Chapter 6: Crush

Hermione woke slowly to the sound of a quill scratching against parchment. She felt warm, cocooned in blankets, and safe for the first time in days. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she felt a weight across her feet. It wasn't an unwelcome weight, in fact it felt rather comforting and she wondered if it was a heavy blanket that she could pull up over the rest of her body. She cracked an eye open and blinked at the wall. Inhaling deeply as she regained her bearings, she rolled over, carefully flipping her feet underneath the heavy weight to avoid accidentally kicking whatever it was off the bed.

"Drat."

The low rumble of Professor Snape's voice startled her to fully awake and she was astonished to find him sitting at her bedside, scowling at an ink stain on the parchment in his lap. He turned his scowl toward her and grumbled, "You messed me up."

"Sorry?" she rasped, hesitantly, unsure what she did. And then it registered that his legs were raised, angled up and toward her. Her gaze traveled down his legs until they reached the foot of her bed and she realized, with a blush, that they were the source of the heavy weight on her feet. Oh.

Oh.

How very odd.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what to do. Should she move her feet out from under his legs? Why hadn't he moved away from her yet? Why was he still sitting at her bedside? Did she imagine getting sick again in the middle of the night? Curiously, she noticed his hair was wet. He touched his wand to his parchment and vanished the ink stain. She watched him pause, rereading the previous few lines, before dipping his quill in the ink bottle and resuming writing. She imagined him wearing Slytherin school robes and could almost see teenaged Severus Snape sitting in the library at Hogwarts scowling over his homework. She smiled and wondered if they would have been friends had they been the same age. But no, the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry would likely have stood in the way. Perhaps tolerated classmates when forcibly partnered together, then. Her lips twitched in amusement.

Snape's eyes cut to her suddenly and Hermione's widened in surprise. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, suspiciously.

Hermione blinked. "I'm not laughing," she said.

Snape glared.

She sighed and explained, embarrassed, "I was wondering what you were like as a student. I was trying to imagine you in Slytherin robes." She shrugged.

"Much the same as I am now," he said. "Studious, impatient, and no tolerance for dunderheads, though a few inches shorter and yes, my robes had green and silver accents like any other Slytherin student's."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "It's the robes that get me," she confessed.

Snape snorted.

"Thank you," Hermione said. His expression was an odd mixture of startled and confused. "For saving my life. For taking care of me," she elaborated. "I sort of remember maybe getting sick again last night?" She trailed off uncertainly.

"Ah, yes." Hermione was amused to notice his cheeks were tinted slightly pink as if he was unaccustomed to being thanked. And, as she thought about it, she was sad to realize that was probably the truth.

He lowered his legs to the floor and Hermione felt the loss as the weight lifted from her toes. He set the Latin dictionary back on her nightstand and rolled up his parchment. "You remember correctly," he said. "It appears Black's house elf managed to poison you."

Hermione gasped. Surely not! Snape raised his brow and continued, "He rubbed aconite leaves on your trunk's clasp."

She gaped at him, opening her mouth to reply then finding she had no words and closing it with a click of her teeth. She glanced at the aquamarine Ledaeum Tutum potion sitting on her nightstand, sparkling in the morning light.

"Yes," Snape said. "You required another dose."

"Oh dear."

"…indeed."

Hermione licked her lips nervously. "Well, again, thank you. It appears I owe you my life at least twice over…" She thought back over the years and amended, "Well, perhaps several times over, actually…"

Snape flicked his fingers dismissively. "You are not of age. Children do not owe life debts to adults."

Hermione scowled slightly, oddly stung by being referred to as a child, though logically it made sense. She was not of age yet, so she was not an adult. Why did that bother her so? She wasn't sure she wanted to contemplate that further.

Snape leaned forward and placed his hand on her brow. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest, and she held herself very still, even holding her breath. She absently noted that his hand didn't feel as cool as it had the previous times he had checked for a fever. He released her brow then laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek before withdrawing his hand. "Much better," he said.

She resumed breathing and smiled at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better, I think. In fact, I'd really like to leave this room today, if I could."

"Somewhere you need to be?" he sneered.

"The loo, if I can make it," she said, primly.

Snape faltered. "Ah, well, yes." He cleared his throat with a bass rumble and stood, moving his chair away from her bedside, giving her room to get up. Hermione pulled the covers back and slid out of bed, standing rather too quickly. Lightheaded, she stumbled and caught herself with one hand on the mattress. Snape caught her other arm and steadied her.

"Oops," she said.

"Come along. You need food."

Hermione nodded, vaguely remembering losing all the contents of her stomach at some point last night. Snape continued to hold her arm as he escorted her to the bathroom down the hall. As they walked slowly, she looked down and blushed, realizing how much leg she had exposed and wondering if she was offending his wizardly sensibilities. Lavender and Parvati had been appalled in their first year when they saw what she wore to bed. They, of course, wore long, frilly nightgowns with ruffles and bows. Supposedly it was proper nightwear for witches. Of course, they still were appalled, but had gotten used to Hermione's quirky Muggle ways and mostly ignored the gym shorts and oversized shirts these days as she had made it clear she had no desire to accidentally hogtie herself in her sleep by wearing a long dress to bed, thank you very much.

They made it to the loo and Hermione was more grateful than ever to brush her teeth, getting rid of the sour taste in her mouth. She splashed some water on her face, eyeing the bathtub and planning to avail herself of it at the earliest opportunity. When she emerged, Snape was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He now had boots on his feet. She flushed as she realized he had probably heard everything behind the door. Eek! She hoped he was getting his boots while she'd made use of the facilities.

Thankfully, he didn't comment. He only reached a hand toward her. Hesitantly, she took his hand and he drew her close, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. It was so old-fashioned and…sweet. Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from grinning as he gallantly escorted her down the hall. He stopped outside her room.

"Do you have need of anything in your room before going downstairs?" he asked, flicking a glance at her clothes and bare feet.

Hermione hesitated. "Is it terrible of me to want to wear Muggle clothes in this house? Just to stick it to them a bit?" she asked.

Snape smirked. "Come along, then." He led her carefully down the stairs. She averted her eyes from the mounted house elves as they passed. When they reached the entry hall, Snape stopped in front of the velvet curtains hiding Mrs. Black. "Shall we pay the old hag a visit?" he whispered, quirking a brow.

Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes then smirked at him and nodded, eyes sparkling mischievously. His lips twitched.

He pointed his wand at the curtains and they slowly slid aside to reveal Mrs. Black, sitting and reading. She glanced up, startled, then sneered as she took in Hermione's very Muggle sleepwear.

"You dare?" she hissed, inhaling and opening her mouth wide, preparing to scream.

"Ah-ah-ah," Snape interrupted, shaking a finger condescendingly. "Walburga, dear. I must ask you to call off your elf."

Mrs. Black scowled, chest still inflated and ready to scream.

Snape continued before she could start, and, to Hermione's astonishment, placed his hand over hers, which was wrapped around his arm. "Kreacher very nearly killed the girl, and we can't have that. It would…complicate matters for me." He gave the portrait a significant look.

Mrs. Black deflated and eyed him thoughtfully. Hermione looked up at Snape, wondering what Slytherinish sub-messages were being conveyed beyond the obvious. But he continued to look forward, ignoring her questioning glance, and focusing solely on Mrs. Black who had turned to eye Hermione again with utter loathing. Snape released her hand and redrew his wand, stroking the tip gently down the canvas of the portrait. Walburga Black gulped and stepped as far away from his wand as she could reach, cowering in a corner of the portrait.

"Of course," he purred, changing the angle of his wand, jabbing the tip directly into the portrait, "I have always wanted to try – "

"Alright!" Mrs. Black said, holding her hands up. "That's enough. It shall be done." She flicked another glance at Hermione and curled her lip in disgust.

"Very good," Snape crooned. He pulled the curtains closed and walked Hermione down to the kitchen without further comment. The stone steps were cold against her bare feet and she barely suppressed a shiver. He guided her to a chair and, once she sat, he moved about the kitchen with a degree of familiarity. Though she knew it wasn't the best table manners, Hermione sat cross-legged on her seat, tucking her feet under her thighs to keep them warm. The cool floor of the upper levels had felt good but the stone in the basement was a bit colder than she had anticipated.

"Why was Mrs. Black…well, nice isn't quite the right word, I think…why did she listen to you?" Hermione asked as Snape began making bacon and eggs.

He raised his brow imperiously. "Walburga Black knows what I am," he stated simply.

Hermione furrowed her own brow and glanced at his left arm, covered though it was. Snape flicked his gaze toward her, catching the look, then turned back to the frying pan. "Hmm, I'd wondered if you'd forgotten. You've gotten entirely too comfortable around me," he sneered.

Hermione shrugged. "I trust you."

There was a long pause, then a quiet, "Silly girl." Hermione's lips twitched.

No more was said on the matter and Hermione curiously watched Snape make breakfast in Sirius' kitchen. She had seen him prepare potions and she had seen him eating in the Great Hall. But for some reason, watching her snarky professor make breakfast was different and strangely humanizing. He was more hands-on in his preparations than Mrs. Weasley, who made judicious use of charms while cooking. But though he broke the eggs and stirred the mixture himself, preparing a scramble, he did use magic to flip the bacon with a sizzle and later to levitate it out of the pan, avoiding grease splatters.

When he set a plate in front of her complete with toast, Hermione tucked in with relish, her teenaged body demanding food now. "Oh my god," she moaned between bites, "I didn't realize how hungry I was. Thank you."

Snape raised an eyebrow and sardonically asked, "Did I make enough?"

She narrowed her eyes, glaring playfully, and chose not to respond. They ate in silence and once the aching pit in her stomach had been filled, Hermione carried her empty plate to the sink and began washing up. Snape nodded to her politely as she took his empty dishes and washed them as well. By the time she had finished and wiped down the counters, Hermione's feet were cold again and she alternated standing on one foot while rubbing the other against her shin to warm it up.

"Is it alright if I hang out in the library?" she asked while drying her hands with a small towel.

Snape looked at her thoughtfully. "Come here," he beckoned, crooking his fingers. When she was standing directly in front of him, he reached up and felt her forehead and cheek again. He looked intently at her eyes and Hermione was embarrassed to find herself blushing again.

To her absolute mortification, Snape noticed her face turning red and touched her cheek again, brows creasing in concentration.

"I'm not sick anymore," Hermione muttered. "I'm just…not used to being…" she gestured helplessly, "…looked at so closely."

She took a step back as Snape stood, suddenly towering over her. She looked everywhere but at his face, wringing the hem of her shirt anxiously, wanting to end this nightmare of prolonged embarrassment. She could practically feel him smirking over her. She cringed in anticipation of what he would say, long familiar with his sharp and caustic tongue.

"Come," was all he said, though, to her immense relief. He led her up the cold stairs and into the library. With a nonverbal flick of his wand, a fire sprang to life in the hearth. He prowled along the bookshelves as Hermione stood uncertainly in the middle of the small room, her hand on the back of one of the armchairs. She watched, curiously, as he tapped various books with his wand, causing them to float out of their shelves and hang mid-air as he moved down the line. When he reached the end of one wall, he swirled his wand and they rearranged themselves. Selected books from the lower shelves edging into the top shelf and some books from the top shelf taking their places. He repeated the process for each wall.

When he finished, Snape turned to her and said, "The top shelves are off-limits, unless you wish to be cursed or hexed again."

"No thanks," Hermione shook her head.

Snape smirked and headed toward the door, a book for himself (from the top shelf) in hand. "Avoid the house elf," he said as he swept from the room.

Alone in the library, Hermione wooshed out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She covered her face with both hands and dragged them down to her chin. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. She was horrified with herself for the crush that was blossoming. "What is the opposite of the Florence Nightingale effect?" She shook her head. "Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away."

She browsed the shelves, searching for books related to geography. Selecting a few, she settled into an armchair, wiggled her toes in front of the fire, and set to reading. Searching for a location called Ledaeum or Ledaea, still determined to solve the tricky little puzzle Snape had set.