A/N: Thanks to my beta Larilee.
Chapter Nine
Severus spent the next several days mulling over their search for her attackers. He was torn between strangling them with his bare hands and buying them a drink for the favor they had unwittingly bestowed upon him. Hermione had mentioned visiting the orphanage that Narcissa sent her money to, but the subject had not come up again since Christmas. The valiant crusade had turned into a slightly disinterested query for the moment.
Instead, the couple spent the rest of the holiday break working in the lab. The atmosphere was heavy and tense at first, both being overly solicitous of the other, but after a few days, things calmed down and they were both able to relax. He even allowed her to assist him in his research.
"Remind me again what we're researching," Hermione said one afternoon two days before New Years.
"I want to create a better tasting flu remedy."
"Right," she said with a smirk.
"What? Is there something wrong with that?" he asked irritably.
"Not at all. I just thought you might be trying to brew something more…how do I say it…more important, something like a Cruciatus remedy."
"There is no such thing. It would be a waste of time now that the war is won and hardly anyone is subjected to that particular curse. The flu, on the other hand, runs rampant every winter. Wizards and witches alike would pay quite a bit extra for something a little better tasting than Flaxen's Flu Liquid Remedy." She wrinkled her nose at the mere thought of the foul-tasting brew. "I see you understand my point."
"I suppose, though it won't win you an Order of Merlin, First Class."
"Good thing I already have one then," he retorted.
"So it's all about money then?"
"No, it's about making the world a better place. If that just happens to make me a rich man then who am I to complain," he answered. She smiled and suggested a little more vanilla extract.
Their relationship steadily improving, Severus noted that though she talked more freely than she had previously, she was still hesitant to touch him or allow herself to be touched by him. Not wanting a repeat of their disastrous attempt at physical contact before, he plotted ways to get her to touch him. It would have to be something unexpected that prompted her.
An idea came to him in the lab as she almost added the wrong ingredients to her cauldron.
"No!" he said, grabbing her by the wrist.
"What?" she asked exasperated, pulling her arm out of his grip.b
"You'll blow your arm off if you add that just now."
"Oh," she said, looking sheepish. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he said, turning back to his work with a small smile, an idea suddenly occurring to him. All he would have to do is create a potions accident. She would be so anxious to make sure that he was all right that she wouldn't notice that she was touching him, not until it was too late. He imagined her hands caressing him, soothing away his pain. It would be a hard job, but in the end, it would be worth it. But he would have to wait until classes began again for it to be plausible.
His restraint to enact his plan lasted him only until the second day of class. As the last of his students hurried from his classroom, he grabbed a cauldron and a random variety of ingredient bottles. It couldn't be too hard to create a believable size explosion; his students managed it most days with spectacular results. He tried hard to remember what Mr. Garner had added to his potion the other day that had nearly blown his head clean off.
Tossing a few things together, he lit the flame and stood over the cauldron, peering in. The effect was almost instantaneous. He had no time to even flinch before his face was aflame. Not only had the concoction erupted, but the cauldron itself had shattered, the sharp remnants tearing into his skin. He knew that he should probably go to Pomfrey if he wanted to come through this without any nasty scars, but he stuck resolutely to his plan and went stumbled as best he could with his limited vision back to their rooms.
"What happened?" she exclaimed as he burst through the door.
"A cauldron exploded," he said, wincing. He was starting to doubt the validity of his plan; his face really hurt. Hermione led him into the bathroom, her familiar clicking reassuring him.
"Do you know what they put in it to make it explode?" He wasn't sure exactly, having just thrown together what he knew to be volatile ingredients. Instead of answering, he took the opportunity to moan in pain while she wiped the disastrous potion from his face.
"Oh sorry," she apologized, going gentler. "It must have been pretty spectacular. I suppose someone will be serving detention with Filch for the rest of the year."
"Too right," he said in his most grumpy voice despite the warm, safe feeling that filled his chest. It anesthetized even the burning pain of his facial wounds as he watched his wife buzz around him, murmuring Healing Spells, and sponging his cuts. He noticed that her hands lingered even as she finished, tracing the curve of his nose, the line of his cheekbones. Covering his hand with hers, he trapped it against his cheek.
"Thank you," he said softly, both to her and to whatever god had allowed his plan to work.
"It's no trouble," she said, blushing. He had forgotten how much she used to blush around him. The rosy color only added to her loveliness, but it was a mixed blessing, indicating her discomfort and unease around him. He released her hand, and she continued her ministrations or at least in her pretense. A few more "here nows" and a last '"this might sting a bit" and she stepped away from him.
"All done," she pronounced. "Feel better?"
"It still smarts," he admitted, running his hands over his face.
"You'll probably have a nasty headache tonight and into tomorrow. You go lie down and I'll bring you a pain-reliever potion."
He nodded, making his way to the bedroom. She was right, his head was starting to tense. It would be a throb before long, but it was worth it. For the first time she had touched him of her own accord. He had succeeded in stirring feeling in her for his well-being. Lying down, he clenched shut his eyes and reminded himself of this over and over.
"Here you go," she said, returning to his side. She offered him a goblet. He sniffed at it.
"I can't drink this," he said irritably, the throbbing in his head starting to overtake his inner mantra.
"Why not?"
"It has belladonna in it."
"Which is well known for its pain relieving properties," she said, starting to sound irritable herself.
"And I'm allergic," he snapped.
"Oh." She frowned in consternation, and turned to leave. She returned a few minutes later with a new potion.
"Here," she said, handing it to him. "No belladonna, but it has scopolia. Not as fast acting but still effective."
He sniffed again, frowning. "You always put it in a cup of tea for me."
She didn't say anything but took back the cup, her lips pressed into a thin line, and left the room again. It wasn't until he heard her clinking around with the tea things that he remembered something else.
"Peppermint tea! Regular tea diminishes its efficacy!" he yelled, wincing at the responding shout of frustration. Minutes later, she stormed back in and shoved a steaming mug of peppermint tea into his hands.
"Perfect," he declared after a tentative first sip. "Thank you." His approval appeared to have appeased her, and he patted the edge of the bed, motioning for her to sit.
"Are you always this difficult?" she asked.
"I'll have you know that you are a worse patient than I am."
"I don't believe you," she scoffed.
"Then let me enlighten you."
She hadn't shown up the night before and Severus hadn't heard anything from her all day. It was almost 9:00 now and still no sign of her. He didn't want to worry about her. He wanted to sit and mark his essays and work on his potions without thinking about her, but he couldn't help but wonder where she was. They had work to do! His case was coming before the Wizengamot in just under a week. When he could take it no more, he finally grabbed some Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.
Arriving in her flat, he took a moment to look around. He had never been here before. She had always come to Hogwarts. It was a small apartment, but it was nicely furnished with modern décor, and he could see that she stayed close to her Muggle roots with several devices that were decidedly foreign to him. But he wasn't here to scrutinize her living arrangements. There was research to be done, arguments to be written, and witnesses to interview. Where was she?
"Miss Granger?" he called out, whipping out his wand, in case there was anyone unfriendly was lurking about. He had thought perhaps she had changed her mind about helping him, but he suddenly wondered if there had been some sort of foul play.
"In here," he heard her moan. He found her lying on the floor in the bathroom.
"What are you doing there?" he asked sharply.
"Throwing up all night. Easier to just stay here," she mumbled. She did look terrible. Her face was deathly white, her eyes were glazed over, and she smelled even worse.
"You slept here?" She nodded. He cast a quick Cleansing Charm over her and then an Easy Air Freshening Spell.
"Budge over," she said, pushing at him. He scooted towards the middle of the bed while she settled facing him, her knees drawn up to her chin. "An Air Freshening Spell?"
"Very handy in a Potions classroom, I assure you." She nodded. "But as I was saying…"
Picking her up under her arms, he half-carried, half-dragged her down the short hall to the bedroom.
"What are your symptoms?" he asked.
"I think I had a bad curry," she said weakly. He felt her forehead. She was clammy but not hot.
"There's no cure for food poisoning, but I can make you a potion to quell the nausea. Do you have basic potion supplies?"
"In the kitchen."
Twenty minutes later, he returned with the potion in hand. But her gratitude at helping her back to bed had dissipated the moment she smelled the concoction.
"Drink it, Miss Granger."
"No."
"It will make you feel better," he said with a strained voice.
"I'd rather be sick," she said stubbornly, turning her nose away. It was rather foul smelling, and it tasted even worse, but it was the best stomach potion there was. She was wearing his patience thin. He needed her to help him, and she couldn't very well do that if she was too weak to make it to her own bed.
"You can drink it on your own accord or I can force it down your throat, the choice is yours." He grabbed her by the shoulder, pressing her back into the headboard and holding the cup to her lips.
"You wouldn't dare," she protested, turning back to glare at him.
"Do not forget who you are dealing with." She continued to glare at him; he stared back at her ruthlessly.
"Fine!" she said after several moments, taking the potion from him so vehemently that some of it sloshed over, landing on him. He brushed at the droplets on his robes, watching closely to make sure she finished the whole thing. She did, but not without a dramatic pucker of her lips.
"Disgusting!" she exclaimed, handing back the cup.
"Indeed. But you'll be thanking me when you no longer feel the need to purge your stomach every ten minutes. I made some soup as well. You will need to replenish the nutrients that you lost." She nodded, lying back on her pillow, her eyes closing. He held back the urge to sigh. It was going to be difficult to get her to eat before she slept, but if he wanted his only advocate back before the trial then he would have to persevere.
"Come on, Miss Granger. You're almost finished," he prompted her a half hour later. She had fallen asleep while he brought her dinner, and it was taking an inconsiderable amount of time to convince her to eat all of it.
He thought about the pile of essays that were sitting on his desk and wondered why he had come looking for her in the first place. It had been the quietest week yet in the last couple of months. He should have taken advantage of her absence. But looking over at her, as she weakly spooned the chicken broth into her mouth, he realized that he had become accustomed to her presence. It had seemed awkward not having her there in the evenings, and seeing her incapacitated like this inspired a desire to protect and care for her. He had almost panicked to find her lying in the bathroom.
It was gratitude, he told himself. She was helping him and so he felt obliged to help her. It was nothing more than an obligation.
"You were falling for me even then," she said with a small smile.
"Are you going to continue interrupting me?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.
"Sorry, go ahead."
"Thank you," she said so softly that he almost missed it.
"For what?"
"The potion and the soup. I'm feeling much better." Her voice was still weak, and he could tell that sleep was not far off.
"It is in my best interest for you to be well, Miss Granger. The trial is quickly approaching," he said. The words were what one might normally expect from him but the habitual vitriol was missing. And he found his hand, of its own accord, reaching out and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled, and he pulled his hand back abruptly.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes closed.
"Yes. But I will come here. You will stay in bed and recover," he told her in his best teacher voice. "Do you hear me?" It looked as though she had succumbed to sleep already, but she nodded her head.
"Yes, sir."
"Good night then."
"I don't believe you," she said when he finished. "You are the worst patient, not me." She stretched her legs out beside him, and he couldn't resist resting his one hand on her robe-covered calf.
"I could provide many more examples if you need further convincing," he assured her, smirking at her indignant look.
"That won't be necessary," she said, ignoring his bait. "Are you feeling any better? Do you want some more tea?"
His head still pounded, but he didn't want tea. He wondered if he should dare to ask…but wasn't that why he had exploded that cauldron in the first place. Taking a breath, he said, "No tea. But there is something you could do."
She looked at him expectantly, almost eagerly. That was what he loved about her. Despite his goading, she was still willing to put forth her best effort to heal and comfort him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You always say a kiss will make things better." She colored, looking away. But he took heart in the fact that she didn't protest, didn't say no outright.
"My mother used to kiss my bumps and scratches as a kid," she muttered.
"I know."
"Will it really make you feel better? There's nothing else?" He shook his head. He could see her steeling herself.
"Well, then…" She crawled up the bed next to him, kneeling at his side. She brushed aside a lock of his hair, her eyes surveying his face with a determined intensity. "You were cut here." She leaned down and brushed her lips against his temple. "And you had quite a nasty gash here, might leave a mark if you're not careful." Her fingers traced along his cheekbone before kissing him there too. His breath caught in his throat, paralyzed by her gentleness. It struck him that she had no idea the power she held over him.
"And here, and here," she said, pecking him along his jaw and chin. She was leaning over him, one hand steadying her, the other cupping his face. Her eyes slowly moved up to meet his. The air almost crackled between them. Did she too feel the magic that flowed between them?
"Anywhere else?" she asked. He nodded, pointing a finger to his mouth.
"I thought as much," she said, smiling ruefully. For a moment, he thought she might say something sarcastic, and leave it at that. But in the next second, her lips had pressed against his and he lost the will to think. It was a chaste kiss, but full of promise. Of its own volition, his hand moved from his side to grab hold of her by the waist, its sudden movement bringing Hermione back to her senses. She pulled away just slightly, smirking at him.
"Better?" she asked.
"Much," he replied.
"I bet," she said, moving to get up. But he gripped her waist, holding her in place.
"You don't feel the magic between us, Hermione?"
"I know what you did, you sneaky Slytherin," she said, answering his question with only a slight nod. She leaned down again, meeting his eyes in a steely stare. He might have been convinced of her ire if he hadn't noticed her lips quirking in her attempt not to smile.
"And what is that?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.
"If you wanted to kiss me you could have just asked. There was no need to blow your face off."
He smiled. That was his girl. While she had been cleaning him up, her mind had been fast at work, trying to analyze what mix of ingredients would have caused such a disaster. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that no real potion would have combined to create such a result.
"Is that so?" She nodded. "Then may I kiss you, Hermione?" She leaned down again in response, her kiss more wanton this time. His head lifted from the pillow as she pulled away from him, not wanting it to end. But she pushed him back down with a smile.
"You need to rest," she said gently but firmly. He grunted his disagreement, but she had barely made it to the door before sleep overcame him. Between the potion and dreams of her kisses, he slept very well that night.
A few days later, Severus sat in his office reading the book Hermione had given him for Christmas, searching for the perfect new insult to use on his third-year exams, when Potter came striding through his office door with nary a knock.
"What do you want?" he snarled. He was never happy to see Harry.
"Ron mentioned that you came to see him," Harry said with a smirk. Severus glared at him. He should have known better than to trust his secrets with Ron Weasley. He was surprised it hadn't shown up in the Quibbler. There would be no more gathering of information while drunk.
"What do you want, Potter?"
"Mister," he said. Why the little…! Severus instinctively reached for his wand, but the glint in Harry's eye told him that this was the very reaction he wanted. The bootless idle-headed scut! He would give in for now. Once he had the information, he may or may not tear him limb from limb, he decided.
"What do you want, Mr. Potter?" he said, his anger barely reigned in.
"I thought you might like to know that Hermione came to see me a few months before she disappeared. She told me that Percy had come onto her at Ron's birthday party. Nothing happened other than that Hermione threatened to hex him into next Tuesday. Apparently, he didn't take the rejection well. I think he might have been harassing her."
"Why did Mr. Weasley fail to mention this?" Severus asked. This would have saved him a lot of heartache. And all the time he had lost looking for who had done this to her, thinking they might have done him a favor. He realized his selfish and jealous nature had hurt her again. He truly did not deserve Hermione as his wife.
"Because Percy is Ron's brother and she didn't want to speak badly about him to Ron. She never told him about it," Potter explained.
"It seems to me that he doesn't think much of his brother to begin with."
"You're right, but Hermione would have been sensitive about either way. What does it matter in the end? Now you know."
"Because I have wasted precious time that should have been spent looking for the miscreant who did this to her," he snapped.
"You don't need much of an excuse not to look, Snape." Severus narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. Harry stared back at him ruthlessly. This was not the time. No matter how much it pained him to admit it, he needed Potter -- alive.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked suspiciously. He would have thought that Potter would like to watch him suffer.
"I didn't want Hermione to suffer because you thought she had cheated on you.
"Have you found out anything more about Malfoy?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "With Hermione gone, my workload has gone up. I haven't had much time to devote to it. Though I did hear some rumors of a sighting in Aruba."
"Aruba? I thought the orphanage Narcissa donated to was in Poland?"
"That's where the money goes, but it's possible that the orphanage is just the first step of many. I'm trying to convince the Ministry to send me over there to investigate."
"Can't afford a Caribbean vacation on your own Potter? What happened to all that gold Black left you?" Severus said with a sneer. Harry's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk.
"This is for Hermione."
"Yes, remember that when you are lying on the beach. I want to know the moment you have any new information. Are we understood?"
"The same goes for you," Harry said. Severus nodded curtly and watched as Potter turned on his heel and left.
Sitting back, his Shakespearean insults forgotten for the moment, Severus reflected on what Potter had told him. So Percy had tried to seduce Hermione but had failed. He didn't know which was worse, an adulterous affair or a spurned would-be lover. Could Percy be responsible? Severus had never had much respect for the boy, but he didn't know if he was capable of kidnapping, mind tampering, and seduction. It all seemed much too intricate for a person who lived life by such a set of rigid rules.
But then again, he had proven before that he would forsake family and pretty much anything else in order to achieve his high aims. He already had an elevated position in the Ministry of Magic, now all he needed in his bid for Minister was a high-profile wife. The fobbing dread-bolted horn-beast! Severus decided that perhaps another chat with Mr. Percy Weasley was in order. First, however, he and Hermione had an orphanage to visit.
A/N: I'll admit that I took part of the kissing scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, but I couldn't help myself. The Shakespearean insults came from a fun website. You too can be insulted by visiting http /www. pangloss. com/seidel/Shaker/; just remember to take out the spaces. And don't forget to review because as my name suggests I suffer from great vanity.