Author's note: I'm terribly sorry that I failed to mention that Melotromaut is a character that I created, sort of a cross between Hannibal Lecter and Richard E. Grant, only wizard style. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a tasteful villain. Anyway, on with the show, that is, assuming I EVER go back to working on my thesis when I'm busy catching up on all the recently updated fics that have been surfacing. I must recommend "The Joke's on Her" by Goddessnmb1 (G: I hope you're reading this and that you don't mind me doing a little plugging for your terrific fic!)

I have big plans for the next chapter... Guess what it is! You got it! A barrel more sexual tension, served up nice and repressed.

Chapter Seventeen

The hospital wing was, as usual, mostly empty when they arrived. Well, in truth, it had really been Severus who had arrived, bearing the, now, unconscious Hermione.

Upon their apparation to the gates, she had one last, conscious and self- depreciating thought before passing out from the pain of Severus's hands at her sides, as they supported her weight. The ridiculous swoon at his strength when he had simply picked her up had caught her off guard. She had never thought of herself as the weak and simpering female that she felt at that moment, but there she was, decked out in her ridiculous garb from a more romantic time period, in the arms of a tall, dark and handsome man with shaggy and eccentric musician's hair and a fiercely protective look on his face.

She felt a sudden hysterical horror at the thought that they must look like the cover of some cheesy romance novel like the ones Lavender used to read constantly back in school.

It was after this dawning and hysterical revelation, that Severus tightened his grip on her, sending fresh pain into her aching sides, and the world went blurry, then black.

His face was a mask as he strode angrily up the stairs. God, he was a fool to have left her there, even for that moment! He knew full well that a woman as gorgeous as Hermione wouldn't be left alone for long, especially with that.. .that.. Horror story of a wizard skulking around to prey on her!

But no, she was not prey. Not at all. She had made her independent strength quite clear with the brilliant, as always, use of that particular charm on the disgusting Melotromaut. Severus inadvertently felt a smirk grace the corner of his mouth as he thought of the other wizard, writhing and shrieking in the little alcove, under the influence of a well aimed charm by an exceedingly talented and powerful witch.

Just a few more steps, and they'd be at the door to the hospital wing. He sighed, hoisting her a little higher in his arms for the last bit of the trek. He had secretly hoped to see an entirely different individual other than Melotromaut writhing and shrieking this evening, and in an entirely different context.

Hermione's body was warm in his arms, and her head was thrown backwards, baring her neck and a good portion of her chest. Her cleavage rose and fell with each breath, and he forced his eyes to the hallway in front of him, clenching his teeth.

It seemed, he thought darkly, that fate conspired to keep them from any sort of consummation, no matter how they planned and hoped. He kicked open the door to the hospital wing, and was immediately unburdened of his load by Madame Pomfrey, who tutted at him for not simply using a levitation spell, when he could have completely thrown out his back carrying her manually.

She levitated the unconscious Hermione to a bed, made a quick, visual check of her injuries without removing her clothing, and then turned to Severus.

"I don't care what you were doing in these outrageous garments. Gods know I was once young myself, Severus, but honestly, why take her into an unsafe situation."

"Madame, I had intended it to be anything but unsafe. We, unfortunately, cannot always account for the element of chance in said situation." Severus recognized the hint of petulance in his voice. He explained the night in short, frustrated tones, to the patient Pomfrey, who, when he had finished, shooed him into a waiting room and went to tend to Hermione's injuries.

The mediwitch applied a poultice, and performed a few healing charms, but there was really not much to be done for bruising. It was not considered to be life-threatening, and time tended to heal most effectively when it came to such things, although, it did seem rather nasty to look at it.

Ah well, there was no internal bleeding, so she tidied her up as best she could, and then went to fetch Severus.

"Well, she seems to be healing nicely, Severus, though I would recommend surveillance and bed rest for a few days. She needs strength to recuperate, I know I can do little more, but it's nothing more than a few bad bruises. I've given her something for the pain, and I would ask that you see that she takes a dosage every few hours." She handed him a bottle. "I'll keep her here, if you can't be bothered, but I know that she'd prefer to be under your supervision."

Severus nodded. "Indeed, I think she's much rather wake up in a bed rather than a cot, Madame Pomfrey. I shall see that she takes these."

"Very good, and keep her out of trouble. I don't want her overtaxing herself. I entrust her health to your care, Severus." With that, she smiled, and he thought he could detect a hint of a knowing gleam in her eye.

Severus flooed himself and Hermione down to his chambers, noting the nice glow from the well-lit fireplace, and the two wine glasses and bottle that sat chilling on his mantle. Grumbling at yet another reminder of their evening gone to waste, he set her down onto his bed. He arranged her as best he could, wincing as she moaned quietly in her sleep, and removed her shoes.

Reluctant to remove any more of her clothing, for his own sanity's sake, he went to his shelves and removed a pepper-up potion, which he diluted slightly with honey and milk before carrying it back to her. He lifted her to a sitting position, and tilted the beaker to her lips, admiring the way the liquid poured into her mouth over her lower lip, which was pressed against the smooth, glass beaker. He replaced the empty beaker on the bedside table, before waiting a few minutes, still holding her upright.

She came awake easily, rolling her head to crack her neck, and stretching as she looked up at him. "I'm so sorry, Severus," she said, looking contrite. "I've ruined the whole evening, haven't I?"

He felt his insides tug, slightly, at her chagrin. "My dearest, you've done nothing of the sort. I'm only relieved that you're not more grievously injured. In fact, it's myself who should be apologizing. I shall never forgive myself for leaving you in the company of that...monster!"

He shook with silent rage. His impotency to simply kill Melotromaut had built up his anger within him. The drawbacks to the paradox of time travel was the inability to actually do anything of import that would alter the future. He only hoped that Hermione's incident hadn't caused a rift, though he knew that the conflict had been unavoidable.

Hermione settled in against him, noting his building rage. "You know, Severus, I think he deserved what he got, in the end."

Thinking of the bastard's future at Azkaban brought him some amount of comfort. "Well, nevermind. You're spending the next few days here, if you don't mind. Your thesis is completed, and no doubt you have some extracurricular reading you've been dying to catch up on," at this she smiled, he knew her too well. "And I've been given the welcome task to keep you off your feet for a few days." He almost blushed at how that sounded, but he looked at Hermione, who was grinning, and shaking with repressed laughter, and gave in to a smile himself.

"You know, Severus, if you don't kiss me, I'm going to have to resort to violence." His smile fading, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, allowing his mouth to mold to her's, capturing her lower lip between his teeth, then releasing it. He pulled away to see her looking at him slightly glassy-eyed, her mouth open tantilizingly.

He cleared his throat, reminding himself of Pomfrey's warning against "strenuous activities."

"It's late," he said, handing her a pair of his own pajamas. "You can borrow these for tonight, and I'll fetch some of your belongings tomorrow morning." He resigned himself to another night of celibacy, but not for long. In the numerous fantasies he had entertained during their aquaintance, he had always pictured them in perfect health and spirits, and usually with some sort of cushioning involved.This much unrequited lust and adoration eventually needed that sort of padding in order to preserve one's physical well-being.

She smiled, grateful for his thoughtfulness, and rose to go into the bathroom, noting that she was still in the full regalia of the evening. She emerged, a few minutes later, washed of the night's makeup and grime, and decked in his favorite set of sleepwear.

Severus looked up from his reading to see her there, framed in the doorway, looking tired and gorgeous in his white silk pajama set. She smiled at him as she limped back towards the bed.

He had remained there, and as she approached, he tenatively held out his arms. She gratefully moved into them, breathing in his scent and sighing it out in warm, minty gusts against the fabric of his shirt. They lay like that for a while, side by side on top of the covers. He was still fully dressed, but she was all silk and smooth skin, smelling of her face soap and a slight spearmint from her toothpaste.

Finally she asked the question that they both had been mulling over for the past five minutes.

"Where will you sleep, Severus?"

He opened his eyes, and raised his face from where it was discreetly buried in her hair.

"I was hoping that we could, perhaps, share a bed. I can easily keep to my side of the mattress, and I need to wake you every few hours to give you some medication." He had been considering their accommodations for some time, and was hesitant to be so forthright in his assumptions, but he saw little other options.

"I wouldn't mind at all, Severus." She reached over, her mouth searching his in a lazy, nonexpectant kiss that had him smiling into her mouth. He allowed his hand to rest on her waist, idly pushing up the silk of her pajama top so that it exposed the skin of her midriff. He brushed his thumb over the warm skin there, hardening unexpectedly at her answering shudder. Pulling back to regain his composure, he allowed himself a peek down at the exposed skin of her stomach. He gasped as drenching horror flooded him.

"Hermia!" He practically yelled, jumping to his knees on the bed.

She was confused at his slightly frantic behavior, still reclined, breathless, on the matress with her lips slightly reddened from their earlier activities.

He pushed up her top to halfway up her ribcage, willing himself not to notice her apparent lack of undergarments. The pajama top lifted to reveal the deep, purple and green marks that ran all down the length of her sides. Matching bruising cut along both of the sides of her midsection.

"Gods! What did he do to you!?" His desire rapidly deflated as he examined the horrific bruising. Looking up, he met her eyes resolutely. "Hermia, I have to insist. Nothing...strenuous until that bruising goes down."

She made as if to protest, but he held up a hand, "No. I absolutely insist. I couldn't abide my hurting you inadvertently. I'm sure you'll be fully recuperated within a week."

He looked at her body with a stare that was full of repressed longing. "I can wait, after all, I'm a grown man, Hermia."

She sighed. Who was he trying to convince? "Very well, Severus. We'll wait, then. After all," and with this she pulled at his hand to return him to the mattress beside her. "It won't make it any less special if we wait a few days. It will be special because it's you."

He buried his nose in her neck, cupping her shoulders in his palms, before kissing her lightly on the lips. "No, my dear, it will be special because it will be us." He said. She smiled as he rolled over onto his side. It was going to be a nice week. She shifted on the bed, and he could feel her heat from where he lay. He rose to change into his sleepwear. Yes, a nice week. Long, but nice. Long, but nice.