Hermione kept the potion safe and silent at the very bottom of her trunk, and planned to leave it there until she had checked on a detail in Snape's memory that bothered her long after their encounter. However, OWLs ever drawing closer and events at Hogwarts pushed it to the back of her mind before she could investigate in them.
Trelawney's sacking did not bother her much, since the student's mind were better off without her made-up-meanings of Mars's connection to Jupiter and the angle of its moons. Reading tea leaves might be interesting reading them with this ancient austrian Muggles perspective who claimed to reveal major developmental steps in one's childhood. Yet between rehearsing her Arithmancy syllabary and practising five years of Charms wand movement, she rather relaxed at knitting some hats for Hogwart's house elves than with another book.
With Firenze among the staff, Hermione noticed the late chattering between Parvati and Lavender reached a new level: Hardly any evening passed by without them ravaging over the centaurs approach to divination, with her getting the distinct impression that Trelawney filled them in with even more superstitions and downright dislike. Her own view of the centaur, perhaps more neutral and less biased by aversion to his subject, changed in microscopic steps: From being not interested at all to a silent approval of his loyalty to Dumbledore, and then, slowly, to carefully suppressed admiration of his posture. If Harry and Ron had been listening closely during lessons (which she never was quite sure about), it seemed most important to him not to fill their heads with ridiculous horoscopes, but the fact that no knowledge, ever, was for certain.
It could have been a challenging, but safe and disciplined term until Easter, if she had bothered to keep a special enchanted piece of parchment hidden as Snape's potion.
She was the third to last to flee the Room of Requirement, when Dobby had already vanished back into the kitchen, only Harry and Neville behind her. Ron had joined Ernie and his Hufflepuff friends. Hopefully they pretended to have met for a quick chat among prefects, none of Umbridge's blokes could argue with that... The swamp, her mind suggested, with her heading toward the corridor on fifth floor, I'll just say I was practising Charms, for exams, if it's a challenge for Umbridge, she can't complain... If she had only remembered to take the member's list.
Hermione fought her way through three members of the Inquisitorial Squad: Leaving Millicent Bulstrode at the mercy of a nasty Convulsion Curse that hit her in the belly and made her collapse, groaning with abdominal pain. The second Slytherin posed no challenge at all, as she deflected his Stunning Spell and disarmed him almost in a single move, but judging from his role on the quidditch pitch – she was sure he had been Chasing first match of the year, but did not recall his name – his strength was limited to physical capacity anyway. Last Squad member standing, Theodor Nott, turned out a fighter of his own league. Hermione ducked his Stunning Spell, deflected a disarming charm and narrowly escaped getting Petrified.
All school rules forgotten, their encounter quickly grew into a full scale duel.
"Reducto!"
Nott smashed the gothic ornaments above the pedestal Hermione had hidden behind, forcing her to step up.
"Crampalla!", she cried, aiming poorly in the dust, "Stupefy!"
Nott cast a shield charm, causing the red bolt to bounce off. Her Stunning Spell hit Millicent, who fainted into blissful unconsciousness. "Incarcerus!"
Thick, heavy ropes sprang from the tip of his wand, entangling her ankle, but they did not reach to her other leg.
The dust burned in her lungs and made her eyes water. Soon she would not see a thing. If she could only hide again, an Impervius would do the trick...
"Give up, Granger, a mudblood doesn't stand -"
"Emeticus!", she slashed her wand roughly in his direction, missing only by inches with the Vomiting Curse, "Stupefy!"
"You don't like being called a mudblood?", he teased her with his deep, dark voice, so unfitting to his slim and skinny body, "But that's what you are! And you will learn your rightful place, as soon as the Dark Lord – Protego!"
He managed to deflect her Petrification, but just in time. "Let's see how dirty your blood really is;" he yelled, "Sectumsempra!"
The Curse hit her squarely in the face.
A splitting, excruciating pain blinded her. She fell, tangled leg forward, hard on the cold stone. Warm, hot blood ran from her brows, over her nose, across her cheeks. Dust and sweat got flushed on the raw flesh, and the burning almost made her pass out.
He did not bother to disarm her. "Incarcerus."
This time, without her able to gather a single clear thought, he was more successful: The rope woke back to life and tied her legs together.
"Let's see", she heard his voice drawing closer, still unable to see, "Fifth years don't do silent enchantments, do they?"
A taste of iron filled her mouth. The blood must be dripping in the nose and run down her throat.
"So no need to take your wand, mudblood", he mused, apparently deciding what to do just as he spoke, "It would make me look rather suspicious if one found it in my possession. This will do. Silencio."
Pain was unbearable. She felt her mouth open to a scream, but no sound came out.
"Aha." He was close. Very close.
"Now if you will excuse me -", he must be standing right in front of her, "Mudblood", his voice rang in her ears straight to her left, as if he was hovering above her, "I have some urgent business to attend to.", and the dark sound behind her faded into silence.
He had left her lying on the floor, tied, forced to silence and bleeding.
Relashio, she muttered without sound. Finite.
If she could only focus.
Goddamit. Finite Incantatem.
It hurt so bad.
Magia relevio.
Her legs stayed tied.
FINITE.
Nothing happened.
The blood in her stomach made her sick. A fresh flame of burning agony shot through the wounds.
PERICULUM, she shouted silently.
The wand, loosely in her hand, vomited a shower of red sparks.
Someone's coming, she told herself, someone saw the signal. Someone's coming to help me. Pulling together all available strength, she turned over and threw up. The smelling, brownish volley mixed with fresh blood instantly.
Steps issued through the corridor. Quickly paced, closely apart. Someone running. The steps were light on the ground, muffled by the dust. Almost slipping in it.
"Remedio", she heard a high-pitched voice, and the pain eased considerably. "Finite. Relashio."
It was Flitwick, who had given her a pain killer and then lifted Nott's enchantments. The ropes fell down her legs, remaining innocently in the dust.
"Miss Granger", the little, wrinkled wizard whizzed, "What on earth happened here?"
"Uuuurrgh. Duel."
Without the pain, she was able to focus, but blood still ran down her face and she felt sick as ever.
"Have you been with Potter on the – never mind me asking", he finished his sentence. "If Dumbledore's in as much trouble as I hear, you'd better not tell me, so I don't have to lie."
Legs untied, she managed to get up straight, but felt unable to walk.
"Here. Amendo Ambulat." She felt two invisible crutches placed under her arms. "You don't look like you'd make it to the hospital wing completely on your own, if I may say so."
"Thank you."
"Better someone going with you."
"Okay."
Stable and speaking again, Hermione managed to hobble down the dark corridor, worked her way down the steps and into Madam Pomfrey's dimly lit realm. By the time she let herself drop on any bed, it must have been almost midnight. She felt cold, even sicker than before and was sweating heavily. The salty liquid ran into the wounds, which were still bleeding, and forced her pain level up again.
"Remedio." It was Madam Pomfrey who gave her ease this time. "Oh my dear girl. Will you lift your feet up to the bed, never mind the sheets. Amendo vulnus."
Through the veil of dried blood and dust, Hermione saw the nurse frowning. "Amendo vulnus", she repeated, but the flesh remained exposed.
"What kind of spell caused these wounds?", she inquired, addressing no one in particular on purpose. "Finite incantatem", she half-heartedly attempted to end the unknown curse.
"It's one thing to bewitch each other with tickling spells and pimple potions or -", she stated, obviously annoyed, "But this is solid Dark Magic you've run into. Accio Zyfodil."
A tiny, black bottle sealed with bee's wax soared across the room. Flitwick actually leapt to his feet to catch it and handed it to Madam Pomfrey. "Here, girl, drink this up. It's a Blood Replenishing Potion. You'll need plenty of those."
She opened the bottle, containing a good mouthful of what looked like pomegranate juice, and held it to Hermione, who found herself shaking too heavily to sit upright. "Ok, here we go, dear", the nurse said, taking a seat next to her, one arm tightly around her shoulders, the other placing the bottle at her lips. Hermione drank obediently. It tasted like liquid rust. "We'll need Professor Snape here, I am afraid."
"I'll go and get him."
The small wizard appeared back with Snape in tow so fast Hermione was sure he had Summoned him like Madam Pomfrey fetching two additional doses of Zyfodil in the meantime.
"I can't stop the bleeding", she summarized, without noticing Snape's face, who looked aghast. "This is a curse I am not familiar with."
"I am, Madam Pomfrey", he assured her. "Which potions?"
"Only three rounds of Blood Replenishing so far. And a Pain Relieving Charm."
"Two Charms", Flitwick threw in.
"Thank you, Filius, I'll manage", Snape displayed his usual dismissal. "She'll need Pelean root slices and some old-fashioned fluid, as a substitute."
"I should have some in storage", Madam Pomfrey answered, "But she can't swallow on her own right now."
"I'll do it", Snape let her hand him the third Zyfodil and seated himself at Hermione side. For a second two arms were wrapped around her, then the nurse hurried to fetch the remedies.
With apparently calm, even cool Snape steadying her, she realized for the first time how she must look like – covered in dust, vomit and blood. And worse, what she smelled like.
"Vulnera Sanentur", she heard him murmur, wand pointed at her face, "Amendo vulnus … Vulnera Sanentur … Amendo vulnus..."
The wounds, finally, sealed itself under his treatment. When Madam Pomfrey came back with thin, round platelets that felt furry on her tongue, the urge to vomit vanished as well.
"When the Pelean kicks in and you're not sick any longer", Snape explained, waving his wand to make a bowel and a cloth appear at a small table beside them, "You take another two rounds of Zyfodil. Then rest, please, Miss Granger." He stuffed the wand back into his robes, the other arm still supporting her back.
A strange, clenching feeling had replaced the uprising in her stomach. She was freezing and tired and furious at Nott, who had left her lying helplessly on the ground, bleeding to death if it had not been for Flitwick. Despite her feeling that Snape had cured her wounds completely, sealing the skin without leaving a trace of the cuts, she still felt hurt, exposed in a crucial way.
"You'll stay here for a night, dear", Madam Pomfrey told her, again seating herself next to her. Snape carefully removed his arm, both of them closely watching, but Hermione managed to stay upright on her own. "You can ask someone to visit, if you wish, and accompany you back to the dormitory, if you don't want to leave on your own."
"I am – fine, thanks", Hermione lied, grateful that her voice sounded calm and steady. "I just lost a duel, that's all."
"We'll see each other in the morning", Madam Pomfrey assured her, and Hermione felt certain that the nurse saw right through her pretence, "I'll be here all night, just say my name, the Deliometer will flash and I'll know you need me."
"Ok."
She rose, stroke the blankets, which came out soft and clean beneath her hands, and hurried back to her small office at the entrance.
"I must ask you, Miss Granger", her potions master looked her straight in the eye, "Who cast this curse on you."
For the first time, he looked worried.
"Nott", she replied flatly, "Said he wanted to know how dirty my blood really was."
And without any power left to resist it, she burst into tears.
He was looking at her, unmoved, untouched.
"Did you defend youself?"
"Of course!", she shot back, now fully outraged, "I tried everything!"
"He tied you up", Snape stated, with Hermione being reminded that eye contact was essential for Legilimency yet again, "How did you escape?"
"Flitwick untied the ropes."
"But you couldn't move your legs before."
"No", another rush of painful rage, "I would have! I would have screamed if he hadn't -", sobs suffocated her words for a moment, "If he hadn't Silenced me."
"You are speaking very clearly now", he reassured her, and the pressuring feeling felt a little more distant, "Can you move your legs?"
"Y- Yes."
"Show me."
"What?"
"Just over the edge. Move them."
She thought this to be an idiotic, unfitting advice, but had no nerve left to argue. She pulled up her knees, lifted her feet over the edge of the mattress and lowered them until she felt her toes touch the stone ground. Uncertain whether she would be able to stand, it seemed safer to keep a close look at her legs. When they broke eye contact, she felt the burning anger inside her fade.
Snape let her move, but as she attempted to rise, her legs gave way, and with a skilled shove on the hip, pushed her back into safe space.
"Nobody said anything about standing. Try again. Only as far as you feel secure, that's important."
"Okay."
She got up again, slower this time, until her legs threatened to loose control again, but no further.
They sat beside each other, knee to knee, much closer than during their Occlumency meetings. "You'll probably have some nightmares", he informed her, voice down, despite them being alone in the dimly lit and narrowly furnished room. She could hardly see his features in the torchlight from the walls and a drowning candle on the table. "I can give you a potion for a Dreamless Sleep, but try without one first."
"Thank you."
"There are difficult times ahead", he whispered. "Some major changes have taken place today. Soon we will all be watched very closely, and be required to keep a straight face to people we would like to open up to. And put on a disguise, a complacent manner, to those we secretly despise."
"What -"
"Shh. You'll see." He stroke her hair, still wearing remains of today's events. With the slightest of a tip beneath her chin, he led her to look at him. "There'll be no scars", he said. "No such that meet the eye, at least."
The anger had subdued into a still warm, crispy, fuzzy feeling. For a moment, a blurry image appeared in her mind: black and brown silk next to each other, soft moments of held breath, palms on pure, smooth tapestry to the tissue - but when she blinked, all of it was gone.
"You should rest", he said, quickly rising, pulling his robes into place. "Call for Madam Pomfrey if you need anything. And don't forget your Zyfodil."
"I won't", she promised, confused by what she had seen. Or rather, hadn't seen.
He turned around and left without another word.
Like so many nights previously, Hermione lay awake for a while. The image from their short mind-melt – she was not sure whether that was the proper term, but it seemed a fitting expression -, kept appearing in front of her, accompanied by a wonderful warm feeling on the hip where Snape had pushed her back to bed. Night passing by, the interaction played out differently in her head, with the man keeping his hand on the spot, and exploring her body from there. The impression of his steadying arms evolved into a hug. Having him examine her features - his work, she reminded herself -, turned into a clumsy, yearning kiss.
By morning, the potion far up in the dormitory at the bottom of her trunk had served its purpose.