."Hermione, why do you think that I did not want you to bow to me?" Being humbled by the faith he had put in her…
…then the Werewolf that was Professor Lupin locked eyes with her, and she saw nothing of her gentle, humorous instructor. There was only predator, and looking into those vicious yellow eyes she knew with an absolute, terrible certainty that she was going to die in the Shrieking Shack in the jaws of this monster. Abruptly, the room turned chaotic; a dervish of black wool suddenly blocked her from the avid gaze of the Werewolf, and a strong hand gripped her arm as they backed hastily down the tunnel. Realization hit her; Professor Snape had somehow known that they were in trouble, and was contriving to save them all…
It was oddly enough, her memory of the Werewolf Lupin that finally allowed Severus to regain control of his mental shields enough to reign in the magic swirling around them. Although awareness still linked them together, Hermione could feel him start to pull his mental shields up.
She was clinging to him, limpet-style, and he likewise to her, one long-fingered hand knotted roughly in her hair, cupping the back of her head to his chest. His other hand was clutching at the small of her back, having somehow found a patch of bare skin as she had. Both her arms her encircled him, holding him in a tight embrace, and she could feel the scarred texture of his throat where her forehead pressed against his neck.
Slowly, Hermione started to pull away, trying to create enough space between then so she could see his expression. When she did, it was like a punch to the gut; Severus was just barely keeping himself in check, and there was vulnerable, feral look on his face that made her feel like she'd stumbled upon a wild animal caught in a trap. His thoughts rapidly coloured the link between the two of them again, and she understood that he was ashamed that she seen his memories, and furious that someone had broken into his mind once again.
But before he could lash out- for she could sense rising intent to do so, much like a trapped animal gnawing off a leg in order to go free- Hermione grabbed him by the arm and drug him out of her rooms and down the hallway to the private potions closet connected to the laboratory. Scanning the shelves, she snatched up several bottles and uncorked the first of them. Shoving it to his mouth, she ordered, "Drink!"
To her surprise, he did, and as Calming Drought hit his system, Severus relaxed minutely. It wasn't enough, however, that she thought he'd not try something stupid; remembering how he'd repeated cut open the his arm with his Slytherins the last time he'd been in a emotional state, Hermione vowed that she'd make damn sure that he was unconsciousness until he was back in his right mind. Opening a second bottle, she said, "Again." This time he hesitated, and she glared at him, pushing her will through their link as forcefully as she could.
Once the second bottle had been downed, she snagged a flask of Dreamless Sleep and pulled him into his bedroom. Shoving him onto the bed, Hermione bent down and swiftly yanked off his boots. Looking over him collapsed across his bed, she saw that he was beginning to shiver again, and her heart gave an almighty lurch. Oh, Severus, she thought sadly. How badly you must have been hurt to react like this…
Her overwhelming need to touch him, sooth him, warred with his clear unease, and she balled her hands in fists lest she reach out. "Under the covers," she told him, trying to soften her voice in something approaching normality. It was a massive struggle for him, but she left him to it, figuring that any help from her might make matters worse; once he had gotten settled in the sheets, she gingerly perched on the side of the bed and wordlessly handed him the final potion.
Severus gazed up at her from his ungraceful sprawl across the pillows, something jaded, terribly exposed, and bitter playing across his expression. He drank the Dreamless Sleep without comment, and set the glass flask on the bedside table with a sharp thunk.
Glowering, he subsided again, and Hermione fought back tears. "I won't hurt you," she whispered, unable to take the combative silence any further.
"You can't promise that," he slurred, bleak, black eyes at half-mast.
She didn't know if he had meant to echo her earlier comment, but it was all too much, and Hermione felt a tear slip down her cheek. "No, I can't. But I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to not harm you. I'd just as soon hurt myself…"
He shifted again, trying to better face her, and some of his hair fell across his face. Without meaning to, she leaned forward and brushed it away, and froze. But he hadn't flinched at her touch; rather, he leaned ever-so-slightly into her palm. Slowly, cautiously, she stroked the crown of his head, the repetitive movement serving to calm the both of them.
Still, he fought at the pull of the Dreamless Sleep, and Hermione put as much reassurance and affection as she dared into her touch, hoping that the sentiment travelling through their bond would convince him if nothing else would.
"Sleep, Severus. We won't talk about this until the weekend, at the very least. We both need sometime to process this, I think. I'll let you bring it up when you're ready…" Finally, his eyes fluttered shut, and she exhaled in relief, letting her hand drop to the bed.
Then he did surprise her: even as his breathing steadied into the deeper cadence of sleep, his hand slid upward until it covered hers lightly. Sluggishly, he squeezed her hand before it too fell away.
"Oh, you daft, obstinate, bastard of a man," she murmured. Rising, she pulled the covers up a bit higher over him and went back to her room to have a good cry.
A/N- See, I can end a chapter without a evil cliffie!
Once again, this chapter is un-beta'd, so my apologies for any and all mistakes. I've been camping in the back country of the Olympic National Park for the last two weeks, and rather unexpectedly finished this chapter up after being cooped up in my tent due to the rain. Given how spotty internet access is (and the fact that I'm doing this on my mobile) I decide to post the chapter rather than wait until I'm back to civilization sometime next week.
There were several recurring questions in the last chapter's comments- namely, what was up with Draco? Remember, he's got the same sort of illness that Hermione has, only it's progressed quite a bit worse than hers. Most of the important details can be found in Chapters 3 and 4. I was also asked by 'An anxious fan' about whether or not this will be a HEA- yup, or I'll be severely cross- and how much longer I anticipate this story being, updating schedule, ect. We are a little after the halfway point, I think, with about 10-15 more chapters to go. I've got the rest of the story plotted out, so it's a matter of having the time and inspiration to write. I've got the next six weeks off, so I'm hoping to get quite a bit done, but it's also the summer, simply lovely outside (when it's not raining...) and I'm not keen on spending my holiday entirely in front of the computer. So... we shall see :)
As always, my most sincere thanks to all of you that have continued to comment- it's why I've kept after this, even when I've been tempted to move on to other things. Merci beaucoup Sassyluv, viola1701e, MJJnMK, orlando switch, BlueWater5, corie.f, mak5258, Brightki, OnlyAMonster, Banglabou, ConstanceScully, Dentelle, Aureleis, TheLadyJaye, dk2022, daisycb, An anxious fan, LdeWolfe, Stiffinme, mama123, Jinxd n cursed, pottohipamus and several guests. I'm horribly behind on answering reviews, but I'll do as much catching up today as my mobile battery will allow.
The chapter title comes from the Jason Molina track of the same name. Heartbreaking, the song, but brilliant. Go have a listen.