Another chapter - a shorter one this time - is up!

No more stupid talking now.

Hope you will like it

Dedicated to my awesome husband to whom I never permitted to read any of my stories although he is a HP fan too. I love you! (You will obviously never read this message but it's still true.)

CHAPTER 9

Hermione had been living with Severus Snape for about three months and she still didn't quite know what to make of this man.

There were things that were rather clear and easy to spot - he was very diligent, workaholic even, and usually took only two or three hours a day to sleep, dedicating the rest of his time running errands for Voldemort, brewing and researching whatever he was assigned to. Had she not been helping him with the potions, she had strong suspicion he would not find time to eat at all; even so it rather seemed that he ate the little he did more for her sake than his. It was much more common for him to prepare something with her, nibble a bit at his plate and then watch her eat the rest of it, a glass of whiskey (whenever she suspected he was troubled or in pain) or a cup of coffee (whenever he was more tired than in pain) in his hand.

His lifestyle and regime was simply horrendous and highly unhealthy - not that he seemed to care in the slightest - and it was not hard to see he was having troubles with too much alcohol too. However, nothing was too noticeable at the first glance and he seemed totally unaffected by it and therefore she suspected that he had been living like that for years, not months.

Occasionally he still gave her strange glances whenever he had drunk a bit too much - which meant more than a bottle during one evening - but as she had predicted he never acted on it, never even commented on anything inappropriately. Hermione was not afraid of him anymore, not even when he was especially grumpy or inebriated; she knew he wouldn't touch her although his stares made her sure he was not gay either.

He seemed to have no friends; no one ever visited him and the only correspondence he maintained was work related. He appeared to have no family as well. She had no idea why he would voluntarily stay this lonely but he gave not a hint of suffering by any of those sentiments; perhaps he was so used to it that he simply did not notice any longer.

Snape also appeared to operate under a rather strange set of personal moral rules; on one hand, he strictly believed his word to be binding and only very rarely said anything else than the whole truth. She never caught him directly promising anything that he wouldn't fulfill to the last detail. On the other hand, he seemed having no problems killing people in cold blood, feeling nothing but victorious when he succeeded. The only time she had seen him anywhere near guilty at what he had done was just after he had been forced to torture her.

Then there was the question of his loyalty that she still hadn't managed to crack - on one hand, he always did everything that he had been ordered to, spot on and to the tiniest detail, on the other hand it was obvious that he had certain agenda that was solely his own. Maybe it was just about the never ending and brutal Death Eater games for dominance - she discovered one's place in the rank was never earned easily or permanent - but somehow she got the impression that he was acting against the system, not within the scope of it. The people he was targeting were usually highly useful for the regime, even though they were often not particularly high in the hierarchy, and they were always replaced by those who fared not quite so well. He had also some personal disagreements with some but aside from Lucius Malfoy, he only rarely organized any major actions against them.

Another case was of Lucius Malfoy himself; originally she had thought they were friends given Snapes apparent favoritism towards Draco while they had been at school but soon she discovered they were rather enemies held close so that they had awareness of each other in case one decided to strike. And strike they had.

As far as she knew, Snape tried to kill Lucius twice and suffered one attempt at his life in return. At least that was what she had thought till this day.

He stumbled into the lab, leaving bloody droplets and footprints in his wake, and she immediately threw away the book she had been taking notes from to run to him, taking him by his elbow to support him long enough so he would make it to the armchair. He flinched a bit and she hoped that it was more from him still being unused to being touched than from her actually hurting him by grabbing him.

"What happened?"

"Lucius. A chimaera," he uttered through clenched teeth.

Bloody Hell.

"May I have your wand?" she asked, worried that she wouldn't manage an injury of this kind without its help. Hopefully he would understand this was an emergency.

"In my coat's pocket," Snape rasped and she searched him quickly to pull it out. Her hand emerged bloody but she made herself not to react.

The black wood felt strange in her hand but fortunately cooperative enough although it was much tougher than she was used to. She really hoped she remembered all about this well enough.

Not hesitating to ponder anything any longer, she levitated him on top of the workbench, suspecting him to be hurt in a way that would require him being lain down yet unwilling to make him soak his own bed with his blood. The hard and sterile surface was way better for this anyway.

She charmed his clothes away, leaving only his boxer shorts on and he gave her a sneer at that.

Damn, she hoped he would be beyond caring about such trivialities.

In any case he should have been, she guessed after she saw the full extent of his injuries.

God, did he wrestle the chimaera with his bare hands or what?

His left hand seemed nearly chewed off, hanging only by a thread of skin and muscle and she was sure his lungs were crushed by the bubbling rattle his breathing sounded like and by the mottled and bruised skin on his chest. There was an open fracture on his thigh and huge wooden splinter was stuck in his side. Furthermore, there were so many bites and bruises that she didn't even have time to take them all in.

"If you are quite done staring, Granger, it's you who has the wand and I would highly recommend you began using it. You can oggle me another day," he rasped angrily but Hermione could see the real reason behind it - the self-consciousness he so loathed to show openly. He was obviously not as used to being naked as she was, let alone being stared at during it - and no wonder about that, of course.

"I was just assessing your injuries. Did you take any potions?" she asked, trying not to blush.

"Two Blood Replenishers and a Strengthening Solution."

Hermione cast the diagnostics and immediately knew this would take hours to fix. She frowned.

"It's not good and it's going to hurt. Do you want to stay up for it?" she asked, worried.

He watched her for a few seconds but then shook his head, surprising her. He obviously trusted her more than she would expect.

"Alright then. A Stunner or a Painless Sleep potion?"

"Potion. Two if you want me to stay asleep for a few hours."

She nodded, hoping he wouldn't intentionally overdose himself, and then summoned the bottles. He downed them in quick succession although she knew they burned and tasted horrible. He was probably used to that from his Firewhiskey.

He kept his eyes on her as they were slowly closing and it unnerved her for a bit. He really trusted her then - he would have chosen the Stunner if he thought she would need him to wake up fast in case of need, only a simple Rennervate sufficient to cancel the curse.

Finally he seemed to be out and she cast a spell to confirm that. Then she got to work.

Her first task was definitely to stop all the bleeding - the worst by far was that from his nearly severed left hand. She spent more than two hours only by that, fixing the bone and then connecting each muscle, tendon, vein and nerve to its place before she could seal the skin. Everything needed to be cleaned and disinfected so that the beast's saliva and who knew what else wouldn't stay in his body.

Hermione was sweating profoundly before she even got to the fractures.

Nearly all his bones in his right hand and arm were crushed and she wondered how he was even able to take the first aid potions that had most likely saved his life - she guessed he had used his teeth and wandless magic. However, it also explained why he was so willing to yield his wand to her when he had no way to hold or wield it.

There was a scratch and a bruise on his neck and she knew that normally he couldn't stand being touched there; he obsessively hid that part of his anatomy so she had never even seen it before. The tissue there was marred with scars, the deeper ones angry red and dark purple whereas the other ones paper white. The side of his neck looked like it had had a big portion of flesh ripped off and then hastily regrown. It was quite possible his concern was not entirely psychical and born of trauma; now when she considered it, it was rather likely that it still hurt him permanently and could be really painful when touched.

Hoping he was really out and wouldn't lash at her like he had a few months ago, she carefully treated the injuries on his neck and for good measure added two more spells for cursed scars that she had learned to cure her own with after Dolohov hit her chest in her fifth year.

It was well past three in the morning when she finally smeared the Bruise Balm on the last of his hematomas and sat tiredly in the armchair by the man's side, her eyes still on him as she twirled his wand in between her fingers absentmindedly.

She felt... guilt. Guilt over being the cause of this crazy assassination battle between Snape and Malfoy. Snape never mentioned it, never even spoke about the event, but she knew he was after Malfoy for what he had done to her and not for the way the rich blonde nosed around Snape's private life.

Hell, he must really have been out of ideas if he was willing to go to the trouble of acquiring a Chimaera to kill Snape. Who knew what he would try next? He might very well succeed with the resources he had at hand, regardless the fact that Snape was probably the toughest and most persevering person she had ever met.

He was protecting her and all she could do was patching him up after he came back, nearly dead.

The next time he might not come back at all.

The stark realization made her pauze.

Naturally, she was aware of the heavy risk of him being killed while on a mission or for failing whatever he had been assigned but this seemed somehow much more real - he had been a Death Eater for decades and survived yet he was targeted by one of the richest and most malicious wizards in Britain for only two months and was nearly murdered twice. Furthermore, it happened directly because of her.

Snape snored quietly then, breaking her out of her reverie. She smiled wryly, finding the sound rather cute.

Oh, how she would love to tease him about snoring the next day...

Getting up from the armchair, she approached him to levitate him to his bed when she noticed a new and rather big bruise on his left hand.

Damn, one of the freshly reconnected veins there likely got ruptured, the blood spilling under his skin.

Cutting the skin and healing it once more, she checked every injury for blood.

If something got reopened at night, he might bleed out just a few feet away from her without being helped. He wouldn't wake for a few hours yet. She should stay close to him and keep an eye on him till that happens.

He was cold to the touch though so it was high time to get him to bed.

Waving his wand at him once more, she gently levitated him to his bedroom, laying him on it and then covering him with his blanket.

There was nothing for her to sit on and she wouldn't really see him if she seated herself on the floor so she crawled on the bed next to him, his wand still in her hand and feeling rather uneasy.

However, he seemed rather innocuous, the occasional light snore still bringing a smile to her lips. He permitted her to sleep wherever she wanted in his quarters. He wouldn't be angry when he would find her here, hopefully.

Usually, she slept on his couch in the Living room, occasionally on her mattress by the door to his bedroom. She wanted to be close to feel safe but this somehow seemed a bit too personal for the way he usually treated her. He liked to hold her at arm's length - without holding, of course - whenever he could.

Rationally, she admitted it being a bit strange - it was she who was repeatedly sexually assaulted and abused - but for some reason it was him who still refused to even meet the tips of her fingers whenever she was passing him anything in the lab, acting as if it burned him.

He mostly acted almost friendly towards her, sometimes even joking and doing a number of favours for her each day, but the total absence of any physical contact made her consider him rather a colleague and work partner than a friend. He was simply too rigid and guarded, only rarely letting his true emotions show and it impressed her as if he didn't really trust her to be too close. Him letting her put him to sleep like this was the first proper show of his confidence in her and she was determined to not disappoint him.

She stayed vigil by his side for hours, occasionally lighting the wand to check the more serious of his wounds.

It was nearly morning when he stirred for the first time and then, a few minutes later, he did something she wouldn't expect of him in a million years.

Turning over on his side, he ended up putting his left hand on her thigh and she froze in surprise.

She knew it was unintentional but still it felt-

The hand moved slowly up her body then, stroking her gently during its journey and he emitted a low content growl. Finally it settled on her waist and wrapped itself around her to pull her to its owner.

He moved her with ease, his arm sinewy but obviously more than strong enough. It took only a second and she found herself pressed with her back to his chest, his left hand still holding her securely to him by her waist.

She could hardly breathe, rigid with shock and fear.

He was nearly naked behind her, only in his underwear, and she felt every bit of his warm hard body and bare skin against herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut to focus and fight the panic, waiting for him to tear at her clothes and force himself into her as so many others had done before.

She was clutching at his wand, the knuckles white on her shaking hands.

'I can give you your magic back. Then there will always be something you could do to stop me or anyone else.'

That's what he had said. He had promised he would give her back her magic so that she could protect herself - against him and everyone else. He might still get angry but she hoped he would keep his word and not get rid of her if she cursed him in self-defence. He permitted her to defend herself even against him.

If he tried anything, she would simply Stun him. He might even not remember that in the morning. Everything would be as it used to be.

It took a minute, then two. He still hadn't moved.

His nose was snuggled against her neck so she could easily tell when his breath had evened out once more. Some of the tension left her muscles at that.

Maybe he just needed to be close to someone, yearned for human touch subconsciously when he denied it to himself in every form while he was awake. Everyone needed some warmth, even her; she would naturally not choose anything this close but she still found herself having urges to touch his shoulder or hand occasionally, just to make sure someone was really there with her. She remembered the way she was starved for friendly and safe physical contact to the extent that she had hugged the man for minutes after a nightmare, crying into his shoulder. He hated it obviously, every second of it, but he still held on. He was there for her when she needed it. It was probably her turn to be there for him, letting him select the manner he preferred.

His hand didn't stray anywhere it shouldn't be and she could detect only warmth emanating from his body behind her; he wasn't erect as far as she could tell. He didn't want her and even if he did, he likely wasn't able to act on it; she saw what the snake had done to him with her own eyes today. Lucius had said he hadn't even had sex before. He just liked to look and touch on times; that was all that was left to him. He wouldn't harm her.

Snape didn't rape. He was just lonely like her.

Nothing really bad had happened.

Forcing her breathing and heartbeat back to normal, she gradually relaxed. She felt warm and cozy and it was a long night.

She checked the hand that was still wrapped firmly around her once more for bruises. Nothing. He would be fine; it was nearly morning. She closed her tired eyes for a minute so they would cease stinging...

"For Merlin's sake, Granger! What have you done?!" an angry voice yelled at her and she sprung awake, startled.

What a nice morning déjà vu...

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