"Let's get you more comfortable," Marya finally said, for lack of a better response.
Severus' face was still turned away. Why did he have to tell her all that? If she only knew how often in the past her assessment of the situation would have been right – but not this time. He still didn't know how those Aurors had found out about the meeting. Fudge in his paranoia had reinstated the same rules for Aurors that had been instituted by Barty Crouch during the first war against the Dark Lord. They could use the Unforgivable Curses without repercussions if they felt it necessary. He should be thankful that this bunch had not – the stunners had been quite effective enough since they had had the element of surprise on their side. He still didn't know how exactly he had gotten out of there, or who hadn't, or how he had managed to Floo back to his rooms. But why couldn't he just have kept his mouth shut? It was none of her business.
She was now taking off his shoes, removing his cloak. Every movement was calm, efficient, professional. He found that a comfort – he couldn't have stood getting fussed over in the fluttery, hectic, bustling way he had observed in other females.
He saw her eyeing his shirt and trousers, but the don't-even-think-about-it look he gave seemed enough to make her decide that this was as 'comfortable' as he was going to get at this point.
With practiced motions she helped him under the covers. He stretched out with a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. He would just take her at her word and... pretend, just for a few minutes. Slowly, he relaxed. She disappeared, and he heard water running. In a moment, she was back with a cool cloth, and gently, carefully wiped his face and his hands. He could have stopped her; it wasn't necessary – but it felt good.
She stood up. "I'll be back in a little bit. You need to get something into your stomach. Stay put." He smiled a humorless smile. Where did she think he was going to go in his present state?
She was back in less than ten minutes, with a mug of something hot and steaming in her hand. Placing the mug on the night stand, she helped him up into a half-sitting position. She slid in behind him on the bed, and leaned him back, supporting him against herself. All of a sudden he was very much aware of her physical closeness, her arms around him. It was disconcerting.
"Can you hold the cup?" she asked. As hard as he tried, he couldn't - his hands were still shaking too much. He barely managed to suppress a curse at that. How he hated being this helpless, having anyone see him this helpless. Without a word, she picked up the cup and brought it to his mouth. "Here, drink."
"What is it?" he asked, suspiciously eying the contents.
"Just some nice strong broth. Now drink." He took a sip – the hot, salty liquid felt good going down. It didn't take him long to drain the mug.
When he had finished, she settled him back into the pillows. She was sitting there on the edge of the bed with an expectant look on her face, as if she was waiting for something. What did she want now?
It was then that the world started going blurry. He only had time to say, "You put some..." in an outraged voice before everything faded to black.
"Yupp," Marya said, her face entirely unrepentant. The sleeping draught she had mixed with the broth had worked well. She hadn't dared to give him asphodel and wormwood; the taste was too distinctive. This version of the potion wasn't as strong, but it should still give him eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, and had the advantage of being completely taste- and odorless. He was too averse to giving up control to take a draught, she figured, and so she had made an executive decision. He needed the rest. Of course he would probably give her a nice ear-full later, but she would deal with it then. Grinning to herself, she thought that not having much to lose certainly had some advantages. She had been more daring today than she had been in a long time. It was kind of fun.
She looked down at the sleeping man. For a minute, she studied his features. He would never in a million years be called handsome – but it didn't matter. Sleep had relaxed his face, softening the hard lines life had etched onto it. He looked younger, more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. Gently, with one finger, she traced the outline of his face. He didn't stir.
It was then that she knew that she loved him. It wasn't some earth-shattering, thunderbolt-and-lightning type of revelation – it came quietly, peacefully, like giving a name to something that had always been there.
She had no illusions. He could be vindictive, paranoid, unpleasant. But she loved him anyways. She remembered his arms around her, how safe she had felt. The tenderness she had seen in his eyes, just for a moment. She loved the graceful way he moved, the shape of his hands, his voice. She loved his courage, his amazing mind, his razor-sharp wit. For good or for bad, he lived intensely – nothing he did was half-hearted. To be loved by such a man would be a frighteningly wonderful thing indeed. And it would never happen. Not to her.
One more time she bent down, and lightly brushed his closed eyelids with her lips. "Sleep now," she whispered. Then with a sigh, she stood up. He would sleep for hours, and she had a class to teach.
A/N: Any reviews or constructive criticism would be most welcome!
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