Ch 6
"It is a dangerous thing to unbelieve something only because it frightens you."
-Lewis Carrol
Severus POV
Horcruxes. Fucking Horcrux. Only the Dark Lord would be so depraved to resort to them. And seven. Merlin, no wonder Granger looked so stressed all of the time. She was given the unfortunate task of hunting them down along with Potter and Weasley.
Just when he thought there was a chance that this war could end soon, he learns something like this. Severus sighed heavily, blowing out smoke as he did so.
He was currently on the astronomy tower. The moon was waning, but it was still illuminating much of the night sky. He was looking out across the ground, smoking a cigarette. It was a nasty habit he gained in his 20s. He only ever resorted to smoking when he was truly stressed. He hadn't smoked one in months. Not since the night, he killed Dumbledore. Speaking of the old man, what on earth was he thinking?
He understood why he kept this information a secret. But the least he could have done was not give the task to three students who haven't even graduated yet. There were more qualified witches and wizards at his disposal that were a part of the Order that could have taken on this task. Hell, even despite his busy schedule, he would have done it himself.
Granger had just finished explaining everything he had been kept out of the loop from this last year. Somehow the both of them ended up sitting on her bed. She sat near the headboard with her legs crossed while he sat opposite from her near the end. He was partially turned away from her. He didn't want her to have to see his grave expression.
He hadn't felt like this in such a long time. So utterly defeated and hopeless. The Dark Lord was immortal, and the only hope for the Wizarding World was currently the efforts of three barely adults. Merlin help us all. Severus honestly didn't know what to do, he was trying to focus on the moment and her words, but his head was reeling from her words. He could feel himself sinking further and further from the bed and deeper into the darkest parts of his mind. He almost wished that he was still standing; at least then, he could pace. The rhythm of his movements could help temper the racing speed of his thoughts. But he couldn't stand. He could barely move. He couldn't even bring his hand up to his face to pinch the space in between his brows. Instead, his hands were clutching the fabric of her bedding. He could feel his hands getting clammy from his grip. No doubt if he looked, his hands would be white from the pressure.
"And I have no idea why Dumbledore didn't want you to know. You are an expert in dark magic, and we are kinda dealing with dark magic," she said as she toyed with the fur of her cat. Somehow it seemed to sense her unease as soon as she sat and moved to comfort her. It wasn't helping. She was trying to calm herself, but she was stammering despite her attempt to appear confident. She clearly understood what the problem was and what the solution was. But it was clear that she was floundering with how to go about it. All three of them appeared lost and at a standstill. If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, he would be impressed with how far the lot of them were able to make it in the first place.
"Maybe because this information is damning." He could seriously use a drink. Or find a means to escape Britain. And probably Europe as well. "I don't know how much help I will be." He honestly had no clue where to start. He was just as lost as she was about where the Dark Lord would hide his Horcruxes. From his understanding, the man was never sentimental, but these artefacts changed everything. And on top of that, he didn't know how wise it was for him to be in such close proximity with one, let alone destroy one. Even from this distance and without touching it, he can feel the locket's pull on him. Infiltrating his mind and compromising his emotions. He honestly felt physically ill while in her presence, and he couldn't tell if it was from the locket or all she just revealed. What a turn of events; he was tempted to ask her to obliviate him.
"You might be surprised." She seemed confused about whether she should even be asking him for his help. He wasn't offended. Quite personally, he would prefer not to be involved in this, but he knew he couldn't walk away. He also knew, though, with his involvement, she would have to lie more to her friends. And that could cause some complications.
But it didn't matter. It was not as if he cared about her friends and their feelings, to begin with. And they would be too excited with any progress to question how she came across it. Hopefully. "How can I help?"
She breathed a sigh of relief. Not because she didn't think he wouldn't help but because she was glad that he was. "I have two things you could do. I need you to get me the sword of Gryffindor." It made sense. Once she explained some of the research she had come across on how to destroy Horcruxes, the idea crossed his mind. The blade was embedded with Basilisk venom. Despite Potter's using the sword years ago, the venom would still remain. And it so happens to still stay in his office. Though there was recently an attempt by some of the more bold students to steal it. "That's easy. What's the second?"
She bit her lip nervously, clearly not sure of what she was about to ask him. "Can you get into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault? I have a hunch."
For the last two days, he researched everything he could and went over all of Granger's notes on Horcruxes. He was familiar with the concept in theory, but until the other night, he never saw one. There had only been a handful of moments when he ever experienced such confusion and fear. The first was the night he joined the Death Eaters, and the dark mark was burned into his skin as he collapsed onto his knees in pain. The last one was after he killed Dumbledore. After he was congratulated by the other Death Eaters and even praised by the Dark Lord, he was left alone. And in the loneliness, he broke down on the ground, his head buried in his arms as he wished so desperately that this was all just a nightmare and he would wake up soon. But he never did since he was never dreaming.
It also didn't help that once she explained the possibility that Nagini was a Horcrux, everything changed. From his previous knowledge of them, they had to be inanimate objects and couldn't be living beings.
It also made him think about the night he went after the Potters on Halloween, and he supposedly died. From what Dumbledore told him, the Dark Lord cast the killing curse, and it rebounded, destroying his body. And his soul, well know that Severus knew about the Horcrux, his soul would have continued to remain in this physical plane. But he couldn't understand how his soul could have enough strength to manifest a host. His soul would have needed energy and life in order not to die. And the only life near him when he died was Harry Potter.
Harry Potter was a Horcrux. As if this whole situation couldn't get any easier.
The mental connection between Potter and the Dark Lord was unusual and something he had never come across before. Occulemency was pointless; it never seemed to aid the boy in keeping his mind safe. It was always as if the Dark Lord was lingering in the back of his head. There was a reason the boy could speak to snakes. In a way, it explains a lot. He hated Potter for his own reasons. The boy was an idiot, and he often went looking for trouble. But that could be said about any number of students. There was always something different about him. Every time he was in his presence Severus felt this dark looming presence over him. And any time he spoke to the boy, he somehow was able to get under his skin. That could possibly be due to their shared connection to the man.
It didn't make him feel good when he told Hermione of this theory. He didn't like the look in her eyes when she realized that the only way to destroy the Horcrux would be to kill Harry. But now that he was involved in this secret operation, it was possible that an alternative way could be found. He wouldn't hold his breath, but he would hold off on killing the boy until he researched the topic more closely. Because at the end of the day, despite what others may believe, he didn't want him to die. But if it meant killing Potter to kill the Dark Lord, he knew Hermione wouldn't be able to do it. She would understand even though it would break her heart ever to say the words. Nor would any members of the Order if they knew. It was likely that Potter would do it himself if need be. However, the need for his services arose. He would be the only person who could do it. He killed Dumbledore as a form of assisted suicide. He could kill Potter to save the Wizarding World.
But just maybe it wouldn't have to come to that.
As soon as he stepped into his office, he went and grabbed the sword of Gryffindor and placed it on his desk. The clang that emitted when he dropped it was loud and pierced the air. Immediately all of the portraits woke up complaining about the noise before going back to sleep after noticing no commotion except for one.
Dumbledore remained quiet, but Severus could see how he was eyeing the sword. If Severus weren't aware of its importance, he would have been suspicious. "Why didn't you tell me, Albus?"
"About what?"
Severus couldn't help but glare. "You know what."
Dumbledore sighed wearily. "I didn't want to burden you any more than you already are. I am surprised she told you," he admitted.
Severus guffawed at that. Of course, that was what was bothering him. He found out some secrets, and he wasn't the one who told him. How typical of him. "She didn't exactly have a choice once I found her in possession of one."
"They found it then the locket?" any weariness of the old man's face disappeared as he suddenly looked intrigued. His eyes lit up as if he was a kid in a candy shop.
"Yes."
"Good. I assume you know the truth about…."
"Potter?" Severus spat out the name. "Yes, and so does she." His eyes narrowed into slits, and his voice came out raspy. "How could you, Albus. I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep him safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter —"
"It was the only way."
Severus breathed heavily and tried to compose himself. Now was not the time. "Maybe not. If only you had confided in someone. In me. This whole thing could have been averted years ago."
"There is no cure." If it weren't for the sadness seeping into his voice, Severus would have thought he was being more stubborn than usual. But Severus could tell that he genuinely believed everything he did was the only thing he could do. And maybe he was right. But that was before Severus was let in on the secret. "Not yet. But that doesn't mean I can't create one."
A sharp burning pain suddenly began on his arm and spread throughout his body in a shiver. Of course. Of course, the Dark Lord would summon him now. Now, he was in a reflective state and plotting the same man's demise. And now, when he had an actual plan on how to kill him. Now, he finally figured out the man's most profound and darkest secret.
His arm continued to burn as he grabbed his robes and mask. Now was not the time to dawdle. For the Dark Lord was not a patient man. Thankfully he would have some time while walking to make sure his occlumens shields were fully prepared for this evening.
Hermione POV
Hermione was beginning to feel nervous. She was in Severus Snape's bedroom. Though it wasn't the first time, she was here. This was the only room with a fireplace that she could use to travel by floo. But something about today was vastly different from all of the other times she has been here.
She usually passed through in order to get into the lab. Barely giving the room a glance over as she walked through the door leading to his lab. But right now, the door to the lab was closed. Normally it was always open. Professor Snape always left it open for her so that she could walk through after he summoned her. But this time, he didn't summon her. She was here of her own accord and didn't know if she could simply walk through without an invitation. She had tried to make herself known. She had knocked on the door several times and even called out his name. And yet, for the last several minutes, there has been no response. It is possible he just accidentally closed the door behind him. But she highly doubted that. Nothing that man did was accidental. She could see the light shining underneath the door. But standing here in his bedroom for as long as she has, a feeling of doubt and dread has begun to grow like a pit in her stomach.
The two of them had to cross over several personal boundaries in order to work together. Thay also had to establish new ones in order for their partnership to not crash and burn. But this was not a situation they ever discussed before. She toyed with the galleon in her pocket. Despite the fact that he was the one who always used it to send her messages it wasn't a one way line of communication. She could have let him know she was coming. But telling him she was coming over to see him seemed at the time an intrusion of his privacy and yet she still showed up anyway. She wasn't sure why she carried the galleon with her. She normally left it hidden in her room. But lately she had been carrying it around with her. Even when she was simply in the kitchen at headquarters. She would at times find herself stroking the coin. The actions were compulsive but left her feeling a sense of warmth and safety. It was almost like the coin was a kind of reassurance that she wasn't alone. That she could rely on Severus Snape if the need ever called for it.
Screw it, Hermione thought determinedly as she opened the door.
She didn't know what she was expecting. At first glance, everything appeared to be normal. The shelves were still covered with potion ingredients, and the chalkboard still had her annotations on it. And yet this uneasy energy clouded her. As she made to move around one of the desks, her stomach seemed to drop, and she grabbed her stomach. Oh, God.
She should have prepared for this. And yet it was a complete surprise. She could smell copper in the air and vividly see the red on the floor. The way his body was broken and twisted on the ground. He was still wearing his black robes, yet the blood was still visible. Especially the flecks against his pale skin. She didn't know what had happened, but she could hazard a guess. The Death Eater mask lying beside him was a strong indicator that a Death Eater meeting went wrong. She didn't know how he could manage to gather the strength to apparate or to use the floo to return to Hogwarts.
She immediately ran to the ground and started casting every diagnostic and spell she could think of. Unfortunately, her mental list wasn't that extensive. At this moment, she wished that Hogwarts curriculum included healing spells. Thankfully his injuries seemed to mainly consist of lacerations and broken bones and not actual dark magic. Otherwise, she would have no idea how to help him. When it came to healing in emergencies, books could only help so much. She never had any experience with healing and didn't want to take the risk that she might make his condition worse. She didn't know how, considering his current state.
She could do this, Hermione told herself as she levitated. It felt as if she couldn't breathe until she levitated him onto his bed. It took some manoeuvring since it was in another room. But she did quick work.
Everything passed by in a blur. Her actions occurred so quickly she didn't have time to think.
She didn't have time to realise how awkward it was that she was removing her professor's robes. Or when she had to press her lips against his after he stopped breathing in order to give him CPR. She didn't even hesitate and think about the implication. All she did was lean down after pitching his nose and breathed into his mouth. If she had thought about it she would wonder how she was even able to share her breath when she was fairly certain that when he stopped breathing, for a moment, so did she.
After he began to breathe again and in a steady rhythm, she conjured up a chair to sit in for a moment by his bedside, before taking some steady breaths of her own. It was the closest she had ever been to watching someone die. But thankfully if she could help it, it wouldn't be today.
After she composed herself she stood back up and continued to heal him. Stitching his skin back together with magic. Watching as his blood receded back into the wound until only a blemish remained. She stood patiently as his bones straightened and the skin began to form back into its natural shape. It wasn't perfect but he would definitely live and not be in too bad of a shape once he woke. She did well. If it wasn't for her worry and feelings of anxiousness she would have been pleased with her accomplishment.
But right now she just collapsed in her chair from exhaustion. Healing spells were tricky and complex. There was a reason they weren't taught at school. But she never relized how physically draining it would be after straining her magic. After all was said and done, she didn't know what to do.
She tried to give him as much modesty as possible by raising his bed sheet to cover most of his chest. But it didn't exactly matter; she had already seen him shirtless. And once the blood was removed and before she bandaged him, she was able to see his skin. Like his hands and face his skin was pale. But unlike his other visible features his torso was covered in scars.
It was quite different from her own scar. Her's was a single line of puckered pink skin that slashed down her torso. Starting from her right shoulder and ending at her left hip. His was not a single scar. There were slashes of discolored skin adorning his entire body. Crisscrossing and wrapping around his body like some kind of abstract art. She understood why he never told her. It wasn't as if she went around telling people about her own scar or showed them. She wasn't embarrassed about her scar. Nor how she had acquired it. If anything, she should be proud that she survived a fight against several grown men when she was only 16. And yet she was still self-conscious about it, and any time she looked in the mirror, she would sometimes consider how a possible suitor would react to it one day. The first time one of her roommates saw it, they stared in horror and stammered out an apology. Ginny's reaction was quite the opposite. She said it looked badass.
She figured that he felt the same way about his scars as he did about the dark mark. He was ashamed of how they came to be on his skin. She had a feeling that since she was never told about this aspect of his life, he didn't want her to know. And it just made her sad. He had to go through all of this alone for who knows how long. She wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place.
She always found certain aspects of his behaviour odd. Certain words or the way he would phrase things were off. He was a pessimist, that was for sure, but sometimes his words took a darker turn as if he was expecting everything to end at a moment's notice. But now, it made sense if he was sometimes subjected to such pain. Everything about him made so much more sense. Unfortunately. Being surrounded by pain and misery made Severus Snape a temperamental pessimist. And that extended to his own life. But being subjected to pain was much more than a contributing factor.
Recently a few nights ago, she dozed off in the lab. Severus was in the Headmaster's office. Once she realized what time it was, she quickly gathered her belongings before making her way to his bedroom to use the floo. But his voice stopped her in her tracks. She could hear that he was conversing with someone and knew that if by chance, whoever in his office heard her use the floo, they would be suspicious. She made her way towards the door and noticed that it was left slightly ajar. She shifted in the shadows and moved to see beyond the door.
Severus was pacing back and forth in a familiar pattern in front of the wall covered in portraits. It took her a few seconds to see past his moving figure to see that only once of the portraits was awake and paying attention to him. She wasn't surprised to see him talking to Dumbledore. And seeing that there was no reason for concern, she was going to leave him to his conversation. But his words made her pause. "Did you know that she made a copy of her memories and has been documenting to prove that I am still a loyal spy to the order?"
She knew she shouldn't listen in a private conversation, but since it involved her, she couldn't help but bite her lip as she listened on in curiosity.
"No, I did not.
"I never asked her to...to," Severus struggled to find his words. It was quite a difference from his usual composed and confident self.
But Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what he was trying to say. "To save you and give you a way out. He sighed. I wish I had," he admitted. Confessing that her actions had nothing to do with him.
"I never wanted one," Severus proclaimed as he turned sharply, his black cloak twisting in the air behind him. "I have always expected the possibility that I would die from the cause."
"And now you don't want to?"
"Now, I don't think I have to," Severus whispered.
As she sat in front of his unconscious body, everything about him became suddenly so clear. She always knew that he risked his life for the Order and the greater good. There was never a doubt in her mind that a threat loomed over his head if he was ever discovered as a spy. But she never considered the possibility that by being a Death Eater, he was subjected to torture and pain by the same master he swore loyalty to. But she should have known.
It brought angry tears to her eyes. But she hastily wiped at them. Refusing to let them fall. She had to compose herself. This wasn't about her or her theories of how his abuse and trauma affected his actions and psychological needs. No, right now, this was about him and making sure he was not in any pain. That he was on the mend and that he would be okay. That was her priority right now. And for as long as it needed to be.
She was startled by his deep voice. She was afraid he was rousing to consciousness so soon. But it didn't appear as if he was trying to open his eyes. Just mumbling in his sleep. It's not fair; even in sleep, he couldn't rest. He wasn't thrashing around. He was entirely still. But all of his muscles were tense. She did make it a priority to move his wand and stand out of reach just in case he woke up and attacked her. She shifted in her chair to lean closer to him. To try to make out what he was saying.
"Father… killed him" were the only words she could make out before his voice began to get louder and his words formed more of a sentence instead of individual words. "I never got…. I'm sorry. He died before I could ever tell him."
Oh, God. Of course, he would be thinking about that. She was aware that he was riddled with guilt over killing the late Headmaster though he never said anything to her. And even in his injured state, his subconscious would be focused on others rather than him "I never told him how much… giving me a second chance. I never got to thank him for believing in me." She understood how private of a moment this was for him. And how she was probably one of the rare few to ever see him in such a vulnerable state.
She gulped loudly and hesitantly reached out to him. However, she stopped for a moment. She carefully watched his reaction. She knew he didn't like being touched, and now seeing his current state and scars, she understood why. But as his whimpers and cries grew louder, she just wanted to help. And she didn't know any other way than by grabbing his hand. She held it softly but firmly so it wouldn't slip out and jolt his arm.
She whispered softly, "He knew. He always knew."
Severus POV
Severus Snape didn't believe in luck, but by the grace, something has either it out for him or is helping him by keeping him alive. He wasn't sure which one he preferred.
All he felt was intense pain. However, he wasn't overly surprised. This wouldn't be the first time.
He slowly opened his eyes. The effort alone caused him pain. And he wished he could just fall back to sleep. But he knew he needed to assess the damage. The light in the room was at first too bright. A striking contrast from the darkness he was just pulled out of. But once his eyes began to focus, he could see quite clearly that the image in front of him was possibly a hallucination. Otherwise, why else would he be seeing her? She was not supposed to be here. But then again, neither was he. Now that he was awake, he realised he was in his bedroom and lying on a bed. Didn't his last memory involve him lying on the floor?
Hermione Granger was simply sitting in a chair by his side. Her head was propped up against her hand though it was dropping. Her hair was pulled back today. Though he could still see the curls, it didn't block her face from his gaze. Her knees were propped up against her chest. It was clear that she had been by his side for a while and had dozed off. At least she had made herself comfortable. Her other hand was wrapped around his. Though their fingers were not interlaced. How strange. He didn't feel the weight of her hand on his until now. For once, the feeling of touch was comfortable. It wasn't unpleasant. He noticed how her hands were stained with shades of red and how something other than his bedsheets were touching his skin. Oh yes. Now he recognized it. The cool air against his chest and the roughness of bandages wrapped around him, partially restraining. It didn't take long before he realised that she must have healed him. And obviously undressed him as well.
He marvelled at how their relationship had developed. She had been his student, his partner, now she had seen him half-naked. How things had changed. He couldn't help but muse out loud, "I think we need to talk about boundaries."
Her eyes quickly raised to meet his. He could see a range of emotion in the hues of brown. But none he could decipher at that moment. He was too mentally exhausted to try. He didn't move his arm, but she did let go of his hand. Though she remained in her seat. She placed her feet back on the ground and leaned towards him. She didn't say anything, and he didn't like the awkward silence he placed them in. He probably should have just pretended to still be asleep. "Am I going to die?" He asked with an arched brow.
She gave a half laugh and shook her head sadly. "No, but you gave it your best shot." She attempted to run her hand through her hair before realising it was up and would get caught. It was obvious that she was stressed. Despite all of the situations she has been placed in. He doubted she was prepared for this.
He was starting to get stiff and uncomfortable from his position and attempt to shift himself, so he was more propped up on the pillow currently supporting his head. "Oww. that really does hurt."
She suddenly sprung up and grabbed her wand. For a moment, he was concerned about the location of his own wand before noticing that it was on the side table. That was at least one less thing he needed to deal with.
"You know… you really don't have to…." He was about to say Stay when she quickly interrupted him.
"I want to." She gave him a pointed look that he quickly translated to mean: Don't bother fighting me. This was one fight he would not win.
She was determined to help. There was no doubt about it. Until this moment, he always interpreted it as stubbornness. But as time went on, he just watched as she slowly and carefully checked his injuries and healed any lacerations that weren't healing fast enough for her liking. He started to understand the truth. The precision she had in each of her wand movements. She genuinely cared about him. It wasn't just about him living or dying.
He sighed and leaned back further into his pillow. His muscles tensed before releasing. He closed his eyes as relief covered his body. "You just don't give up, do you?"
He could practically feel her smile in response. "No, I don't."
He couldn't help but retort. "Potter and Weasley never stood a chance against you, did they."
"What do you mean?"
He opened his eyes to see that she stopped in her movements. She was leaning over him, and her face was less than a foot away from his. "You have them whipped."
"If this is your way of saying that I am bossy, I would tread very carefully." A teasing smile began on the corner of her lips.
"Take it as you will."
"Careful, sir." She smiled shyly. "That could almost be interpreted as a compliment."
She continued to heal him. In his mind, a lot longer than necessary. But then he realised she was nitpicking because she was scared. It was understandable. If he was killed, then the Order was left completely in the dark when it came to the Death Eater's plans. And yet a part of him told him it was more than that. That her reasoning somehow involved him. Simply and only him.
The way she simply cared made him uncomfortable. He was unused to this feeling. And yet a part of him secretly desired it. He couldn't help but retort, "Don't fuss." He was a bit harsh in his delivery, but the silence was deafening. His heart beat louder in his chest. However, it could have been due to her close proximity.
After a minute or two, she sat back down, though one of her hands remained on the edge of the bed. Toying with the threads on the sheet. "You seem to have some experience with this." She was hesitant with her statement. But he could hear the unasked question. He had expected it when he woke up to see her beside him. He wasn't sure whether he preferred having this conversation to being passed out on the floor. He didn't even have half a mind to ask her why she had been here, in the first place. Her presence was a complete surprise. But this feeling wasn't.
Even with her healing, the pain his body was experiencing wouldn't go away. It would still take a week or two for him to escape the last aches and pains. And that was not considering the long-lasting effects. There was a reason the Cruitioutus curse was considered dark magic. "Pain? Hmm, let's just say I have had worse." He was no stranger to the feeling of being tortured. It was as familiar to him as walking the halls of Hogwarts. Even before he joined the Death Eaters, he understood the meaning of pain. Perhaps that was what made him such an accomplished spy. Physical pain didn't break him. He knew that he was heading down a dark and depressing path. It was something he has often walked alone. But right now, he wasn't alone. No, she was beside him. He couldn't help but ask, "What?" Even though he never told her about this part of him being a spy, surely she could recognize the danger he was constantly in.
She still seemed hesitant at this moment. As if she was afraid of the answer. "Why didn't Dumbledore tell me about this?
"You mean to warn you?" he didn't mean it as an offence. They both knew she was unafraid to get her hands dirty. Perhaps it was the emotional aspect he was concerned about.
Realisation hit her, "He didn't know, did he?"
He looked towards the ceiling. So that the only thing he could see was the dark brink above him, with the illuminated light, he could even see the outline of cement between each brick. Counting the angles and numbers was a frequent distraction he often engaged in on sleepless nights. For some reason, he couldn't bear to look at her. He couldn't stand the sympathy and sadness in her eyes. For some reason seeing the emotions in her eyes and on her face forced a reaction out of him.
He sighed, wondering how much he should tell her. Before realising, she already knew so much more than anyone else. What was one more thing? She knew so many secrets. Why should he lie to her? The only person he could be honest with. "He knew about it during the first war." He grew quiet for a moment. Trying to figure out the right words. For a man that often hid in his own mind, words didn't come easy to him. And yet it was easier with her than it was with others. Even Dumbledore. "He felt too guilty about sending me back to the snake den. I couldn't cause him any more pain. He spent so long fighting and defending me. I couldn't tell him it might have been easier for me if I was just locked up instead."
He could tell that she was trying to hide her emotions, to appear as stoic as possible. But it wasn't in her nature. "How often does this happen?"
Since she was attempting to be apathetic and unemotional, then he could at least attempt to be as honest and forthcoming as possible. Considering his weakened state, it was more possible than if he were in his usual state of self-willed and difficult self. "Usually, it's a couple of rounds under the cruciatus once a month. It only gets this bad on certain occasions. This is the fourth time it's ever been this bad since he returned." His pessimistic self was telling him that he deserved this. The optimistic side of him, though very small, told him that it could have been worse.
"And why did he do this?"
"He was upset that the Order still exists, Potter isn't dead, he was bored. Take your pick." Even he, who spent so much time in the Dark Lord's presence, couldn't decipher what his reasonings were.
"You will have scars from this. I couldn't repair everything," she said, trying to avoid eye contact.
If it wasn't for the supposed seriousness of the topic, he would be laughing; he wasn't superficial. His scars had long since bothered him. They were simply a part of him, and considering the other aspects of his appearance and his personality, they were the least unattractive aspects of him. "You did your best. Besides, what's a couple more in my collection."
He licks his lips since they were dry and comes across an unexpected taste. Peach. He looked at her curiously.
She seemed to flush red immediately after seeing his movement and reaction. "Sorry. I had to give you CPR. You stopped breathing at one point. I didn't have time to wipe off my chapstick." She attempted to hide her fear with humor. But sarcasm didn't suit her.
He couldn't help but smirk. "You know, Granger if you wanted to kiss me. You could have just said so instead of going to such lengths." Despite the teasing nature of his comment. He was thankful. No one, not even before he killed Dumbledore, would have gone to such lengths to save him. They would have just let him die rather than touching him in such a manner. Though he would never consider the act of CPR in a sexual or intimate way. It was a medical procedure. And he highly doubted that she would disagree with that statement.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "If I was going to kiss you, it wouldn't have been like this," she retorted.
"So you have thought about kissing me then."
"Okay, you're all healed. Well, as healed as I could do." She was blushing, but that didn't necessarily mean that she had thought about kissing him. It could have been because he embarrassed her. But the way she suddenly became defensive was peculiar. "I should leave you to rest. I should head back before someone notices I am missing."
If he wasn't in so much pain, he would laugh at her. That was the first time he ever pushed her to leave. It was amusing watching as she stumbled to gather her effects and made her way to the floo. She kept biting her lip and tried to avoid eye contact with him. She was clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events, and right before she used the floo, she said, "Oh, by the way, your lab is kinda a mess. There's blood everywhere. I didn't have a chance to clean it."