A/N: This is short, what was planned as a scene from a larger chapter—but my time is not my own this week, and this is all that's complete today. I gambled that you would prefer to have something rather than nothing! Drop me a note and tell me if I'm right. ;)
Happy Thanksgiving to the US residents among my readers …
For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 57: Close Call
Taffy shifted restlessly beneath the thin white blanket, murmuring in her sleep, and Hermione sat forward, ready to rise if her friend awoke. Her wristwatch reported the time as half-three; they had been in hospital now for three hours. The Healers had laboured over t, halting the bleeding and stabilising her before putting her into an enchanted sleep. It was too soon to know if the baby had survived; they would have to wait and see.
Hermione had delivered the requested message to Pitty, thrown on jeans and a jumper, and was fastening her cloak about her as she Disapparated to St Mungo's. She had joined Vi in the hospital corridor, and very soon, Hadrian and Elinore had arrived to wait with them to hear the news about t and her baby. It had been decided that Hermione would stay the night, and Vi would come in the morning to take over watching over their friend.
The other patients on the ward were mothers with new babies; Hermione lived in dread of the moment Taffy would wake up and hear a baby crying.
There was a commotion in the corridor, and then she heard a familiar voice coming down the ward. 'Why is my wife not in a private room?' Rafe demanded imperiously of the mediwitch hurrying in his wake. 'I don't want her in this room with all these healthy babies! She must be moved at once!'
'Please, Mr. Smith,' the breathless mediwitch said, 'keep your voice down! It's the middle of the night!'
Hermione leapt to her feet and rounded the curtain about Taffy's bed.
'Hermione!' Rafe exclaimed, and his large hands closed on her shoulders. 'How is she?'
'Resting,' Hermione responded, looking up into Rafe's strained, anxious face.
'The baby?' he asked, more softly.
'Too soon to know,' she answered.
He moved past her and bent over t, smoothing her golden brown hair from her forehead. 'My darling,' he murmured, and to Hermione's surprise, t opened her eyes.
'Master,' she murmured, pressing her cheek into his hand, and Hermione stepped in front of the mediwitch, blocking the Lestranges from her view.
'Could you please transfer Mrs. Smith to a private room?' she asked, speaking loudly enough for the whispered exchange between the couple behind her to be obscured. She didn't want to have to explain to anyone why the patient referred to her husband as 'Master' rather than 'Darling'. 'Her husband won't rest until you do,' she added with a friendly smile, 'and you really don't want to have to deal with that.'
The mediwitch looked harried. 'I'll see about it,' she said uncertainly.
'It'll be worth your time,' Hermione promised.
In mere minutes, the St Mungo's staff had effected the move, and t was now resting in her private room, eyes shadowed with worry as she clung to Rafe's hand. Hermione pulled a straight chair to the farthest corner, trying to give her friends some privacy, torn between going and staying. It was like a keen, visceral pain to watch her Master's best friend climb up into the hospital bed with his submissive—his wife!—and hold and rock her as if she were precious beyond words.
Dear God but she missed him.
Hermione must have dozed for a bit, for a sound at the door caused her to rouse, her fist closed about the wand in her cloak pocket. The clock on the wall showed half-five. Taffy slept, her chest rising and falling with each breath, but Rafe stood across the room with his wand drawn, one ear pressed to the door.
'Who is it?' he hissed, his voice low but carrying.
Hermione could not hear the answer, but the door cracked open and in slid Severus Snape, a wraith whose burning black eyes swept the room, taking inventory of the occupants in the few seconds before he spoke.
'You cannot stay!' he said at once to Rafe, one leather-gloved hand gesturing to the door. 'You've been missed—they're coming.'
'Damnation!' Rafe swore, and he turned to t, wretched indecision etched across his features.
Severus grasped Rafe's arm and pulled him around, stepping into his personal space, speaking with the same quiet authority to which Hermione responded with such trust. 'If we do not maintain our positions now, it is all for naught. What sort of world do you want for your wife and child?'
Hermione crept forward, wanting with all her heart to wrap her arms about her professor, to cling to him limply until all the fear of the last hours was assuaged by his indomitable presence. But she knew a crisis was upon these two men, and the concerns of her emotions and her needs were as nothing in comparison to the perpetual danger in which they lived.
Rafe stared into the professor's eyes, warring emotions darting across his handsome face. Hermione knew from the look on her Master's face that he feared his friend would make the wrong choice, and she dared not to breathe as they waited to hear what Rafe would say—but his voice was not the first to be heard.
'Go.'
The three standing turned as one to look at t, who watched them from her sickbed, her eyes shadowed, her skin pasty.
'Go with Severus,' she said, her voice sounding stronger, this time. 'I'll be fine.'
Rafe strode forward, reaching for her, and Severus turned Hermione around to face him.
'Are you well?' he demanded, his manner urgent.
'Yes,' she answered. 'Are you?'
'Yes,' he said and jerked her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. 'I need your help to get us away from here,' he said softly into her ear. 'Will you do as I say?'
'I will,' she promised, inhaling the scent of his aftershave and fighting the urge to cry. She had him here, in her arms, and she could not so much as ask for a kiss before he must be gone again.
Life was brutally unfair at times.
Five minutes later, she stood in the corridor on the maternity ward wearing a lime green Healer's robes, her hair charmed a horrible straw yellow colour. Rafe stood tensely before her, but his attention was focussed behind him as he watched over his shoulder. Briefly, Professor Snape's face appeared around the corner.
'Now!' he hissed and disappeared again.
Even as Hermione heard the unmistakeable pop of Apparition, Rafe looked into her face. 'Forgive me, Hermione,' he murmured.
'Think nothing of it,' Hermione said reassuringly, her heart pounding wildly in her ears. What if the Death Eaters didn't believe the evidence of their eyes? What if they wanted to speak with her? What if Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange were with them—or someone else who might recognise her?
Then Rafe wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, pressing her hard against the wall, his hands groping parts of her body reserved only for her Master. He smelled wrong, his beard scratched her face, he tasted of drink, and her instinct was to push him away. Yet she remained pliant in his arms, playing her part, listening with all of her concentration.
'What are you doing here, Snape?' a loud, rough voice demanded.
'Visiting the sick, Rodolphus—what do you think I'm doing?' Professor Snape responded, his tone at once indolent and insolent.
'Where is he?' another voice demanded, and there was the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, boots upon the floors.
'He went that way,' the professor said, and his voice began to sound closer. 'I didn't wish to watch him, you understand.'
Rafe emitted a loud moan and pulled Hermione's hand to his groin while he trailed loud, smacking kisses down her throat. Hermione felt around for his penis, perfectly willing to grope him for authenticity, but no bulge was evident—could it be that he was as frightened as she was? She looked over his shoulder and saw three figures coming towards them, her Master in the lead. The other two men were Rafe's brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange—Hermione recognised them. Immediately, she buried her face in Rafe's cloak, hoping desperately that neither of the Death Eaters would recognise her face under the unlikely mop of yellow hair.
'Rafe!' Rodolphus snapped. 'Unhand the wench and get back to headquarters! His Lordship didn't give you leave to come here!'
Rafe's head rose and looked over his shoulder to his brothers and his friend. 'I thought you were going to keep watch!' he said to Severus.
Professor Snape leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes. 'You fucked her twice in the supply cupboard,' he said. 'It's time to go.'
Rabastan Lestrange stepped forward and took Rafe's arm. 'The Dark Lord is angry,' he said soberly. 'You can fuck your Mudblood another time—we must go.'
Rafe turned back to Hermione, a sincere tone of apology in his voice. 'I'm sorry to leave you so abruptly, love,' he said, reaching out and giving her breast a squeeze. 'But I'm an important man, and I must away.'
With a final brush of his lips on hers, he turned from her and strode forward to join the other three, and as Hermione watched, they turned on the spot and were gone. With a gasp of mingled grief and relief, she stepped into the supply cupboard behind her and gave in to tears, holding herself in shuddering reaction, the twin assaults on her person and her sensibilities roiling through her in a confusing wash of respite and recriminations.
