Hermione started small. Not by choice, but because she was not allowed to leave the house unless she had an escort. Her escort was at work.
Hermione started with a white linen shirt that buttoned up the front and was cut in a masculine style, but fitted for a woman.
Would it stay white, or would it turn black? Assuming she could even manage that far. Could the process be performed in the opposite manner, making a cloak or a shirt that was cut from the sun itself?
Her hands ran over the cover of the book lovingly now. After Crookshanks, it was her favorite pet. It didn't matter that it looked like it had been written in blood. She wouldn't believe that it had been; it was silly. What purpose did it serve? Intimidation should come from the contents, not the ink. The cover intrigued her though, that fur. Rarity of rareties Severus had said--before he had seduced her--and she believed him.
He had said so many things, and she had swallowed every word, each sentence whole. His sad story of school, his disgusting time with the Death Eaters, and Voldemort's promises... What a sad, pathetic youth, a crushed and abused boy, and a manipulative and sensual man.
And all of this thinking was simply a distraction, stopping her from doing what she was planning. The main problem, and most daunting part of the process, was the use of wandless magic. How to imbue the cloth with raw power, how to make it... not sentient, but...
Hermione sighed. Book learning took her very far, but learning from experience took her that extra distance. She lowered her wand and flopped on the bed. This would just have to wait until Severus returned; she needed his help. That was the only thing from him she needed, though he repeatedly told her differently.
Sometimes she believed it, just like she believed everything else he said. Sometimes she wanted to believe it, and didn't mind how tangled things got when she woke in his bed.
Did he respect her in the morning?
Of course. He wouldn't have tried in the first place if he hadn't respected her. Respect wasn't love though, and outside his bouts of seduction and their nights of sex, there was only tolerance. Hermione wanted love; she didn't want to settle for sex.
She wanted more than tolerance in the place she had to live. Alone was better than this bizarre cycle she was being tossed through. As if answering an unspoken call, the front door downstairs opened. Odd that he would be back so early. She had the impression his hours were relatively normal when he was... between tasks.
"Severus," Hermione said loudly, standing and going to the stairs, "I need your hel--" Her legs froze at the top of the stairs for an instant. "Shit!"
The door was standing open because a body was laying in the doorway. Hermione almost fell as she tromped down the stairs, then cursed herself and ran back up to get her wand. "Damn damn damn!" she muttered, and this time did slip down the last three stairs to land awkwardly next to Severus' prone body.
Though he was facedown, Hermione knew it was him, knew The Cloak simply by the vibes it gave off. It called to her, sang out a powerful melody she could feel in her bones. Was it better to leave it on if he were hurt? Or take it off, let that mellow wash of absent stimuli hold him? "Can you speak?" she said quietly, and magicked him into the air.
Bruises covered his face, and blood dribbled from nose, mouth, and a cut over his left eye. That left eye was swollen shut, but his right eye flickered open briefly and fixed on her.
"Should I take it off?" Hermione asked. That was her main concern because all these other injuries she could handle with a combination of healing spells and potions, but The Cloak might either sap what little strength he had if she removed it... or left it on, or it might leave him numb, distant.
"Off to--"
Hermione placed her fingers over his mouth lightly, then went about the difficult task of removing the cloak with one hand. Just touching it she could feel the energy coursing through it, and her knees wobbled at the pain transferred from Severus to herself.
"Careful," he managed, and attempted to lift his hand to undo the clasps himself.
"I'll manage. You won't." The pain didn't catch her by surprise this time, and she pushed it to the back of the line of priorities. One small, twisting silver clasp undone, and then another, and... the last.
The cloak fell from his shoulders, and his entire body sagged. He shivered dramatically and dropped an inch when Crookshanks yowled sadly to startle Hermione.
"Crookshanks! Go!" she snapped, and steered Severus up the stairs. Luckily the cat didn't wind around her legs, or he would have received at the least a very stiff shove with her foot. "How badly are you hurt, Severus?" asked Hermione as she lowered him to the bed. "Can you answer me?" Keep his attention, keep him conscious if possible.
His open eye, which had been glassy and unfocused fixed on her abruptly. "Bad enough to know it." He blinked slowly as Hermione's infuriated and concerned face was reflected in his eye. "Worse than usual." One hand rose and settled delicately on his stomach. "Inside."
"I'm going to need a mediwizard then. I can't handle internal injuries. Who do you usually--"
"No."
It was as strong as he could manage, but it was enough to give Hermione pause. "No? You'll die if I don't. You need real medical help, Severus. Don't play this game with me." Her hands worked on their own, unfastening his robes, revealing pale skin beaten and bruised. "This... isn't the Cruciatus, is it?" With a touch lighter than a feather, she traced a trail of bruises down the lightly defined oblique abdominals.
"A... boot," he hissed, trying to edge away from her fingers.
The look of unmasked pain he showed on his face made Hermione jerk her hand away. "Something for the pain. You can keep a potion down?"
"I'll make it." He spoke in complete sentences, but it was very apparent an effort he couldn't sustain. "The... workroom."
"I'll find it. Relax." She ran to the workroom and yanked open the first cabinet her eyes fell on. It was filled with various ingredients. The second was the same, but the third, smaller cabinet was filled with bottles and phials all neatly arranged. Hermione rearranged them into an indecipherable order to find the strongest pain relieving potion amongst them.
"Here. The whole thing," she said and tipped the bottle up against Severus' lips. Gaze intent, she watched his lips part and the potion drain into his mouth. She wiped his mouth with her sleeve when he coughed and sent some of the potion trickling down the side of his face.
While waiting for it to take hold, Hermione returned to the task of undressing him. It had to be bad when he didn't resist at all, even when his shorts were yanked down roughly. There were more important things to concern herself with though, namely the abuse that had been heaped upon him. To eyes untrained for mediwizard duty, it looked life-threatening; there was nothing to say that it wasn't otherwise.
Clenching her jaw and swallowing hard on the bubble of panic, Hermione started on the things she could manage. The cut over his eye was cleansed and healed, blood washed away, a warming charm settled over the bed, and the lights turned down to the minimum. His breathing had gone slow and deep, if a bit ragged, while she had finished all that, and she knew it was safe to consult someone about his injuries as he slept.
Crookshanks followed her every step, and it took all her self-control not to snap at him when he would get under her feet. He was worried just as she was; yelling would do nothing. "Go stay with Severus, Crookshanks. I need to get this done. Don't step on him." Understanding better than most people she knew, the cat turned and hurried up the stairs.
Standing in front of the dark and cold fireplace, looking like it hadn't been used in an age, Hermione searched for floo powder. Hope against hope, really. Not being on the floo network would make much more sense for him, but sense wasn't figuring into the situation at the moment. On the mantle in what appeared to be, of all things, a shoe polish tin, there was maybe a quarter inch of the powder.
"Please work," Hermione muttered before starting a fire and tossing in a pinch of powder. "Albus Dumbledore."
It took a few heart-wrenching moments in which Hermione thought either the fireplace was off the network or Dumbledore wouldn't receive her summons, but then his head appeared amidst the green flames.
"Miss Granger, what a surprise."
"I'm afraid this is business, sir. I really don't have anyone else to... consult." She wasn't even conscious of the way her hands were twisting her wand about.
Dumbledore didn't miss a beat. "Ask away, child."
"It's Severus." Didn't even think to be embarrassed by using his first name. "He's hurt badly and refuses to see a doctor. They're internal and I don't really know anything about real mediwizardry, and if he doesn't--"
"I'll be there shortly. Calm yourself." And then he was gone.
At first, Hermione hugged herself in front of the roaring fire, feeling chill, but sense returned. Leaving a fire going was bad, and she extinguished it. A calming potion would be better and more helpful than huddling in the ash of the fireplace trying to hold back the shock.
But she was still staring into the now-empty fireplace when there came a sharp set of raps on the front door. Hermione almost ran to the door, but cautiously peered out the window first to see Albus Dumbledore standing on the step. Relief flooded her, and she was sure she wouldn't need a calming potion with the venerable old man there.
Before answering the door, Hermione saw Crookshanks at the top of the stairs, his back arched and fur standing on end. "It's all right; he's here to help. You remember the headmaster." She opened the door and stood immediately aside. "Right this way, sir. He's upstairs. I gave him a pain relieving potion and cleaned up what I could, but--"
"Yes, you did the proper thing under the circumstances. Let's have a look."
"You're... a mediwizard?" she asked as she followed him to the bedroom.
"No, but I've picked up a thing or two." He turned and smiled at her. "Don't worry. I'll make sure he survives in one piece. He'd be absolutely insufferable if something happened. Why hello, Severus!"
The reply was a strained, muted growl; he wasn't completely conscious. "What are you doing here?"
When Hermione came into view of the man in the bed, he glared at her, though it seemed a very weak dose of his usual poison. "I told you I didn't need--" A strangled gargle that probably would have been a howl of pain from any other patient interrupted him as Dumbledore placed his hand flat on Severus' midsection.
The smile had been abandoned, and now there was a look of deep thought on the old wizard's face. This was a moment of complete seriousness for him, an event Hermione had never been witness to. "You were right to contact someone, Miss Granger. Stop glaring at me, Severus; you're three steps from your grave."
"I'm fine." The sweat on his forehead, the ragged breathing, and the lips twisted into a snarl of pain said otherwise.
"Sir, is there anything I can..." Hermione's offer of assistance faded as she noticed Crookshanks curled up against Severus' other side. He even had his arm around the cat.
"Another pain relieving potion, I think. The rest will just take a single wand," Dumbledore reported, still appearing thoughtful.
"Yes, sir." Actually, she thought he was merely sending her on an errand to clear the room, but there was no denying in that she had been bordering on more hurtful than helpful anyway. She went to the workroom and rummaged around the cabinet she had disordered so thoroughly until she found the potion she was looking for. Just to be safe, she grabbed a second.
"...chance."
"Stupid and careless. I was lucky."
"Stop talking, Severus. It's not healing you."
"Neither are you."
"I'll do what I can, but if you refuse to see a proper mediwizard, you'll do most of your healing the old-fashioned way. Now hold still; this will stop the bleeding and close the tear."
Hermione stood in the doorway and watched as electric blue light poured from the tip of Dumbledore's wand. She expected to see Sev--Snape's--her old prof--oh hell, Severus' body react in some thrashing of limbs and gathering of brows, maybe another snarl, but he remained still and quiet. In fact, he even looked relieved.
"Now, I'm afraid I'll have to relive you of this," said Dumbledore and held out his hand. Severus' wand flew into it. "I shall return it to you when you are properly healed. Allow Miss Granger to attend to you, friend."
The reply was nothing more than an incoherent groan.
"I'm sure you'll have more to say when you've got a bit of your strength back." With that same staid smile, Dumbledore looked at Hermione. "Let's chat."
"At least three weeks."
She had expected him to scream in outrage, but certainly not to simply say, "No," and cross his arms over his chest.
"You don't have a choice. If you won't see a mediwizard, then you have to heal the natural way, and that takes time. Eat this." Hermione shoved a bowl of soup in his face.
"No."
"You're acting like a child. Eat the soup." It wouldn't work, but nothing else she had tried worked either, so she was back to simple honesty.
He turned his nose up at it.
Making a sound of disgust, Hermione set the bowl down rather more harshly than she had planned, and splashed it all over the bedside table. "Oh you really are being a child. Grow up, Severus, because I am not going to deal with you like this. You could at least be a little thankful for not letting you die, you know? But I suppose that would be expecting too much from you, to have an ounce of sense or respect or politeness in your head." She stood from her seat on the edge of the bed and glared at him. "Fine. Next time, I won't bother. This would be so much easier if you didn't need to eat anyway."
It was very easy to maintain her anger walking across that room with him sitting silent and sullen behind her. So very easy to take it out on the door as she slammed it, but after... Clinging to the shreds she still felt, Hermione went to the guest room, maintaining her march, grabbed a handful of random clothing, and proceeded to the bathroom.
One more door to slam, and her feet slid slowly out from underneath her. Huddled on the floor, arms around her legs, forehead on knees, anger completely washed away now, she cried silently.
For two days she had tried to help him, and for two days she had been utterly rejected. When he chose to speak, it was often to insult and belittle her, the old hurts about being a know-it-all, too smart and at the same time not smart enough, clumsy, annoying, and distinctly unattractive. It wasn't true, none of it, she told herself each time, but it was wearing her down. Even Crookshanks had turned traitor on her, staying with him in the bedroom.
God how she hated him, how desperately she wanted to hate him... If he could say those things to her, then she could do this. "I hate you," Hermione whispered, through her falling tears. "I hate you."
With slightly more strength and a few less tears, Hermione pushed herself upright. Hiding in a bathroom, she wouldn't let him do that to her. Self-respect was more important than his health now. To hell with him. Forgetting the idea of a bath, she returned to the bedroom and yanked open the door.
"Here. Heal your own damned self, you self-righteous prick." With that said, she threw her wand at him and smiled as it struck him in the face. Before he could reply, she was gone, heading down the stairs and out the front door.
"Hermione! Hermione, we haven't heard--yes. Oh, of course! Your room is always waiting for you! He'll be so happy to hear. I'll be looking forward to seeing you, dear."
Hermione had finally seen sense and was coming home.
It was nightfall and Hermione had not returned. Severus stared at the clock as the hands moved slowly and he held on to her wand. Crookshanks had stayed with him for reasons he didn't understand, but the cat was getting antsy and apparently hungry. His eyes strayed to the bowl of soup, now horribly cold, at bedside, and his stomach growled.
"I should have just eaten the damned soup," he groused, but his voice lacked any real conviction. On the contrary, it sounded very small and weak.
Once again, he tried to get up, but actually sitting fully up caused horrible pain in his gut, and walking... The very concept frightened him. Why now? Why this time instead of any other? The idea of simply dying alone, bleeding to death didn't bother him, but with all this fuss... Now it was just stupid.
He stared down at her wand now. "Accio parchment," he said, and held his arm out. Nothing happened, he could feel it. If this were his own wand, this wouldn't be an issue at all, but no, Dumbledore had that.
Scowling, Severus held his arm out again. "Accio parchment!" he snapped, and a jolt of pain rushed up his arms, through his head, and straight to his stomach. Maybe it had been for the best to have his wand taken. Clenching his eyes shut and holding one arm over his damaged middle, he sat there and tried to find his breath.
After a few minutes, when the pain was at least somewhat not searing, a piece of parchment fluttered into his lap. "Oh goody," he rasped, and prepared to repeat the process.
Without her wand, Hermione felt naked and distinctly unsafe, and she regretted throwing it at Severus. Well, no. She didn't regret throwing it at him; she regretted leaving it with him. There was also something... liberating, and that confused her. How was it liberating to be without the single most useful thing she had ever owned? Yet, here she was, settled in her old room, and ready to forget the entire day, the previous week had ever happened.
Not changing into pajamas as she had none with her, leaving it all with Severus, she collapsed on top of the blankets. In moments she was deep asleep.
It was morning, well into morning and fast approaching lunch when she awoke. The house was pleasantly silent as both her parents were off to work, and she had the whole day to do absolutely nothing. No battles to get Severus to eat, no fights, no traitorous cat... Just peace and quiet.
No library. No workroom. No wand. Peace and quiet. Boredom. Hermione sighed. It was something she could get used to if she had to. It only took a short trip to the library, Muggle or wizard, and she'd be able to read away the hours. Not necessarily challenging, but stimulating enough.
Downstairs, she found a note waiting for her.
This came for you this morning, but we didn't want to wake you. There's toasted muffins in the pantry, and some sandwiches in the refrigerator.
'This' turned out to be a letter delivered by owl post. It was a tightly rolled scroll, tied by a piece of thread that looked like...
Frowning and with her hands trembling, Hermione broke the thread and unfurled the scroll. She read it four times quickly.
You were right.
I need you, Hermione.
I'm sorry.
No signature. None needed.
Hermione sighed. Her parents would be disappointed she was leaving so soon after arriving.
It was raining when she went back, and she found it oddly appropriate with those dark clouds and rare shafts of sunlight streaming down. An omen? Portents of things to come? No, she had abandoned such ideas when she had fled Divination in school. A fraudulent hodgepodge of guesswork and outright lies, Divination was, and she wouldn't stand for it. Facts and what she could learn from them and what she could do with that knowledge--that was what was important to her.
All too soon, she stood on the step, soaked to the bone. Hesitation only gained her an extra pound of sopped robes, so she put on her bravest front and opened the door. Idly, as she crossed the threshold, she wondered if she had waited too long and he was even more badly injured. Certainly his stubbornness would lead him there one day, if not already.
"Severus?"
He appeared, and it took all the self-control Hermione had not to laugh. He looked so utterly pitiful beginning with the way he walked--and what was he doing walking?--out from the rear. One hand was firmly on the wall, supporting him, and his steps were slow and shuffling.
A pair of boxers were sitting so low on his hips they just barely kept his modesty; the waistband was stretched across his pelvis and off the softer tissue of his stomach. A long satiny grey robe draped his frame, but hung open, the belt left untied. He was in sad shape, bruises still coloring his pale skin, his eyes sunken and decorated with dark bags; his hair was unkempt, oily in a manner she had never seen. Worst of all, and yet most humorous was his stomach. It was bruised, discolored, raw, and swollen. If Hermione didn't know better, she might have thought he was in the early to middle stages of pregnancy.
It must have been all quite plain on her face because he grimaced. "The spell," he offered, and took another shuffling step forward. "It's much more uncomfortable than it looks."
What worried Hermione more was that he didn't seem the least embarrassed about his appearance or condition. "You shouldn't be walking," she said evenly, observing him as the laughter died in her throat.
"Your cat. He demanded to be fed."
"And you? Have you eaten?" Pitiful, though she couldn't tell him that. He looked nearer to death than when he had collapsed.
"No. Too much effort."
She eyed him critically. "Walking looks like it's too much effort. I don't even want to know how you managed to get downstairs; I'm going to have to levitate you up."
The wince he let loose made Hermione pause. "Something wrong with that?"
"Please keep my head intact. It doesn't agree with being crushed against ceilings."
She blinked. "Crushed against... Oh! You remember that?"
The scowl was classic Snape. Neville would have been terrified. "I often wonder how I could ever forget." He held out his hand in an effort to change the subject. "Here."
Her wand.
"Thanks. This'll help." She took it from him, and noted he looked even worse at this distance. "I felt naked without it." The fact that his face remained slack and tired looking when presented with such an obvious opening further worried her. "Have you had any pain relieving potion?"
Shake of the head, maybe he looked a little ashamed. It was hard to tell.
"Severus, for God's sake." Irritation took over from more gentle feelings, and Hermione inserted herself under his arm, supporting him. "I'm surprised you're not dead, doing all this, asking to get hurt."
A dark chuckle reverberated through him. "Story of my life. I'm so hungry, Hermione."
"You need to get in bed and stay there," Hermione said sternly, not letting the ring of despair escape. This whole situation disturbed her, to see him so vulnerable and open. It wasn't him. It wasn't good. "Keep your arm around my shoulder. I'll just levitate you a little."
Instead of being lighter when floating in the air, he was heavier as he leaned on her completely. "You don't look good," Hermione said casually as she led him up the stairs slowly. Or smell so good she noted, wrinkling her nose.
"You're too kind. I know it's much worse than that, even laughable. I was st--"
"You were in pain." Stubborn, but not stupid. Perhaps stupidly stubborn.
"Nothing worse than what I've dealt with before. I always managed." He ducked his head as the ceiling over the stairs leveled before opening up into the hallway.
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "I was here, you know. You could have asked for help. No, you didn't even have to ask. I would have given it to you; I tried. Look where it's got you. Duck your head."
Ducking obediently, Severus shook his head. "I am sorry."
"I know." She paused when she saw the state of the bed. "Can you stand while I... Oh, I have a better idea. You stink; it's time for a bath."
"For Merlin's sake, I don't need a nursemaid." Protesting didn't get him far while he was floating in the air though, and he was well aware that his life was at her mercy.
"No, you need a good kick in the arse. But since you're wounded, a bath will have to do." Hermione smiled up at her unwilling patient. "Don't worry, I'll have you on the road to health in no time."
After Hermione had Severus situated in the hot water--with his sigh of approval--she stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen, then went to make some food. Albus had informed her that a liquid diet would have to do for a week, though soft foods would do as well. No alcohol, nothing spicy, nothing harsh. A dull, safe diet.
Crookshanks sat at her feet while she made a thick soup, the first sign of her cat since she had returned. "Everything's fine, Crookshanks," she said quietly, adding large noodles to the soup. "I'm sure he appreciated you staying with him."
Meowing loudly, Crookshanks stood and rubbed against her legs.
"I still think you're a traitor. Now don't trip me." She found a platter that looked distinctly out of place, and put the pot of soup, a pair of bowls, spoons, and two glasses of milk. She carried it upstairs with Crookshanks following dutifully behind her.
"Severus? Are you still alive in there?" she called to the mostly-closed bathroom door, and set the platter on the dresser.
"Barely."
"Something to eat then? I have about three litres of soup here." There was the sound of water splashing a bit.
"I don't think I'm that hungry." More splashing.
"Do you need some help?" She was ready to administer it if needed, but she didn't want to baby him either. That would just add insult to the severe injury, and that was the last thing she wanted. If Albus Dumbledore trusted her to watch after him, then she would not let him down in any capacity.
The splashing ceased. "No. Where are my clothes?"
"Put on the robe for now. I think you'll be more comfortable in bed without anything on."
There was a pause. "Saucy wench."
Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Of course, you'll be in it alone, but that's beside the point, isn't it? Your health is more important than some minor physical gratification."
"I suppose, but I don't have to be happy about it." The door opened and he emerged, the robe on and tied very loosely in front. The steps he took were still small, shuffling and tentative, but he did look better overall.
The two kept silent, small talk exhausted, until they were both eating soup. Severus was first to break the quiet. "If it were simply my health, I would cooperate more."
Hermione took another spoonful of soup, blowing on it, then sipping it as she considered his words. "So you were being stubborn for something other than the joy of it?"
"Yes." His bowl was emptied before he would speak again. "I have duties that I must attend to. I can't stay in a bed for three weeks. I must go."
More soup was ladled into his bowl, and Hermione sat back to finish her own. "You were obviously... discovered during one of these duties. You can't very well return to them."
"I know what you think of my job," he said evenly, strength and color returning to him. "You're right regarding any hope of infiltration; I can't. They'd prefer me dead. However, I've proven quite capable of espionage in general. Wire-taps and spy cameras, surveillance, Veritaserum, those sorts of things."
Now that did make a bit more sense. "It doesn't matter. You still can't do it, especially not without your wand. Next time, you really will get killed."
The half-eaten bowl of soup was forgotten. "That is simply a risk I will have to take. There is an event coming up that I must observe. The Death Eaters in attendance will more than make up for the risks." Severus reclined against the pillows and closed his eyes. "I must go."
"No, you can't. There are risks, but there is also sure failure. You're looking at failure here." Hermione fixed him with her best disapproving glare, the one that always cowed Harry and Ron. "You won't go."
"This information is vital. I must go."
"You can't, and if it's that important then... I'll go in your place." A small voice wondered if she had actually said that. The look on Severus' face proved that yes, she had.
"You?"
"Me."
"You can't."
"And neither can you."
"You... don't know anything about being a spy!"
Hermione leaned forward a little, resting her hand over his. "Then teach me."
TBC