A/N: *Stumbles in, grinning*
*flails with excitement to see you all*
*Shoves the chapter down on top of your morning newspaper*
*steals a sip of your coffee*
*scuttles away to write more*
xx-Kitten.
Relligo Spiritus
By Kittenshift17
Chapter Five
Hermione came awake with a groan, gagging at the stink of smelling salts and wincing at the all-encompassing agony suffusing her frame. Gods, she felt like she'd been hit by a bus twenty times over, and then stabbed a billion times with a rusty fork, before having her innards ripped out and used to strangle her. Her mouth tasted foul, like stale vomit, and she was shivering uncontrollably.
The dark form of a wizard looming over her had her recoiling in fear, backing up as far as she could before she realized she laid upon something soft and familiar. Her eyes zeroed in on the face scowling down at her and while it was - to say the least - a particularly unpleasant and extremely unfriendly face, it wasn't the visage of one of her captors.
"Do you know where you are?" Severus Snape asked brusquely when she winced and clutched at her head but stopped trying to get away from him.
"My own living room?" Hermione guessed, her eyes leaving him to assess her surroundings and recognising the décor she'd carefully selected since taking up a flat of her own.
"Indeed," Snape drawled. "Do you remember what happened?"
Hermione sighed, nodding and closing her eyes against the pain throbbing through her entire body with every beat of her heart.
"Dolohov, Greyback and Scabior," she nodded. "Cruciatus. Though I have no idea how they got through my wards."
"Dolohov was a curse-breaker before joining the Death Eater ranks," Snape supplied mildly. "And the curse he used upon you in the Department of Mysteries that failed to kill you held an inherent tracking spell. Once he knew where you were, he simply sat out there picking at the protective wards until he was able to penetrate them."
"Oh," Hermione frowned. "I didn't know that."
"No, Albus didn't want you informed of the tracking spell," Snape sighed, turning from her and sauntering across to one of her armchairs where he sat wearily.
"Of course not," Hermione muttered, thinking mutinous thoughts about the former Headmaster and his secretiveness. "I suppose if you're here and I'm alive, the Death Eaters have been seen off?"
"Not exactly," Snape answered and when Hermione opened her eyes in alarm, he waved a finger to the window that overlooked the back garden.
Bodies littered the grass, two of them desecrated beyond recognition. Hermione gasped, her stomach turning.
"Good Lord," she muttered. "What happened? Did you do that?"
Snape didn't bother to answer her, though the look on his face and the blood staining his robes – more casual than she'd ever seen him in – suggested he had.
"You murdered them?" Hermione whispered. "And you're here. Did you carry me inside?"
"Levitated you," he answered. "And yes, they're dead. They won't be returning to trouble you again, Miss Granger."
"How did you get here?" Hermione asked.
He raised that damned eyebrow at her scornfully, looking at her like she was an imbecile, and Hermione coloured.
"How do you think?" he complained. "That much damage sustained in such a short timespan resonates through the bond tethering us, Miss Granger."
"Oh," Hermione answered thickly, unsure what else to say. "Erm… I hope you weren't in the middle of anything time sensitive."
He snorted.
"I daresay the batch of Pepper-Up Potions I was brewing for St. Mungos might be ruined," he said. "But I shan't be subjected to your ghost haunting me for the next several decades, so I'm comfortable with the sacrifice."
"That's… a very pragmatic way of looking at it, sir," Hermione offered weakly, at a loss at how to proceed.
When last she'd seen him, he'd been vibrating with fury and had forcibly removed himself from her presence, lest he murder her. And now here he was, sounding tired and impatient more than a year later, having just murdered three men to save her life.
"How are you feeling?" he asked eventually in the silence that followed while Hermione tried to focus on not throwing up from the pain coursing through her.
"Everything aches and stings at the same time," she said.
"Throbbing?" he guessed.
"In time with my pulse," Hermione agreed, realising he must be well versed in the effects of the cruciatus on a human body. She wondered how many times he might've endured it himself.
"Have you any Flu Potion?" he asked.
"Probably," Hermione said. "Does that help?"
"Dulls the ache, in my experience. A strong pain-relief potion will soothe the throbbing, and if possible, a Vitality Potion will alleviate the sting."
"I think I have all three in my medicine cupboard," Hermione nodded.
She frowned, searching her pockets for her wand before recalling that she'd been disarmed of the weapon out on the lawn.
"Shall I fetch it?" Snape offered, surprising her with the politeness of the gesture.
"They took my wand," Hermione sighed. "Otherwise I'd summon it."
"You won't be able to stand or do magic for some time yet, Miss Granger," he told her. "The medicine cupboard?"
"In the bathroom," Hermione answered. "Down the hall on the right. There's a wooden box of potions and medical supplies in the cupboard under the sink."
Snape sighed audibly before rising to his feet to fetch it and Hermione watched him go, noting the slowness of his gait and the evident exhaustion of his movements. Again, she wondered how many times he'd endured the curse himself and had to drag himself home to lick his wounds, unaided. She wondered how his recuperation would be set-back by this. She'd been intimately aware of him drawing on her vitality throughout the year as he healed, subconscious though it had undoubtedly been, but now she could feel that it was his strength pouring into her that allowed her to sit up and force her body upright.
"Stop moving," he commanded as he returned carrying the box. "Your encounter has sorely taxed your strength, and mine as a result, and I hadn't regained enough of it to endure quite as stoically as would be preferred. The less you move, the less energy you expend, and the more likely I am to remain upright, rather than passed out on that couch beside you."
Hermione nodded.
"Right," she muttered, taking the potions from him when he sat beside her, opened the box, and began handing her the neatly labelled vials without bothering to check those labels. She supposed he must be so used to recognising all three common medicinal treatments for minor ailments that he knew them by sight alone.
Unstoppering each one, Hermione downed all three he'd spoken of before accepting a second pain-relief potion when he offered it to her, evidently aware of how weak she felt. She was trembling in her seat and she was beginning to see stars.
"Oh, I think I'd better lay back down," Hermione said, fumbling the last vial back to him after she drank it.
"Spots?" he guessed.
"Stars," she admitted.
"Chew on this," he said, retrieving a small glass vial from his pocket and unscrewing the lid.
Hermione frowned at the shrivelled green leaf that looked rather like a tongue of aloe, it's waxy texture diminished by the age and dehydration.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Peruvian Starthorn," he answered. "Relieves vertigo, nausea, and the sensation of seeing stars."
"Why do you have a jar of it in your pocket?" Hermione frowned at him, accepting the herb and chewing it delicately before finding it rather more resistant to biting than she'd imagined. In fact, chewing on it required use of her molars, and incurred the feel of chewing a meaty steak that was rather beyond well done.
"I've had need of it since regaining the ability to rise from bed, unaided," he answered dryly, surprising her with the honesty of his answer.
"Right," she muttered again, her cheeks flushing at her own stupid question when she knew he'd been recovering from a terrible near-death experience all year. "Erm… thank you."
He didn't answer, though he did move off the couch to allow her the chance to lie down once more. Hermione was surprised when he moved to the floor beside the cushions where she reclined, leaning his back against the couch and tipping his head back to rest on the cushion by her shoulder. He must be exhausted if he was willing to sit so close, and to appear so vulnerable.
"Your beast is still in the garden," he sighed, tucking the jar back into his pocket. "I believe it attempted to come to your rescue and was kicked into the wall. I'm uncertain if it lives."
"Crookshanks?" she gasped, making to rise again.
"Don't try to get up," he growled, using the coffee table to pull himself to his feet. "I'll fetch the damn thing."
He stumbled slightly on his way out of the room, catching himself heavily in the doorway and Hermione frowned, seeing him brought so low. She waited tiredly while he fetched Crookshanks, watching him returning carrying the orange bundle.
"It's alive," he informed her. "Though I expect rather bruised."
"Is he conscious?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Snape answered. "Might have a broken leg."
He sighed, sitting back down on the edge of her couch when she reached for her familiar, and casting a charm over the cat. He muttered something too quiet for her to hear before one of his large hands smoothed over Crookshanks thick fur, pinning him down before casting several quick healing charms. Crookshanks yowled in protest, pained by the spells designed to fix him, and he hissed angrily at Snape before rising and scampering out of the room in the direction of her bedroom, evidently planning to lick his wounds in solitude.
"Ungrateful creature," Snape sighed, shaking his head. "You should rest, Miss Granger. Your injuries are taxing us both."
"So should you," she answered quietly. "If I shuffle over and make room here on the couch, are you going to be painful about it?"
"Miss Granger," he warned, sounding horrified by the very idea.
"Need I remind you, sir, that I once straddled you and performed CPR including mouth-to-mouth after forcing a bezoar down your gullet just a little over a year and a half ago?" Hermione asked mildly.
"I was unaware of that," he said, turning to frown down at her in surprise.
"Oh," she said. "I assumed you remembered, since you remembered the other spells and things I did to revive you and keep you alive."
"Evidently my memory is not fully intact from the incident," he allowed, eyeing her face before glancing at the space on the pillow beside her.
Hermione didn't bother offering again or explaining. She simply shuffled further back against the backrest of the couch, burrowing into it as much a possible to free up space on the cushions. She'd purchased a rather large and luxurious couch – one with having Hagrid stop by to visit in mind, in fact – so there was plenty of room for the two of them to share. If they each laid on their side, they might not even have to touch.
"Miss Granger," Snape warned, scowling at her though there was no heat to the admonishment give that he sounded minutes from passing out.
"Just rest, Professor," Hermione sighed. "Worry about the logistics and immoralities later."
With that said, she closed her eyes against the pain still resonating through her and left the decision entirely up to him. If he wanted to stay, he could. If he wanted to go… well… he'd probably get ten steps and collapse in the hallway, by the look of him. If he really wanted to be a stubborn git and faint in the corridor, that was his prerogative, she supposed.
Despite that, a little huff of amusement left her when he muttered several swear words before flopping down on the cushions beside her and groaning like even that was too much effort. Hermione slipped into a pain induced sleep with Severus Snape at her side and a smile on her face.