Once the door was closed, Hermione stood for several seconds, staring at it, never wanting to open it again. She had the distinct impression that the conversation with Severus was not over; that it would resume the moment he laid eyes on her.
Now he cared about the fact she was dying?
She gave a half-hysterical laugh and buried her face in her hands as her shoulders shook
She shouldn't have started sleeping in his bed. She should have gotten up and gone back to her room that second evening. That was probably what caused things to start coming across wrong. That was what had made it seem like they were something more than a fling.
It wasn't as though they had a relationship. It was just sex.
He didn't even look at her face most of the time.
He permitted her to call him Severus, but he'd never used her first name.
Not even once.
He didn't call her anything at all in private. No pet name. No first name. Nothing.
It was just sex. It had always just been sex.
His inquiry about where she intended to go following graduation was the first personal question he'd ever asked. He'd never bothered to know anything about her.
Not that anyone ever seemed to care about knowing about her. She doubted that even Harry or Ron could provide her parents' names if pressed.
Her chest spasmed again, and she pressed the heels on her hands against her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. She wouldn't.
It would all be over soon.
She had things to do; reading, notes to review, lists to go over. Instead she curled up in her bed and stared at the far wall. Her heart kept pounding in a rapid staccato that was making her hands shake.
She closed her eyes and exhaled unsteadily. Even lying down, the room was rotating slowly.
There was a part of her that was beginning to fervently wish she'd just die in her sleep before she left Hogwarts.
There was a crumpled invitation on her desk from Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister of Magic, informing her that the Ministry would be honoured to have her visit in order to set up a sub-branch in the Department of Magical Creatures specifically for house-elves. The sub-branch would be named for Hermione.
The saliva in her mouth turned sour every time she thought about it.
She didn't want her 'memory' to be the difference she made with her life.
She didn't want to go to the Ministry so Kingsley Shacklebolt or anyone else could be photographed smiling benevolently and posing beside her while she cut ribbons for them.
She wasn't a prop for Ministry reform. Dying wasn't a PR opportunity for other people. If they actually cared about house-elves they could have already started the sub-branch and named it for Dobby.
No one in the Ministry had cared a whit about house-elves until word got out that Hermione Granger was dying.
It was a bribe. They were trying to buy her; secure her political endorsement before she conveniently took herself off to the afterlife.
She was certain that enthusiasm for her vision for Ministry reform would be tepid if anyone in the Ministry expected her to live long enough to work there.
She didn't want to be the Wizarding world's most tragic martyr, whose name could be conveniently trotted out for whatever vaguely reform-sounding issue people thought they could get away with using her to prop up.
But—if she said no, she wouldn't get to make any difference at all.
She nearly set the invitation on fire when she opened it, then sat in her room seething with rage, fighting back guilty tears over her rage. She knew that she was being unreasonably angry, but she couldn't stop. It wasn't fair .
She squeezed her eyes shut so that she couldn't see the invitation where it was still sitting on her desk.
There was another sharp knock on her door in the middle of the night. She went blurrily to the door, rubbing her cheek and feeling creases from the pillowcase pressed into it.
A cloud of amalgamated potion fumes struck her forcefully when she opened the door. Severus was standing there, looking as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. His hair was hanging in limp strands around his face, and his skin was visibly shiny and damp from potion steam.
The kitchen looked as though a bomb had gone off. All the furniture had been shrunk and shoved against the far wall, there were several new tables, covered with cauldrons of all shapes and sizes, and ingredients messily scattered across the surfaces.
"Take these," he said without preamble, holding several potions towards her.
Hermione blinked. She was so exhausted, it was as though she could feel her life slipping away like sand in a hourglass.
Under better circumstances they could be asleep together right now, rather than doing—whatever the thing was that they were currently doing.
There was a tearing sense of wistfulness in her chest.
All she wanted were simple and uncomplicated things that felt good. It didn't seem like a horribly unreasonable thing to want for just a little while.
She didn't want to think about whether or not she wanted a legacy, or who should be responsible for it. She didn't want to think about ribbon cuttings at the Ministry or living in the Burrow being coddled and indulged by everyone.
Now the one, simple, uncomplicated thing she'd had was ruined. Or maybe it never had been simple or uncomplicated at all.
Severus looked disconcertingly manic as he pushed three vials towards her.
She held out her hand to ward him off.
"I'm not doing this anymore, Severus. I won't." Her throat tightened.
His expression narrowed and his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
"These are not experimental potions." His voice was a low snarl. "Take them. Now. They must be consumed at night in order to take effect during the day."
Hermione sighed and stared at the colorful potions gripped in his hands. She didn't really want to fight him over two separate things if she could help it, even if they were undoubtedly related. If she could be cooperative in one regard, perhaps he would be less unpleasant about the other.
"What are they?"
He drew himself up, clearly irritated that she wasn't just obediently drugging herself at his behest. "They're intended to improve your physical and mental energy."
Hermione perked up with interest. She eyed the potions more curiously and started to reach for them before she stopped herself, her fingers only a few centimetres from his.
"You never offered them before."
He stiffened and the vials in his hand shifted audibly against each other in his hand. "They'll have the side-effect of making your health difficult to accurately monitor. It will be easier to physically overextend yourself without realising it. However—they should help as you prepare to take your exams."
Hermione eyed him for a moment before holding out her hand. He unstoppered and gave them to her one at a time.
The first went down easily, it tasted purple and felt strangely sentient as it moved in her mouth and then slid down her throat. The next one had the texture of raw egg white and stuck to her inside of her mouth and her teeth, causing her to gag as she forced it down. The third was searingly spicy and went up her nose, causing her stomach to curdle.
She stood gagging and wiping her eyes and nose while Severus kept peering down at her appraisingly. She sniffed a few times waiting for her eyes to stop watering.
"You may return your bed," he said after a moment, turning away and walking back towards the kitchen.
Hermione went to the bathroom for water to wash away the taste in her mouth.
She cringed when she caught sight of her reflection. She had to lean close to the glass because her vision had grown somewhat blurry during the last few weeks. Her hair looked like a hedgerow someone had endeavoured to hack apart with a kitchen knife. It was so tiring to comb. Her clothes were rumpled, and there were dozens of creases from her pillowcase indented in her right cheek.
She washed her face and brushed her teeth dutifully before going back to bed. She could still hear Severus in the kitchen until she fell asleep again.
In the morning she woke up feeling as though the whole world were flooded with light and colour for the first time in years. She practically leapt out of bed and skipped to the bathroom.
She took a shower without feeling exhausted by the mere act of working shampoo into her hair. She doused her tangled curls liberally in potion and went through the arduous task of working all the knots out.
She worked at her hair until she could run her comb from her scalp to the tips of her hair without snagging, and braided it. Normally her arms would be shaking with exhaustion by the time she finished, but she still felt full of energy.
She had to remind herself not to go overboard. She dressed, packed her school bag, and exited her room.
Severus was already up and working in the kitchen; possibly he'd been there the whole night. He looked up from the potion he was brewing. His coal black eyes locked on her, and he studied her carefully before looking back down at the cauldron before him.
Hermione approached cautiously. "I'm feeling better today, thank you."
The corner of his mouth twitched minutely, but he gave no response.
Hermione stared at him, trying to determine exactly what he was planning. "Did you sleep last night?"
He snorted and nodded without looking up. Hermione felt doubtful.
She ran her fingers along the strap of her bag, hesitating for several seconds. "I'll see you after classes then."
She had to keep reminding herself throughout the day that she could overextend herself if she wasn't careful. She never felt tired. She could run up the steps and carry entire armfuls of books, and she never felt strained by any of it.
She took scrolls and scrolls of notes during the final review classes that she had.
She hadn't remembered that feeling alive could be this way. She ate breakfast and lunch ravenously while her classmates looked on with concern.
Severus didn't return to their rooms that evening, although Hermione waited nervously for him for several minutes after dinner before belatedly remembering that he had office hours and detentions to oversee.
She stood and wandered around the kitchen, glancing at the various potions simmering or sitting in stasis, and reading the spiky notes scrawled in books and all over dozens of scrolls.
She could feel the potions' effects wearing off. Her head was beginning to feel throbbingly hollow. The lights overhead were too bright and the beams blurred and refracted in her vision.
She glanced down at her arm and realised she'd bled through the bandage. There was a large, pale pink stain across most of her forearm. She hadn't noticed before because the blood was so pale.
She took another vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion and sat on the edge of the sofa to change the gauze and bandaging.
Her blood trickled from the incisions almost as thin and clear as water.
She stared at it for several seconds. She should tell Severus. He'd need to alter the Blood-Replenishing Potion again.
Another potion for him to spend hours on for her.
She gnawed at her lip as she sat thinking. She felt as though she'd found herself mired up to her throat. She was certain that the potions last night were some scheme he was coming at sideways. Attempting to bribe her into cooperation? To make her remember how good she could feel?
Her head dropped down to rest in her hands as she tried to think through what her next steps should be.
He'd expected her to go abroad. Before they'd even kissed, he'd advised her to withdraw and head to the States.
Ironically, the packet of information on the clinic had been what forced her to realise what impossibly small odds she had of surviving. Severus was usually vague about it. She'd known that many healers regarded her case as hopeless, but she hadn't studied the numbers until she flipped through the intake forms that required her acknowledgment that the treatment was highly experimental with no guarantee of success and read through the pages and pages of potential side-effects.
The odds were ridiculous. She couldn't understand why Severus wouldn't acknowledge that.
He was attached to the idea of Hermione's survival.
He'd been unwillingly brought back from the brink of death by a phoenix. Harry survived a Killing Curse when Severus had assumed he'd die.
Hermione had become someone who should survive in his mind.
A hollow dropping sensation cut through her chest under her ribs. She gave a shaky gasp and wanted to crawl into a hole.
She was a replacement Lily. A Muggle-born witch he was determined to successfully save this time around.
And Hermione had proceeded to initiate an affair with him. She felt as though she might be sick. She pressed her hand over her mouth and forced herself to swallow, wanting to scream.
Now he was trying to convince her to keep pursuing a cure by drugging her with what were likely illegal—or at least highly-regulated—potions in order to remind her how good it could feel to be alive.
She gave a shaky, despairing laugh and stood.
She didn't want to wait for him to come back any more. She didn't want to see him at all.
She went to bed.
He knocked at her door several hours after curfew. The room spun and swayed under her feet as she unsteadily stood up and went to the door.
"You have to take these at night if you want them to have effect during the day," he said the instant he laid eyes on her, potions gripped in his hands once again. His voice was tired and rasping.
Hermione looked at him, feeling as though there were a stone lodged down in the base of her throat. She tried to swallow and speak but she didn't have the energy to say all the words; to hear his response; to argue…
She extended her hand slowly and took the vials from him.
"Thank you," she said without meeting his eyes.
His expression tightened, and he reached forward, one cool hand pressing against her forehead. She felt his fingers on her pulse. He stepped closer to her.
"You shouldn't have gotten out of bed," he said.
Hermione rolled her eyes; he was the one who knocked on the door. He pulled the potions out of her hands and half-carried her to her bed, fastidiously tucking her under the blankets. He spent several minutes casting diagnostic spells on her and prying her eyes open in order to inspect their dilation.
He gave a low sigh and sat back, staring at her for several moments, appearing to hesitate before he extended his hand and offered the potions to her.
Afterwards he sat holding her hand for several minutes under the thin guise of retaking her pulse. Hermione buried her face in her pillow and couldn't keep herself from wrapping her fingers around his wrist as well.
When she woke in the middle of the night, he was seated on the floor of her room, her hand still in his, and his head resting against the edge of the mattress as he slept.
Hermione reached for him instinctively, brushing his hair back from his face. "Severus…"
His eyes opened, and his head snapped up.
She gripped his hand tighter. "Don't sleep on the floor. Get into bed."
He was tired enough not to be resistant. He got up stiffly from the floor, and she pulled him down onto the mattress beside her. She buried her face against his shoulder. He smelled of tinctures and bitter herbs. His hand reached out and touched her head gingerly before they curled into each other's arms, her head against his chest.
She would talk to him tomorrow, she promised herself.
Tiny little frissons of pleasure rippled through her body. Fingers trailing along her arms and back, and soft lips brushing and nipping at her neck.
It was hazy and delightful. The unrushed touch. She woke gradually in little waves, like a slowly rising tide.
"Severus…" she said, smiling and half-asleep, and ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed down the valley between her breasts. His long fingers were wrapped around her shoulders in that way she'd come to love.
She felt her pyjamas sliding open and felt his body between her legs.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she watched through hooded eyes as he slithered down her body. She hooked her heels behind his hips and drew him back up, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.
His weight was comforting as he rested on her body and returned her kiss. His fingers pressed against her cheeks, cradling her face in his hands.
She impulsively gripped him a little tighter with her legs and rolled, flipping them so that she was straddling him as she leaned forwards, still kissing him, and quickly unfastened the buttons of the robes he'd slept in.
She kissed quickly down his jaw and then slowly and softly pressed her lips against each of the scars on his throat, before sliding her body down along his.
He caught her wrists in his hands. "You shouldn't overexert yourself, the potions—
She cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the guilty twisting sensation in her lower abdomen. Her forehead pressed against his for a moment as she closed her eyes and exhaled.
"I'll be fine, Severus," she said before sitting back and continuing to unbutton his robes. It was obvious by his expression that he was about to argue with her. She looked down and brushed her fingers along the pale skin from his chest down to his stomach. "I've wanted to do this. We can do it once, can't we?"
Her eyes flickered up to his face again, and she watched his lips twitch as he hesitated and then nodded slowly. She gave a quick smile as she slid her body further down his, kissing across his chest and letting her fingers trail across his skin.
He didn't shudder at her touch any longer, but she still felt his breath catch at contact.
Touching.
Being touched.
She hadn't considered there being an emotional distinction between the two until Severus.
Such a lonely life, not having anyone to hold you.
She paused and rested her face on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her arms framing his shoulders.
In another life, under some other kind of strange circumstances in which he'd accidentally let her into his life, she could have loved him.
If there had been a different opportunity to get to know him and see the lonely, half-feral, and intensely sensitive man concealed beneath three layers of fastidiously buttoned robes and bone-corroding sarcasm, she would have loved him. She wouldn't have cared whether anyone approved or understood it. She would have just loved him.
...in a different life.
Not the very short one she had.
This wasn't a life in which she got to love people, not lastingly.
She pushed herself up and preoccupied herself with getting his robes off until the hollow ache in her chest subsided. Then she looked up again, meeting his eyes and giving a fleeting smile.
He was already aroused, and he'd gotten her more than sufficiently ready before she'd been fully awake. She shimmied out of her pyjama bottoms and sat straddling him. She leaned forward, pressing her open palm against his chest, her fingers outstretched as she trailed across his skin, shifting up and then slowly sinking down.
Her room was just beginning to be bathed in golden light from the eastern window. She rolled her hips, and her breath caught, her eyes fluttering closed as she focused on the sensation and the rhythm of movement.
His long slender fingers wrapped around her hips, urging her and guiding her. His hips rolled up to meet her pelvis and she gave a low humming moan and tightened around him until he groaned between his teeth.
She leaned forward, resting her hands on his shoulders, looking at his face. His eyes were open.
He was watching her, studying her, with his dark, unwavering gaze.
Updates weekly on Sunday/Monday.