Chapter Twenty-Five: Where the Sunlight Reaches

Hermione heaved the moment she landed on solid ground, knuckles white around the wand she had grabbed. A quick look around threw her off—she was in a plain but clean bedroom. All the furniture was child sized, and there was a giant collection of knit clothing piled neatly in a corner. The wand in her hand wasn't hers, but that didn't matter now.

She nearly screamed as Dobby moved around to face her. Suddenly, everything fell into place—Dobby's voice, the room must have been his—and then she realised that she must have landed in Hogwarts.

"One moment," she said to the elf, as she focused on the dream that she had of winning the war, of seeing the faces of her loved ones, and cast a Patronus to send to Harry. The wand bucked in her hand, but she managed to force the spell through.

"I'm fine, and in a safe place. Don't come after me. I'll meet you back at the safe house when I can," she said, and watched in a daze as her newly formed Patronus sprinted away on lithe legs. It was some sort of large cat, from what she could tell this time, though the outline was barely visible. She still didn't know what she felt about the change.

"Dobby," she said, just noticing that the elf had still not let go of her, and was propping her up. "Take me to the Headmaster's study. Please."

"Is Miss sure?" the elf asked, with wide eyes. "Miss is injured."

"Please, Dobby. The Headmaster will help me. Trust me," she said, sagging against him.

She barely felt the tug of Apparition as Dobby deposited her in the study.

"Thank you for rescuing me," Hermione said, hugging the elf gingerly. All her muscles ached dully. She knew that she was injured though she couldn't feel much, and her mind was strangely detached from everything she was experiencing.

"Miss is Harry Potter's best friend. Miss is good to Dobby. Dobby is honoured to rescue Miss," the elf said solemnly, and guided her to a bright purple and teal loveseat. It didn't seem like Severus' style.

Hermione didn't notice until she was tucked into the loveseat with a grey woolen blanket that there was a thick slick of blood dripping off her shoulder, and it wasn't hers.

Severus observed the sleeping form of Hermione Granger in his study, guarded by a fiercely glaring familiar, and tried to ignore the myriad of emotions that he was experiencing. He could feel his roiling emotions pushing at the walls that he set up in himself with his Occlumency, but he needed to keep it together.

There was a silvery wolfhound that was Bill Weasley's Patronus pacing sedately around the room, waiting for her to wake up.

He had led the Dark Lord all over Britain on their wild goose chase, only for the trail to go cold at a forest where the Trio had left by broomstick. He had been tense the entire day, but had taken it as an encouraging sign that they hadn't been caught as no one had summoned the Death Eaters back to the Manor. By the time the Dark Lord had been through with Wormtail, Bellatrix, and the Malfoys for letting Hermione Granger escape, Severus had been beside himself with worry, as Bellatrix had cried that the Mudblood wouldn't be an issue for anyone.

The clenching sensation in his chest at the sight of Hermione tucked into his study relatively unharmed could have been heartburn. The state of Wormtail, who was held responsible for the escape of the prisoners, had been gruesome, and he had barely avoided vomiting.

He couldn't keep her at Hogwarts. There were too many elves with loose lips, and students had been able to break into his office before—and he had no spare bed, besides. He observed Hermione's furrowed brow and slight sheen of sweat—she might not have been grievously injured but no encounter with Bellatrix could have ended well. Her familiar had curled up on her chest and looked at him balefully.

"I had nothing to do with this," he said defensively, and he felt like that was a lie even as he said it. He had drawn her further into the war. Crookshanks remained silent. He had felt strange—almost silly, but Severus never felt silly—when he first found himself talking to the cat, but maintained his dignity at least as he never let himself fall into the sort of baby talk that even Albus Dumbledore had switched to when confronted with a feline.

"You have to move. I need to take her to a safer place."

Crookshanks blinked once and groomed his privates for a moment, before leaping off Hermione and trotting towards Severus' personal chambers.

Severus felt his palms sweat as he approached her. Coming to a decision, he lifted her and held her to his chest. He became uncomfortably aware of her soft weight in his arms, the fact that Hermione Granger was no longer his student but a young woman, and tried to ignore the jolt that ran from his head to his heart to his groin. No. There was no time for this.

Hermione let out a soft groan at his actions, which hastened his steps as he threw Floo powder into his fireplace and clipped out, "Spinner's End."

Hurriedly, he set her down gently on his sofa, cast a few cleaning charms to rid the room of dust, and wrapped another blanket over her. Then he knelt down by her prone form on the couch. Bill's Patronus followed them through the Floo.

"Hermione," he said, shaking her shoulder gently.

"Severus?" Hermione looked up at him, and he swallowed when a small smile emerged on her face when she saw who he was. It was a lovely smile, not for the likes of him.

Bill Weasley's voice interrupted them, once the Patronus detected that she was aware enough to take the message. "Glad to hear you're safe. Your friends are all with us and everyone is fine. Please let us know when you can make it back as soon as possible," the wolfhound said, before vanishing in a silvery cloud.

Hermione looked away from where the Patronus was, and frowned at her surroundings.

"You're in Spinner's End right now, and I need you to tell me what feels wrong," Severus said, finally moving his hand away from her shoulder.

She scrunched up her face. "I d-don't really feel anything. I think...I think something is wrong, but I don't feel afraid. I think I'm afraid because I don't feel afraid," she finished in a whispered stutter.

"Did you Occlude heavily recently?"

"Yes—when B-bellatrix—"

"We'll deal with that later. Are you physically injured anywhere?" he asked.

Severus felt his blood boil when he saw the oozing incisions on Hermione's arm, forming the letter "M". He grasped for control of his emotions; no matter how much Voldemort valued him right now, he could still not kill the Dark Lord's favourite unprovoked.

He could guess at what word Bellatrix had planned on carving; his nostrils flared as he took several deep breaths to calm his eruption of rage. The dagger she used on her victims left cursed wounds which would never heal; there would always be an itching pain in the scars, and the only way to counteract the curse was to burn it away with Dark Magic.

"Anywhere else?" he asked, dreading the answer. Hermione shook her head, and then he noticed that she had a cut on her cheek.

"You've got something…" he cleared his throat, and gestured to her face.

"Oh," she said, eyes widening. Severus was suddenly aware of how close he was to her, and shifted back. He ran his wand along the cut on her cheek and softly sang the Vulnera Sanentur incantation, lightly running his finger along the closed lines of the wound once she was healed. Her skin felt as soft and smooth as silk.

Hermione bit her lip and Severus looked away immediately.

"I need to treat the wound on your arm," he said stiffly. "Can you sit up?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and gingerly moved into a sitting position.

"This is going to hurt. It's not a good idea, but Occlude what you can," he said. It was all a bad idea, but he would not leave her to live with a cursed wound.

"I trust you," she said. Severus flinched.

He gently grasped the trembling arm she held out, took a deep breath, then he drew on some of his darkest aggressive emotions—the anger, the urge to dominate, the self-hatred—and dragged the power out through his wand with a guttural discordant melody.

Hermione was gritting her teeth but made no noise to indicate the level of discomfort she was feeling. Severus could feel some of her pain through his magic, and he felt the familiar frisson of pleasure that casting a Dark spell brought from forcing his will over something else—in this case, Bellatrix's curse. Hermione's complete acceptance of his power was—he felt the walls around his emotions shatter completely and felt a surge of heat and energy pass through his body.

The spell was over quickly and it left Severus breathing heavily. He could not look at Hermione; the Dark Arts were addictive because of their appeal to base emotions, and at the moment all his base emotions were keyed up with no Occlumency to keep them in control. The sight of her blood on her arm and his hand did something to him. He siphoned off the blood hastily and gave the wound a once-over. It would scar, but perhaps not much with dittany.

"I'll be back," he said brusquely, and left without looking back.

He leaned his forehead against the cool wall of the hidden hallway to the upper rooms, heart racing, blood thundering in his ears. He took deep calming breaths, and waited for his body to settle down, to stop feeling the need for her. It was sick; she was injured and he was thinking of bending her over the sofa.

When he was young he had enjoyed the sensations that came with using the Dark Arts, had felt as if using that power gave him more control, but as an adult he knew that the sense of control was only an illusion, and that sense of control only fed a loss of control. He had been about to touch more of her soft skin before he snatched himself away from her.

He went to his kitchen and drank two glasses of water that he chilled magically, hoping the cold water would cool his inner fire. He then grabbed a pack of biscuits and made a large mug of tea. He had not had anything to eat and doubted that Hermione had either.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, when he came back to the sitting-room.

"I was—hungry," he said, and set down the pack of biscuits and water in front of her. He did not mention what kind of ravenous hunger he felt. "I can get us something more substantial later—"

Hermione struggled to sit up. "You don't need to bother on my account, I feel much better now, I can heal myself at home—"

"Can you even stand?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

Hermione made an aborted move to stand up and ended up in a heap on the sofa.

"I am guessing by the tremors in your limbs that you've endured several rounds of Crucio. There will be some nerve damage, which I have potions for, as well as an ointment, and you should not move much for the next few days. I have a spare bedroom here, and was about to leave the castle for the holidays anyway," he said, lying through his teeth about leaving the castle. He had meant to stay over the holidays to make sure the rest of the staff did not murder the Carrows, but at this point, he didn't care anymore.

He pointed at the biscuits and tea. "Eat. Drink. I am going to return to the castle to bring back more food and your familiar," he frowned at that. "When I return we will have to deal with the side effects of the Cruciatus. And then the Occlusion."

"A-all right." Hermione blinked at him as he fled the room as if the hounds of Hecate were at his heels.

The food was not that urgent, and the biscuits were likely enough to tide her over, but he needed to leave.

Hermione felt herself being shaken awake for the second time that day while wrapped up in a blanket on an upholstered piece of furniture.

"I've brought dinner," Severus said, setting down a tray of chicken and vegetable soup and crusty rolls. She heard a plaintive mrreeow.

"Crooksy," she whispered, and she felt a distant sensation in her heart at the sight of her familiar, obviously well cared for. He carefully climbed near her, and butted his head against her side. "Oh my good boy," she said.

Severus cleared his throat and nudged the soup at her. Hermione had scarcely tasted the biscuits she had eaten, and she could barely smell the soup. The thought of forcing herself to consume more food made her vaguely ill.

"You have to eat to keep up your strength, and you're going to feel hungry when the Occlumency wears off," he said, not looking at her.

"Are you disappointed with me?" she asked, before she could stop herself. She noticed that he had been more distant and stiff than usual, and was afraid that he would withdraw from her again before coming back with another purple hyacinth. She didn't want apologies; she wanted his presence.

"No. Never. Eat before the food grows cold." He handed over a spoon and then busied himself with consuming his own bowl of soup.

Hermione could not taste much of the soup though she could tell it was very good, as the cooking at Hogwarts always had been. Her hands trembled wildly, but she forced herself to eat through the tremors, spilling soup on herself in the process. Crooks stuck to her side silently and licked the small spills of soup where he could. Severus seemed not to notice, eating his own meal methodically and neatly, though the hand that wasn't handling cutlery was clenched tightly on the coffee table. She stopped eating when she could no longer stomach any more.

"Can you stand?" Severus asked, after he stopped eating.

Hermione tried to push herself up, but her legs were weak. She shook her head. What happened next surprised her. Instead of offering to Levitate her, or prop her up to walk, Severus wrapped an arm around her back and hooked an arm under her legs and swept her off the couch with minimal effort. Her familiar let out a disgruntled yowl when he was dislodged but Severus paid him no mind.

He held her close to his chest, and she could faintly smell the scent of cedar, and spices and herbs. On some level, she was surprised at his actions, but she was too exhausted and detached to make much of it. She pressed herself against his chest, nearly crying at the sensation of being safe and warm.

"There is not enough space in this house to levitate you without risking you bumping into walls," he said by way of explanation, though she had not asked. He pulled a book from one of the bookshelves in the room, which moved one shelf to reveal a stairway. He carried her through the dim and narrow stairway, and stopped in front of a door.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take my old room. The other room doesn't have clean sheets," he murmured, dipping her briefly to open the door and then carefully depositing her onto the single bed. His gaze locked onto her settled in his bed for a long moment, before he looked away. The door had creaked slightly when he opened it, as did the bed when she was set down.

"It's really no problem," she said, taking him in with wide eyes.

"I brought back some potions for the Cruciatus, but will need to make the ointment," he said, still avoiding her eyes. "It's been some time that I've needed it." He drew a small bottle made of purple glass from his frock coat, and handed it to her.

Hermione felt a pang in her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered, throat still raw.

Severus stilled. "It's in the past now. Do you need help with the stopper?"

Hermione attempted to remove the stopper, but it would not move. Wordlessly Severus took the bottle from her and removed the stopper. He looked at her shaking hands, and his body tensed.

"Let me—"

Hermione tilted her head while she opened up her mouth, and felt her pulse beat like a hummingbird where he held her jaw to steady her as he poured the potion into her mouth. She could not taste it very well, but it was sour and bitter and her body could tell; she felt like retching, but she forced herself to swallow. Almost immediately she felt her body relax. Warmth spread from her head to toe as if she had submerged into a hot bath.

"Aguamenti." He poured water into the bottle, and poured it down her throat, which helped with the sense of sickliness. Then he snatched his hands away as if her skin burned him, and she was glad that the room was dark, so he could not see the flush she felt. She was aware of him in a way she had not been before, and she hoped that was not what was making him so obviously uncomfortable, though it was probably her very presence in his house that did that.

"You should sleep now. The ointment takes a while to settle and the potion works better if you rest," he said gruffly.

"Thank you," she said. "You didn't have to do all of this," she said.

He finally looked at her, his expression severe. "Of course I did." With that, he left the room.

Hermione finally noticed that he had added another layer of blankets around her, and barely noticed the bare walls or thick heavy curtains of the small room before sleep took her.

Severus stared up at the shadowed green canopy of the four-poster that he had replaced his parents' bed with, and wondered what he was doing. He should send her away after he gave her the ointment the next day, but he knew he would not. He had felt slightly unhinged after using Dark Magic to heal her wound; he had barely managed to keep himself from responding to the rush of arousal that came with the Dark Magic. It would have been fine, if that was all that he had felt.

He knew what he was feeling, even if he refused to name it, and gave himself a brief moment to feel rage at the injustice of it all—of finally feeling something that he thought he would never feel again when it was likely that he would either lose his life to the war, or spend the rest of his days in Azkaban.

But when she smiled at him he felt warm. He could not send her away until she was well. It was madness to keep her close when she upset his mental balance so badly, but he needed to care for her. He was responsible for leading her into danger, he needed to care for her, and he could finally admit that it had nothing to do with winning the war anymore. He needed to nurture something, to feel like he was doing more than destroying the wizarding world day by day in the name of the Greater Good.

He slept poorly that night, and woke early to clarify the oils and herbs that he had left out to steep overnight and make breakfast. He kept to the same morning routine he had at Hogwarts, taking a bitter potion before drowning out the taste with coffee, and then eating a bowl of porridge, plain. He had nothing to serve but porridge, coffee and tea, and needed more food. The night before, he had only asked the elves for dinner and a little milk, and had not thought of breakfast. He hoped that the shops would not be too busy as Christmas was in three days.

He fed the cat with the food that Hermione had brought over previously, as the house elves had taken care of the feeding while at Hogwarts, and frowned at himself when he realised that he had kept the cat food in his house. As if he had expected a need for it.

He brought Hermione a tray of porridge and a cup of coffee that he fixed with plenty of milk, in consideration of her fragile state. He watched as she inhaled the scent of the coffee, and sighed happily after she drained the cup in one go.

"This is the best coffee I've had in a long time," she said.

Severus shrugged one shoulder. "I am a Potions Master. It's a brew."

"Of course," she said with a smile, then her expression changed at the sight of the porridge. "I should eat this, shouldn't I?" she asked, and began to feed herself without waiting for an answer. He noted that her hands were shaking less than the day before, and she managed to finish her porridge without spills.

"I have the ointment. There's a bathroom to the right of this room. Do you think you can walk now?" Severus asked as soon as she set her spoon down.

"Let's find out," Hermione said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up shakily, and leaned against the wall as soon as she was up. She winced. "It's difficult."

"Let me," Severus said, and slung her uninjured arm over his shoulder. He grimaced at the sight of the blood on her worn grey jumper, and made a note to himself to provide her with fresh clothes.

They made their way into the bathroom, and he seated her at the edge of the tub.

"Do you think you can handle the ointment yourself?" he asked gruffly, trying to hide how unnerved he felt.

"I think so," she said, reaching for the ointment, and then dropped it immediately when Severus tried to hand it over. It landed on the worn tiled floor with a clatter.

"If we apply it first to your hands and wrists it will help steady them," Severus said, feeling a faint heat rise on his cheeks.

He picked up the jar and set it on the counter, then reached out for one of her hands. Her hand was small and soft in his, and the sight arrested him. He steadfastly refused to look at her while he massaged the mix of oils into one hand and then the other. He desperately cleared his mind while he took each slim finger in his and coated her fingers in oil, and tenderly circled her slender wrists with his hands. He became distressingly aware of the sound of their breathing in the washroom, and how slick and soft her hands were.

He dropped her hands as soon as he was done. "Apply the ointment to all of the rest of your skin after your shower. It should take effect within five minutes," he said. "There are clean towels in the airing cupboard. I'll leave clean clothes for you to change into...just...shout if you need any help," he said, briefly glancing at her. Her eyes were wide, her face was pink, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Severus beat a hasty retreat out of the bathroom, then found the smallest t-shirt he owned, a pair of red flannel pyjama bottoms Minerva had once gifted him, and nearly stopped himself before he added a pair of boxers to the pile. He also stopped himself before he could think about what not lending her boxers would mean, or what her soft small hands near his boxers would feel like. He was not going to think about such things. Thinking such things while still in control of his thoughts would be crossing a line, and he still had some self-respect left. In a fit of inspiration he found an old jumper, desperately trying not to think of her wandering around his draughty home in only a t-shirt.

He left the clothes in front of the bathroom before he went to his bedroom to go over the budgeting for the coming school session. He would have normally done this in his sitting room, but he ended up pacing in his bedroom instead, listening intently for any sounds of distress from the bathroom beside him.

He heard the sound of running water, and then after a much shorter period of time than he had expected the water stopped.

"Severus?" he heard several minutes later. He ran his hands down the side of his frock coat—it seemed safer to wear all his layers though he could have easily handled the coldness of the house—and then he emerged from his room.

He bit back a snort at the sight of Hermione Granger, Gryffindor extraordinaire, looking a bit like a drowned kneazle with her wet hair plastered to her head, dressed in his old grey-green jumper.

Then his sense of amusement faded. "You've used the ointment?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, looking up at him.

He sighed. "Let's fix your mind now."

He helped her down to the sitting room, and tried not to pay too close attention to the feeling of her body plastered to his side as he helped her down the stairs. He wondered how soft—

"No," he said, to stop himself. He took a moment to steady himself.

"Something wrong?" Hermione asked from where he had seated her.

"No just—remembered something. It's not an issue. I'm going to have to ask you to relive the memory of your torture,"—Hermione flinched at the word—"and let yourself process it, because you are suppressing the experience with your Occlumency and that is suppressing all of your senses. It is going to hurt. Don't fight me," he said, gripping her hands and, without warning, he dived into her mind.

He saw her try to relive the memory, but shy away from it every time she got close. He could feel her underlying sense of security at having him near and...was that affection? The feelings bled through to his own thoughts and he forced the thought from his head before he lost himself in it. He could not lose himself, not when her mind was at stake.

Focus, he thought, and then he saw her begin to live through the torture again. He could feel her terror and pain as Bellatrix cast the first Crucio, felt her focus on doing everything she could to not give her secrets away, and then she withdrew when the memory of the second Crucio began.

"Feel it," he insisted. "I'm here, you are safe, the pain is over now—this is just a memory."

With a shudder, Hermione refocused on her memory, and he focused on the pain that she remembered so that it would be in the forefront of her mind. Her entire body flinched as the pain came into focus, and then suddenly the rest of her memory was pouring out—how she had thought of him when she was clinging onto the only thing keeping her sane, how she had faced the pain, how she had fought the Imperius and fought to protect Harry just ashis rage at witnessing her torture shattered his Occlumency—and then suddenly it was over and he found her in his arms with gasping sobs.

He held her tightly in his arms, right up against his racing heart, and realised at that moment that he was irrevocably fucked.

AN: before I forget hope everyone has a happy New Year's, and see you all in the new year. :)