I hope everyone had a good week! Now that it is Friday*, I present you with another Chapter of For the Only Hope.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! (We're almost to 200!) Quick question answer time: My author's page is my bio, which can be found by clicking my name up top, yes there will be M rated scenes later, for me school starts the first week of August.
I'm glad so many of you loved the scene when Hermione puts Harry in his place. :)
Enjoy!
Chapter 10
The first night Harry slept at Grimmauld Place, he woke up screaming. Hermione was at his side in a minute, and he willingly grabbed on to her and refused to let go. "It's okay now," she told him, gently running her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "You're alright now."
"You were dead," Harry whispered, clinging to her like a drowning man. "He killed you." There was desperation in his voice, the kind that spoke to Hermione about how much he truly cared about her. She felt a wave of tenderness toward this small, scared man-child, and hugged him closer.
Oh, Harry. How many times is this man going to ruin your life? "No, Harry. No, he didn't," Hermione whispered back. "I'm here."
"What is going on here?" demanded a rumpled Mrs. Weasley, clad in a pink dressing gown and worn slippers. "Harry, are you alright?"
Harry ignored her, but Hermione answered the matron's question. "He'll be fine soon, Mrs. Weasley," she called out. "He had a nightmare."
The woman frowned. "I don't think it is appropriate for you to be in his bed-"
"I disagree, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said in a warning tone. "On the contrary, it is very appropriate." Her eyes reminded the woman that she had faced down Voldemort, and spat at his feet. The Order had heard parts of the tale, what Dumbledore had seen fit to tell them. And Hermione could be intimidating when she wanted to be.
Ron looked on with sleepy eyes, confusion and a sense of unease growing in the boy. "Hermione. You're-" he stopped talking at the look on Hermione's face. Ginny, awakened by Harry's screams and Hermione's departure, poked her head in the room.
Hermione kept her eyes locked with Mrs. Weasley's. "I'll come and get you when he feels better, Mrs. Weasley," she said, a clear dismissal. The older woman, stiffened, but turned to leave, shutting the door and ushering her daughter back down the hall.
Harry's breathing gradually slowed, and his iron tight grip on Hermione loosened. "I'm- sorry, Hermione." He was a little red, glancing up at her.
"No problem, Harry," Hermione said. "Do you think you can go back to sleep now?" She hoped he could read the sympathy in her eyes. It was obvious he was drawing comfort from the contact, but she withdrew when he nodded.
She bent down, and kissed him on the forehead. She brushed her wand with her fingers, and with a whispered word and a much practiced spell, Hermione cleaned the sweat-soaked covers and drew them up around Harry's chin, kneeling by the bed. He did not notice the new freshness, or if he did, he did not say anything. "Goodnight, Harry. We'll have that talk tomorrow."
"Alright," said the sleepy savior. "See you tomorrow, Hermione."
Hermione smiled down on him gently, then turned that same smile on Ron. "I'll be off, then," she said as she stood cautiously. When she rose too fast after sitting for a long while, her injury would send twinges of protest up her back.
Outside the room, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen. However, a lanky Potions Master was leaning against the wall next to Harry's door. He just regarded her with his grey eyes, staying silent as she eased the door shut.
"Well?" he asked in a low voice, gaze intense and face hardened.
She sighed, leaning against the wall herself. "Do you want to talk about this here, or somewhere else?"
He turned around abruptly, stalking off in the direction of the stairs. She took that as a 'somewhere else,' wishing she could duck into her room quickly to grab her over robe before potentially leaving the Headquarters. It didn't matter though. Not really.
However, instead of leading her from the dark house, Severus instead stopped at a door on the fourth floor, far away from the rooms held by the rest of the Weasleys. He opened the door and with a quick, annoyed sweep of his hand, gestured her inside. She stepped into the room, looking around discreetly as he followed her and shut the door behind the both of them.
The room was Spartan; a middling-size bed took up one corner, placed in such a way that the person opening the door wouldn't see the occupant of the bed, but he would see them. A chest of drawers stood against the wall, and on the opposite corner of the room was a portable Potions Lab. Some potions were steadily bubbling way- Severus Snape was the Order's resident Potions Master after all.
There was no place to sit; instead, she stood uncomfortable in the center of the room, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself. It was Severus. She had nothing to fear from him. So she let her hands dangle at her sides, a sprinkling of gooseflesh working its way up from her elbows.
And speaking of Severus… he was shrugging off his over robe, obviously slipped on to make himself 'presentable' enough to observe the commotion unseen. Under it, he wore his customary button down white shirt and black slacks.
He scowled at her. Her heart skipped a beat, either from fear or something else. "So?"
"He had a bad dream," Hermione said quietly. "He woke up screaming-"
"I knew that," he snapped. "I do have ears. He hasn't found a way to cope?" For all his annoyance, Hermione could detect a hint of worry in his tone.
She shook her head. "No, but we are going to work on that. What worries me is what I saw. I did some surface Legilimency, just a brush to see what the dream was about."
Interest changed his face. Curiosity was not only a trait of Hermione's, it seemed. "Not what happened with the Dark Lord?"
"That was there, but it was not everything," Hermione said flippantly, giving him a look that read, of course it had to do with what happened with the Dark Lord. "But it was what was happening before that dream that's got me confused. It's a room- and a door-" she gave a frustrated sigh. "What if I just show it to you?"
His eyes blazed at her, strangely vulnerable. "I don't have a Penseive. I would have to invade your mind." He had stopped the Occlumency lessons months ago, explaining it in his usual manner. If you can hold the Dark Lord away from your mind, you need no further lessons. However, if you slack off in practice, I will find out and I will treat you accordingly.
She shrugged. "I don't care." She didn't, really. If there was one person she didn't mind being- well, being inside her mind, it would be Severus Snape.
"You don't understand what you just said," Severus said quickly, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Your mind is your own, you don't let other people in. That's the purpose of Occlumency. To keep people out. If you give a skilled Legilimens a way through your defenses, they could wreak havoc in your mindscape and you would be powerless to stop them."
"I understood what I said," said Hermione. "I'm a grown woman now- I have enough sense to know that you're not going to hurt me." And she seemed the woman in that moment: her youthful body poised in a kind of taunt relaxation that, together with the mess of ringlets that was her hair and the expression on her pale face and dark eyes, brought to mind the primeval forests with their fey…
And then he was snapped back to reality (which consisted of a room in a mansion of a man he had hated since childhood) and she had tilted her head to the side. "I trust you."
That- that floored him. His first instinct was to scowl at her, reprimand her for the stupidity of trusting a man such as he. Severus Snape was a spy for Merlin's sake. A double crosser and doubly dangerous- both sides knew he was a spy for the other. No one should trust him. He didn't even trust himself, sometimes. She couldn't trust him- she was brilliant, perfect, untouched- it was impossible.
But he remembered that she wasn't untouched. She had faced down the Dark Lord, she had felt him rooting around in her mind, she had desperately hidden her secrets from him. She knew what it was like to have to concentrate on keeping your defenses up while concentrating on making sure it did not appear like your defenses were up, all the while projecting false thoughts that you had to think at the same time you were thinking your real thoughts. She could do complicated.
Which was good. Because he was complicated. But could she trust him? That was what was bothering him- she trusted him, but he wasn't sure if she should. In that moment, he decided that she should trust him. That she was right.
So instead of scowling and hurling a scathing remark at her intellect, he stepped forward, until the space between them was small enough for him to smell the shampoo she used for her hair, the lingering stench of boy-sweat from Potter's nightmare, and the faint scent of her skin. He could see the small scattering of freckles across her nose, the coarseness of her curling hair, the small bite mark left by her own front teeth on her lip.
"Are you ready?" he murmured, voice low and silky. She inhaled sharply, and he wondered vaguely if she was afraid and untrusting of him after all.
He half expected her to shake her head, refuse, but instead she raised her chin and looked directly in his eyes. He brought a hand up to grasp her chin, holding it lightly to make sure eye contact would not be lost. The height difference between them was significant- it could be devastating for both her and him if he was swiftly wrenched from her mind.
"Yes," she breathed, and he delved into her mind.
First, those brown, brown eyes that held rings of color, flecked with green or hazel or something that drew him in. It was simple from there to slide between two rings of light then darker finished wood, and into her mind.
In his mind's eye, he could see her mindscape. There were distracting snippets of thought, but he focused on the small Hermione standing nervously. "Follow me," she said shakily. "I don't want to let down my barriers. It'll take me a few hours to put them back up and-"
"Which way-" he paused. He was about to call her 'Miss Granger' again, but for some reason it seemed wrong. If you couldn't call someone by their first name, it seemed, then you had no business wandering around their mind. "Hermione."
She turned around, walking deeper through the simulated chaos she manufactured to fool the surface Legilimens. Eventually, they reached a glass wall, one that subtly reflected the memories and thoughts that Hermione had used to disguise the sheer, yet complete opaque, expanse. With a small frown, she lifted her hand and flicked two fingers apart. The wall parted, rippling like water, and she gestured him through the gap, following behind him.
Hermione led him to her safe vault, opening it with a thought as she explained it to him. "This may be important. I'm putting it in my level three protection." She opened a door in the safe, pausing with her hand on the handle. "This may be disorienting."
He finally did scowl. "Let's go." She opened the door, letting him through first.
It was disorienting, he realized when his stomach rolled in protest. He was looking through another person's eyes, holding a sweaty teenage boy in his thin arms. It was as if he was totally immersed in her, as if Severus Snape had, in some strange twist of fate or magic, become Hermione Granger. The weight of her hair was holding her head up and back, her arms were goose bumped from the cold, and with a flash of his own comforting revulsion, he realized he was petting the back of Harry Potter's hair.
Hermione was next to him, sharing the memory space. "It's in a second or two," she told him, and it was so strange because he was her and she was her and there was another Hermione…
He swallowed in his mind, and waited. Soon enough, Potter looked up and his (Lily's) green eyes met Hermione's.
The drop into Potter's mind was like falling in a dream. It was a rush, a sense of weightlessness and soaring and just dropping without any control. If he had been in his own body, he might have retched. Only the fact that he could still feel Hermione's chin in his hand, hear the night sounds of the old house, and smell the faint scent of her shampoo kept him grounded, and yet still ungrounded at the same time… But none of that mattered because now he was in Potter's mind.
The dream started out calmly. He was walking through a room, ignorant of what was going on beyond his line of sight, and stopping in front of a door. Severus could have gnashed his teeth in frustration- because the ignorant boy refused to pay any attention to his surroundings, to the two Legilimens the room was nothing but a foggy haze. For a moment, it seemed that the dream would end there- but with a sudden shift, he and Hermione were back in the graveyard.
Severus/Hermione/Harry was bound against a smooth gravestone, watching as Hermione was pulled into the half-circle of Death Eaters, standing tall and glaring at them all with dignity. All three minds winced in horror as Voldemort trained his wand on the witch, sending her to the ground, writhing in pain.
The dream fast-forwarded, and Hermione wheeling away from an attacker, lashing out with her knives, and then she was running to Harry, eyes wide and frightened until…
"Avada Kedavra," hissed the Dark Lord, wand almost carelessly pointed in Hermione's direction. Harry watched in horror as she fell, life going out of her beautiful, beautiful eyes until they were dull and still.
With a thrust, Severus found himself back in the room in Grimmauld Place. His hand was holding the warm angle of her chin, his feet were firmly planted on the floor, and the utter terror of the stolen dream was fleeing.
Hermione slowly brought her hand up to his wrist, bringing it down slowly to release her head. She rolled her head quickly, working out the kinks in her neck. "Are you alright?"
"Of course," he snapped, stalking over to the bed and sitting down before he fell down. "Are you?" Was that what it was like? Did she really fight like that? She looked like a wounded lioness, all rage and fury and the desperate urge to protect what was most dear to her. And then… no bloody wonder Potter can't sleep at night if that's what roams through that hollow watermelon he calls a head.
"No," she replied truthfully, swaying a bit. "I think I need to sit down."
He gestured sharply to the space near the foot of the bed. "Then sit down!" She grinned at him sheepishly as she did as he said.
They sat quietly, recovering. This is really something else, Hermione mused. My mind is dizzy and nauseous, but my actually body is fine. Hermione was the first to break the silence. "What did you think?"
"The first dream, the one the nightmare interrupted, was not natural." His voice was harsh. "It seemed like the Dark Lord's manipulative mind magic to me."
Hermione looked at him, a hidden fear in her eyes that he could barely detect. "He's in Harry's mind?"
"Not exactly," Severus said, a small frown wrinkling the skin above the bridge of his impressive nose. "He's sending dreams through their link. They would need eye contact to full possess the other." And then all hell would break loose. The Dark Lord in Harry Potter's mind… or Harry Potter in the Dark Lord's. They'd go mad. It could be a plausible idea if Potter wasn't so goddamn weak.
"Go to bed," he said abruptly, rising. "I need to inform the Headmaster. You should rest." She yawned, as if to verify his statement.
She stood slowly, but stumbled on her way to the door. He saw her falling, reaching out quickly to grab her arm and steady her. "Sorry," she mumbled. "That took more out of me than I thought it would."
"It's no problem," Severus replied smoothly, feeling a strange urge to draw her into his chest, to feel her pressed against him. He shied from it- it had been years since he had hugged or been hugged. Ugh. He hated that word- hugged. But it had been years since he had held another body to his own. He was closed off from other people- in fact, the most contact he had with another person was pretty much localized to the girl he was steadying. He remembered the night, only weeks ago, when he had carried her to her room. The warm weight of her body, the supple skin and even her pointy elbows.
He blinked, turning his thoughts to what she was saying. "I'm alright, now. Just a bit dizzy still." He looked down, realizing he still had a harsh grip on her upper arm. He let go abruptly, turning away.
"Stay here," he said, in a voice that was half an order and half a tentative request. "Your room is down a few floors and if you fall down the stairs, it will be months before I can have a proper sparring match."
She looked past the selfish Slytherin remark, and into the caring side of Severus Snape that he hid as much as possible. "Thank you," she said, yawning again, and falling into his bed. She gave him a sleepy smile, then burrowed under the covers.
He stalked out of the room. Dumbledore would want to know what his precious Savior had dreamt. He would sleep at Spinner's End. It would be better to Floo directly to the Headmaster's office, though. Even from Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange was becoming more of a pain. Her lackeys thought that by taking orders from the one the Dark Lord deemed most loyal, they too would earn his favor. Fools.
By sending her orders out of Azkaban through her sister, who no one could blame for visiting (never mind that Bellatrix was a madwoman and killer and Andromeda had married a Muggle and still Bella was the one Narcissa chose to see) Bellatrix Lestrange was becoming a thorn in Severus' side. He would have to be careful.
Dear Ms. Skeeter,
Hello. You don't know who I am, and it is going to stay that way. You see, you've been buzzing around too many people I care about lately. And this will put a stop to that.
To keep this short: I know you are an unregistered Animagus. You have been an unregistered Animagus since December 1987. I have proof.
In return for me keeping this knowledge from the powerful people you've managed to enrage with your lurid articles, myself included, I have three requests.
The first- you will remain an unregistered Animagus. You've managed to keep this secret hidden from the authorities so far- this should be a small matter to keep it that way.
Second, you will continue your eavesdropping on powerful people. You may even continue to report what you find in your highly unethical and morally colored way- as long as I screen it first. Maybe give it a bit of an edit, hmm? Leave all the information you think might be important to either Hogwarts, the Ministry, or anyone opposing Dumbledore. Write the pure facts- none of your elaboration, Ms. Skeeter- in the accompanying diary. I have a matching one. My ear will be to the ground as well- if you try to dupe me, you will regret it. I owe you a day of reckoning and I will not be at all displeased if that comes sooner rather than later.
Third- For my sake and yours, stop writing that drivel about Harry Potter. Think about it, you stupid woman. The Dark Lord has been defeated by this boy four times. The Dark Lord. Defeated. Four times. By a boy. Must be a pretty powerful boy, no? And how do you think the Dark Lord is reacting to everyone thinking that Harry Potter is a silly little nitwit? Image is everything, Skeeter. If Harry Potter is mad and senseless, and he can still defeat the Dark Lord, what does that say about the Dark Lord? If you aren't careful, he'll make an example out of you. And as much as I would enjoy seeing that, for the moment you are put to better use alive.
Follow my instructions to the letter. We wouldn't want the wrong people hearing the wrong things, would we? And if I so much hear a buzzing near me, I will give no warning before I squish the intruding little insect.
Severus looked up from the letter, raising an eyebrow at the impatient girl waiting for his critique. "I'm impressed." Bloody hell, she can blackmail. I like it. She should have been a Slytherin. "But you know that if Skeeter stops writing about Potter, The Daily Prophet will find someone else who will."
She beamed at him, and he gave her a crooked smirk in return. Not quite a smile, but the best he could do. "All the better for us when the Dark Lord shows himself and all the journalists writing about Harry are proven wrong. Skeeter, on the other hand, will still have some credibility," she explained excitedly, taking back the letter and looking at it with a distinctly critical gaze. He imagined it was the same look she gave every piece of homework before she turned it in.
"Don't sign it," he said, waving one elegant hand in what could have been an irritated gesture. "Leave her wondering. How do you plan to give this to her?" This will involve yours truly in some way. Unless I can weasel out of it? I doubt she'll let me, but… it's worth considering.
"I want to leave it in an unmarked package in her flat," Hermione answered promptly. "Which is why I need you to take me on a field trip to London." When he scowled at her, she smirked at him. "Come on. It can't be that bad!"
His scowl deepened. "Not only do I have to be an accomplice to blackmail, I have to Side-Along Apparate too?" If she hadn't been around him for so long, she would have thought he was genuinely annoyed.
She grinned at him cheekily. "But you'll have the benefit of my charming company!" She patted his arm, his grimace twisting his face deeper than she would have thought was possible. "It's for the good of… well, us. Imagine what you could do with the leverage she could give you?"
Severus heaved a great sigh. "Fine, you insufferable chit of a girl. But if insist on smiling the entire time, not only will I return alone, but they will never find your body." Death threats. Death threats always work in the face of conceding to- well, in the face of conceding to anything. Except perhaps to Hermione.
"I knew you'd come around," Hermione said, laughing. "Thanks, Severus." Well, you don't have to take it for bloody granted, girl. I'm a busy man. I have work to do!
A glare was the only answer she received. "Shoo. I have important work to do. And you have a book to read." His gaze softened though, a moment later. "You'll be by for tea at two?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Hermione said, still smiling brightly. "I'll finish reading it tonight, then on the turnabout I'll pop in for tea. See you in…" she checked her watch. "It's ten now, so I turn back in fourteen hours, sleep for seven or so, practice something- would you stop by the Safe House around, say, nine?"
No. I have to brew all the god-damn potions the rest of the Order are too damn stupid to make and then I need to do hide these memories from the Dark Lord and after that I need to go intimidate some of my less forthcoming informants and perhaps at least consider finding a way to influence Potter's trial. "No problem," Severus said smoothly. "As long as the Dark Lord doesn't call."
Hermione's smile seemed stilted. "Let's hope the bloody wanker decides to take a day off." The expression of complete shock on his face was hilarious. "Sorry, couldn't resist. Harry and Ron are rubbing off on me. Anyways, I'll turn back around midnight again, then another fourteen hours, so I'll see you somewhere between twenty-three hours for me, four for you." With a cheery wave, she left his room in Grimmauld Place.
He sighed again, shaking his head. What was he going to do with the ball of energy and enthusiasm that was Hermione Granger? One minute she was lunging for his throat, the next she was mocking him and he didn't seem to mind at all. Anyone else, he would have eviscerated with his scalpel of a tongue. But she just walked all over him. He was getting soft. Too soft.
Four hours later, his door opened and closed by itself. Well, opened a bit more than the crack he had left in it mere minutes before, then slammed shut as if a giant gust of wind had pushed it. A moment later, Hermione appeared slightly to the left of where his eyes had been focusing.
"Gotcha," she said, but instead of her normal enthusiasm, her voice was weary. Tired. Careworn.
Immediately, he rose from his desk, stalking over to where she stood. "What's wrong?" The Dark Lord came calling. Someone important is hurt. She's hurt. She was looking down, picking at the sleeve of her shirt. Grimmauld Place was shockingly damp and chilly, even when London wasn't damp and dreary.
She didn't look him in the eye, shaking her head. "Nothing. I-"
"Do not lie to me, Hermione," Snape said, cutting her off. "What. Happened." He used his voice to his advantage- he knew the affect it had on most people.
"Nothing," she insisted, meeting his eyes. "Honestly. Just a few more bad dreams." He raised one eyebrow, a silent demand for more information. "Sometimes… I dream that I couldn't get away. That they killed Harry and I was left to-" She broke off, looking into the air at a point somewhere around his desk. "It's nothing."
He crossed the room to her, deliberately grasping her shoulders. "Hermione. Dreams are important- they are mirrors of our subconscious, reflecting and distorting what we know to be true or false. They reveal your deepest fears, your hidden secrets, the truths you try the hardest to deny. But they also feed off of the imagination, taunting and twisting fear into terror. You can be rid of the dreams."
She breathed deeply, and suddenly he realized that he could feel the sharp angles of her collarbones under his thumbs, and the tense muscles of her back and neck beneath his palms. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans and the long sleeved shirt- blue. He liked blue. But she was talking, and he needed to turn his attention to the words she was saying. "I think this one was caused by Harry's dreams, actually. It's quite disconcerting to see yourself murdered, after all."
"Quite," Severus murmured, letting go of her shoulders. "Does the Dark Lord call me?" It was wrong, he supposed, to gain this knowledge of the immediate future. But at least he could put it to good use.
"Nope," she said, smiling broadly at him, a quick change from her previous discontent. "I had a good sparring match a while ago. You got an arse whooping, m'dear," she called cheekily over her shoulder as she neared his little stove and kettle. "Which blend?"
She had called him 'm'dear.' He scowled. "The one in the green jar," he snapped. "Did you bring my book?" She didn't look at him, concentrating on making the tea.
But she still nodded, jerking her head toward her book bag. "It's in there," answered Hermione. "I have a few others inside too, so just rummage around a bit until you find it."
He huffed impatiently, rising with a small groan to grab her bag. "I'm getting too old to be bending down," grumbled the Potions Master. Even so, he snatched up her bag with no problems, until it came to lifting the faded and worn leather satchel. "What do you have in here?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in his customary expression of shock. "Rocks, perhaps? Maybe a few children and a goat? Half your weight in sapphires?"
Her peals of laughter made him fight the urge to smirk. "You're being ridiculous, Severus. It's not that heavy."
"Yes, it is," Severus disagreed in a rolling drawl. "You're a witch. Haven't you heard of feather-light spells?" He hefted the bag onto his small bed and spilled its contents onto the worn duvet. More tumbled out of the bag then he would have deemed possible: at least five or six books, a change of clothing, a compact, a larger mirror, a small set of lock picks, another set of clothing, two cloth bags marked 'Harry' and 'Ron' and another pouch which Severus knew held dehydrated food.
In short, everything she would need to make an escape with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.
He recalled rising and moving swiftly to where she stood, anger clouding his judgment, but it must have been faster than he realized. When he grabbed her arms, turning her to face him, Hermione squeaked and tried to fight, but his grasp on her arms was too tight. She was too weak in a fight of strength. Severus may have been getting older, but his arms were still unbelievably strong. When she tried to break his hold, something in her wrist popped and her hand spasmed, spilling boiling water onto her arm, chest, and stomach.
Horrified, Severus released her and stepped back, drawing his wand to help as she made a muffled keen of pain, head bowed. Some part of his mind noted that instead of tossing her head back in pain, she curled inward.
"Hermione-" he started, previous anger forgotten, but his words tangled in his mouth like abandoned needlework- unusable, a thousand different combinations but none that would make sense. "I-"
She shook her head quickly, the pain showing on her face gradually disappearing until she looked only slightly strained. "You are a bloody fuck-wanker, Severus Snape," she rasped, and he could hear the repressed pain in her voice. "Now go get your burn salve and get me on that bed."
He stood there in shock for a moment until she glared at him, a hint of her anger simmering under the surface of her usually placid eyes. "Now!"
Tripping over his feet, Severus rushed to do as she said. He bent down and picked her up clumsily, wincing when she moaned quietly in pain. Sweat was breaking out on her brow, matting the curls that lay limp on her forehead. Cursing at himself mentally, he lay her down gently on the bed, drawing his wand to cast a quick Numbing Spell.
Once the spell took hold, she sighed gratefully. "Thank you, Severus. The burn salve, please?" Immediately, he turned on the heel of his boot to get what she requested.
"Here," he snapped, tension and worry making his voice tight. "You know how to apply it, I presume?"
Hermione raised one eyebrow at him, subconsciously copying his own mannerism. "Hey. I'm the one lying in bed looking like one parent was an unlucky lobster."
She met his gaze squarely, clearly telling him to get over himself. He glared back stonily, refusing to relent until she raised one eyebrow. He relented. "Sorry," he muttered. "I-"
"No," replied Hermione, cutting him off by raising a hand. "Right now, you are going to mend my wrist, then help me apply this salve."
He noticed that she had waited until after his apology to protest. He scowled, moving closer to sit on the bed and taking the burnt wrist in his large hands as gently as he could. The skin was red and blistering, and even with the Numbing Spell Hermione's breathing quickened perceptibly. "This is going to hurt," he murmured, looking down at her.
She laughed huskily. "No, really?" she said sarcastically. "I thought you were going to massage my aching muscles from where you got me earlier."
An image flashed into his head- his hands on her lightly tanned skin, rubbing slow circles into the muscles of her thighs, or his thumbs digging into the knotted muscles around her neck and shoulders. Her bare neck and shoulders. He remembered the way she moaned lightly when rubbing her own neck-
He swallowed harshly. "Impertinent chit," he muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. "Hold still." He tapped her wrist firmly with his wand, nodded when he heard the snap and pop of it returning to its proper position. Her face tightened, but she didn't wince.
"Not too bad," she judged, eyeing her wrist. "Now I need to get that burn salve on. What would be the best way to do that?"
He held out the jar to her. "Take off your shirt and apply it to the burnt areas," he instructed. "Rub it in, or it won't work."
Hermione nodded shakily- just the thought of touching the burnt skin made her feel like she would pass out. "Alright."
"I'll wait on the other side of the room," he said tersely, drawing his wand, and swishing it gently, conjuring a partition. "There."
He was just a shadow on the other side. Hermione gritted her teeth, and went to work. She vanished her shirt, then carefully pulled back her bra with sigh of relief- the added protection of the fabric had mostly spared her breasts. Using her left hand, she scooped up a middling amount of the strange mixture- an oily cross between a gel and a paste. She started on her right hand- pressing the salve to the burn and rubbing cautiously. "Ahh-" she whimpered as the burn intensified. "Ah-"
"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" the Potions Master asked, a hint of worrying tainting his usually silky smooth voice.
Hermione took in a wavering breath. "It just hurts more than I thought it would." She scooped up another handful, and spread it on her burnt flesh. "Ahh!" she keened, agony etched in her face and weaving through her voice.
"Are you proper, Miss Granger?" Severus asked stiffly, debating the possibilities.
Hermione frowned, then put her bra back on. "Relatively," she responded warily. "What-" He vanished the partition. "Oh." She felt the urge to cover herself further, her hand even going so far as to twitch toward the bedsheets.
"Oh, indeed," he sneered, grabbing the jar from her. "You can either brace yourself or I can Stun you."
She considered for a moment, before sighing and bracing herself. "Go ahead." As he started to apply the salve, she bit back a groan and leaned into his pillows, turning her head into them. They smelled like him- that smoky herbal scent that clung to his robes, a hint of old books, and the clean musk of man. She breathed deeply as he moved up her arm, concentrating on the pillow and on her breathing as his gentle, but firm hands rubbed the salve into her poor skin.
As soon as he saw her eyes close, Severus allowed his eyes to roam over her body. He had seen the outline of it before- he didn't know why her shape was affecting him so. Hips, slightly rounded stomach, faint indentations where her ribs were, and then… her breasts. Cupped in her bra, they seemed so innocent. And yet, they were doing crazy things to his head and even worse things to his-
No. He was a Master Occlumens- he should- he could- control himself. He wrenched his gaze up, to the reddened skin the covered those collarbone he had noticed so many times before. His hand slowed as he reached them- going over her shoulder as she made harsh little sounds and screwed her eyes shut. He could touch them. He was going to touch them. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself. And then his fingers were gliding over those little bones, slick with the salve. She burrowed further into the pillow, and some part of him winced in sympathy with her. He didn't like causing her pain.
And it was then Severus Snape realized he really and truly cared for Hermione Granger.
And so ends Chapter 10.
*Okay people. I have a bit of bad news. You know how I've been a very nice author with regular posting schedules? Every Friday, like clockwork? Well... I've decided that due to my extremely busy and chaotic schedule that will be the next two months or so, I'm going to stretch posts to every other Friday. This will give me more time to write (only half-way through Nineteen) so you can have regular updates longer, but it also gives me time to breathe. School starts on August 6 (my city is NUTS) and so I'll have IB(which translates to hours of homework, plus IA's (an investigative paper) for every class, and an EE (extreme research paper) plus CAS), AP, NHS, three volunteer organizations, an after school job, college applications, and family coming over. And I have three WIP which need to be written for. I really hope you understand- as much as I love fanfiction, RL stuff sometimes has to come first.
And you'll still get updates on a schedule! Just every two weeks, not every week. And I suppose that if I'm feeling particularly joyous or had a writing spurt, I'll throw in a few extra updates. :) The next one will therefore be on August 9.
Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who review. Comments here or on tumblr are always appreciated.