A/N: *evil cackling in the distance*
*springs out from behind the couch*
*giggles while you spill your wine in surprise*
*waves the chapter invitingly in recompense*
*scampers off, toting other chapters for other fics you just might be excited to read*
*calls over shoulder "It's going to be a busy week!"*
*more cackling*
xx-Kitten.
Relligo Spiritus
By Kittenshift17
Chapter Seven
Hermione's knees buckled under her upon impact when they landed in a small back garden she'd never seen before and only her grip on Snape's elbow saved her when Crookshanks leaped from her arms as she began to fall.
"Get a hold of yourself, Miss Granger," Snape scowled, shaking her off him when she got her feet under her again.
"Sorry," she apologised automatically, frowning up at him.
"Wait here," he said, setting down her trunk and striding further down the length of the garden toward the very back corner.
He disappeared from view in the dark, and Hermione heard him swearing from somewhere, and a metallic screech sounded before two distinct plops met her ears. She frowned and waited for him to return, noticing that he used a cleaning charm on his hands as he walked.
"What did you do?" she asked. "Where… where did you put them?"
It occurred to her when he turned out his cloak pocket for any debris that he'd disposed of the bones he'd transfigured Scabior and Dolohov's remains into.
"In the septic tank," Snape answered evenly, daring her to laugh.
"Oh my god," she breathed, horrified and yet sadistically pleased at the idea. "That's…"
"Fitting," he nodded in agreement. "Still better than they deserve."
A slightly hysterical giggle escaped her, and Hermione covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sound before she caught the flash of his teeth in the moonlight and realised he was smiling viciously.
"Come on," he said, picking up her trunk and carrying it up the path and into the house.
Hermione followed after him, focusing her will to make it up the stairs without falling on her face.
"Exhausted?" Snape guessed, flicking on the lights to reveal his tidy kitchen.
"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I could sleep for a week."
"Are you seeing stars, again?" he asked, evidently aware of how weak she felt, likely indicating she was drawing on his strength.
"Yes," Hermione admitted.
Snape set down her trunk next to the stove and fished into his pocked for the jar of starthorn he'd given her earlier, handing one over her to chew on before taking one for himself.
"We should eat something," Hermione suggested, chewing tiredly. "Refuel. And the rest."
"It's the middle of the night," he nodded in agreement.
Hermione watched him open the fridge and withdraw the ingredient to fix them both a cold roast beef and pickle sandwich. She offered to help but he waved her away, nodding to the seat at the small kitchen table. Hermione sank into it gratefully, clutching her aching head and closing her eyes.
"Erebus, don't even think about it," Snape said a short while later, still making their sandwiches.
Hermione opened her eyes to find Crookshanks at her feet, and an enormous black cat sat fluffed up and hissing in the doorway. He was the biggest cat she'd ever laid eyes on, his coat thick and luxurious, fluffier than Crooks, and much larger.
Crookshanks growled in warning.
"Crooks, be nice," Hermione reminded the half-kneazel. "You're a guest on his turf, remember."
Erebus growled in return and Snape handed Hermione the sandwich he'd fixed for her. In a flurry, both cats rushed each other, growling and hissing, swiping viciously.
"Let them go," Snape advised when Hermione tried to stop her cat from causing trouble. "They'll sort it out and learn to live with each other."
Hermione sighed, nodding as Crookshanks bolted through the door and deeper into the house with Erebus on his tail.
"He's a big cat," Hermione commented.
"He's as unfriendly as his master, too," Snape commented, eyeing her coldly, evidently uncomfortable having her in his space.
"You're not going to growl and chase me around the house, are you?" Hermione asked. "I think I'll fall down if I try to run away."
He narrowed his eyes, evidently not appreciating her humour and Hermione sighed, finishing the rest of her sandwich in silence. When she was done, he flicked his wand at the plates to wash them up and put away the ingredients before surprising her and offering her his hand to help her to her feet.
"Did you really read that physical contact allows for faster repletion?" he asked quietly.
Hermione nodded tiredly, holding his gaze though her eyes stung with exhaustion and she wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. Snape sighed heavily before his shoulders drooped, his own weariness evident when he hung his head.
"Come, then," he said, turning away and striding out of the kitchen.
Hermione didn't protest, she simply followed after him, trailing in his wake as he turned off the lights in the kitchen and muttered a few strengthening charms for the wards protecting the house at the back door. She was surprised when he took her hand in the dark, leading her through the house though she couldn't see a thing and up a staircase that creaked with every step.
"Get out of those jeans and gardening clothes," he told her when they reached the upper level and moonlight peeked through what she realised was the window in his bedroom.
"I… all of my things are still in my trunk," she said weakly, frowning at the very idea of stripping in front of him.
"Take this," he said, moving over and pressing something soft and well-worn into her hands. Hermione held it up, realising it must be one of his old undershirts.
"Right," she muttered, thinking about protesting but deciding she was simply too tired to care. It wasn't like he could see anything in the dark anyway.
She stripped out of her jeans and her gardening jumper quickly, frowning in the dark before turning her back to Snape and unsnapping the clasp on her bra, too, unwilling to sleep in it when it'd begun cutting into her. She gasped quietly at the pain in her shoulder when she managed it, the effects of the cruciatus curse making themselves known once again. Shrugging into the shirt he'd given her, she was amused to note that it fell to mid-thigh on her, engulfing her small frame entirely and hiding her body from his view.
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer I sleep in a spare room, Snape?" Hermione asked when he crossed to the bed and peeled open the covers wearily, looking utterly exhausted.
"You said contact helps," he answered. "If we're both to be useless until repleted, it stands to reason that we ought to achieve repletion as soon as possible. And it's not as though we didn't sleep side by side on you couch, Miss Granger."
"Right," she muttered, following his lead to the other side of the bed and opening the covers before sliding inside.
The linens smelled like him, she noticed, savouring strongly of dried herbs, but the soft mattress and warm blanket was welcome in the winter-frigid bedroom since his exploits at her place hadn't allowed from proper heating of the house throughout the day.
Snape climbed into bed on the other side and Hermione laid still for a long moment before she felt his hand moving across the sheets in her direction.
"Contact," she muttered, rolling in his direction and shuffling toward him, taking his hand when he touched her hip.
He didn't say anything else as she shuffled across the bed until she could press herself against him, burrowing her face into his chest and curling an arm over his middle. After the way they'd awoken on the couch, it wasn't an uncomfortable experience, though Hermione noted with some amusement that he remained tense for several long minutes.
"Was this level of weariness what you suffered while I recuperated?" he asked curiously just as she was beginning to drift off.
"No," Hermione murmured quietly. "I was tired for a long time, and sore, but never this bone weary."
He didn't say anything else and Hermione sighed softly, snuggling a little closer to him. After so long spent on high alert to have him show up and attack her in a fury over their linked souls, it seemed odd to feel so comfortable in his embrace. She'd read that contact was supposed to bring repletion faster, but nothing about feeling calm and content.
"Do you truly think Greyback will be hunting me now?" she asked as her thoughts inevitably circled back to the attack; echoes of the pain she'd endured beneath the touch of the curse stinging her muscles even now.
"Yes," Snape said. "Fenrir Greyback was obsessed with you when last I was forced to endure his company, during the war. As was Dolohov."
"Do you think he'll find me here?" she asked.
"No," he said. "The tracking spell they used to locate you in the first place was imbedded in Dolohov's curse on you from when you were sixteen. Without him, Greyback will have to rely on gossip, stalking, and his lycanthropic senses like heightened smell to track you down. It might be in your best interests to take some time off from whatever work you do to occupy your time. I expect they will have tracked you to your office, first."
"I'm on Christmas vacation," she answered softly. "No one will miss me until at least the 5th of January."
"You're not staying here that long," he warned.
Hermione giggled despite the impending oblivion.
"But professor," she said reasonably. "Physical contact helps us heal faster."
She fell asleep to the sound of his cursing colourfully in what sounded like several different languages.