-1Chapter 2

A Wine That Is In Need Of An Ice Bucket

Serverus Snape woke in bed with a start. He never faired this well after countless episodes under the Cruciatus. He distinctly remembered getting one of his own curses thrown back at him. He laughed bitterly at the fact that Lucius would be punished. He looked himself over in the mirror: almost no bruises, and any gouges that had been there before were now gone. It looked like he had done weeks of healing. He also had a sudden urge to relieve himself, which made him wonder harder how long he was out.

He walked into the bathroom, finding it odd that the door was propped open a little bit by a suitcase… He stood in awe at what he saw. A woman, wearing a Burgundy bra… a thick- banded burgundy thong beneath hip hugger jeans, no shoes, and doing something he couldn't quite see for the door was in his way. She started, and at first he thought that she had realized he was there, but then he saw the thin rivulet of blood streaming down her lip and chin, dripping onto her breast, and then sliding down in between her devilish cleavage. She bent down into the sink and showed the delicious curve of her ass. He found this woman very attractive, so attractive that he indeed did get excited, and was going to say something, but she came up and he finally saw her eyes. Thinking he must have been mistaken, he went to speak again, and she let down her bushy chestnut hair, and he let his breath out in a hiss like that of a true Slytherin snake.

"Miss Granger, please explain to me, why you are in my bedchambers, using my private potions, in my bathroom, parading around in your lingerie?" He said in a sneer, still peering through space of the semi-open door. He had always found her somewhat tempting as a friend, someone to talk to that was somewhat adept at potions, but now he was seeing her in a new light.

Hermione whirled around startled by the sound of his voice, and looked disbelieving at him. "You're awake! I didn't think you would wake up for a while yet. I need to tell Poppy about that spell!" She flung the door open to take a good look at him, with a beaming smile on her face. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she still wasn't wearing a shirt.

For what seemed like hours he stared at her cleavage, but then he ripped his gaze away and moved her into the light. He was a little rougher than usual because he hadn't been 'excited like that' in a long time, but now it was over a student. She looks like a goddess, he thought, but she's a student, and I'm wearing loose boxers; better distract her before I embarrass myself.

He examined the bruise, and as he touched it she cried out. "What did you do to yourself, you foolish girl?" he asked sardonically.

Thinking not to embarrass him any further, she said the first thing that came to mind. "I fell down a flight of stairs."

"Hogwarts has a charm against people falling down its stairs. So I ask again, what did you do to yourself, and do not lie to me" he hissed the last statement. Scenes from the actual incident replaced his thoughts. A girl holding him, his face crushed into a breast, pain gripping him.

"I…" Hermione was interrupted when Snape raised his hand to silence her.

"You came to me when I was in the grips of the curse, and…," he paused rubbing his temples, "and you held me. You kept me from doing anymore damage to myself. I remember the gash in my forehead. Then another wave of pain came and I couldn't focus anymore." He said this matter-of-factly, then he continued in a softer tone as he pointed to the hideous bruise on her side. "How did that happen? Please, just tell me the truth this time. I did it, didn't I?"

She gave a subtle nod. "You were flailing… and you needed something to hold onto…but I wouldn't let you go, and you grabbed onto me…" she said, getting softer with every pause.

"And I broke a rib," he concluded for her, sounding defeated. "How many ribs did I break, Miss Granger? That bruise is a telltale sign that at least two were broken."

"I felt at least three re-knit themselves, Professor," she replied looking directly into his eyes.

He felt horrendous. Hadn't the reason behind moving up in Voldemort's followers been to prevent his hurting, raping, and torturing, any more teenagers and children? He sighed and moved to the medicine cabinet. Grabbing one potion and two salves, he left the bathroom to find Miss Granger sitting on his bed. She was now wearing a black, low -cut muggle shirt. Damn, now he was going to have to ask her to take it off. He stood next to her and looked down at her, mentally preparing himself to be scolded like a bad dog. It pained him to see that look in her eyes and know he put it there, albeit unintentionally.

"Miss Granger, I am sorry that I have unintentionally harmed you, and I wish to repay you, by putting these," he held up the potions, "on it. I know you can not possibly reach all of these bruises; they wrap halfway around your back. But, for the life of me, I cannot think of anyway to ask you to remove your blouse without it being misread as perverse." Throughout his whole spiel she looked at him with amusement. Then she tried to raise the bottom of her shirt over her head, but as she tried to extend her right arm, the muscles cramped back down and locked, curling her arm against her body.

Severus could see the pain on in her posture, though he could not see her face, and he moved to help her. He grasped her body, and although it would hurt more, he needed to straighten the arm to relieve the cramp. He held her and slowly unbent the arm, massaging it as he worked his way down to her wrist. He raised her arm up carefully and grabbed the bottom edge of her shirt, pulling it up and off her. He then let her right arm slide slowly down. He knew if he treated her coldly she would tense up again and it would be worse, but if he treated this any other way than clinically, his blood would cease to flow to his brain and would reroute itself. He reveled in the feeling that those sensations had finally emerged again, but he was so inexperienced with them that he wasn't sure he could control his actions.

"Lay down, Miss Granger. I will not bite you." His tone sounded so unnatural to him and he was only trying to joke with her.

She surprised him by snorting, and lying down on her left side letting her right hand cup her head, and bending her elbow towards the sky.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, sounding suddenly distant.

"If there is anyone whom you'd suggest to do this, other than yourself, tell me, please, because you sound very uncomfortable." She held up a hand at his scowl. "Just an observation. I would suggest Poppy, but she is on leave. I don't know of anyone else I'd trust enough to do this."

"If it is a matter of trust, I shouldn't be doing this. You should not trust me," he said disdainfully, but more to himself than Hermione.

"You don't remember much of the incident. Otherwise you would know that when I was holding on to you, you knew the seizures weren't at their worst yet, and you tried to pull away. However, I wouldn't let you. It was my fault I got hurt. You allowed this as a last resort. But you did try to get away, desperately. I didn't let you go, so it was my fault. Because of that you earned a lot of my trust."

No one had ever defended him before. Not even from himself. Yet here was a young Gryffindor, sporting a bruise from several ribs he had broken, saying it wasn't his fault. He did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed one of his potions and began to relieve her of the pain she was experiencing. The first was a pain cream. Applying it gingerly to avoid causing anymore harm, he thoroughly massaged it in. Then came the muscle potion, to keep it from seizing up again. He rubbed this in vigorously, not needing to be careful anymore. Finally came a stronger bruise salve that he brought out only after death eater meeting where he was expected at classes the next day. The bruises instantaneously began to fade, and when he glanced down, he realized she was sleeping. He made his way to the bathroom to put everything back… and to take one of the coldest showers of his life.