“beyond wandpoint” 077b by gingerbred
“11 11q Tuesday - Self-Medicating 2” Part 2
Hermione and Severus, Crooks
Originally Published: 2018-06-08 on AO3
Chapter: 077 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
The bond keeps at him. For days now - has it only been two? - it's refused to give him any peace, deluging him with her every feeling. He doesn't understand how determination follows guilt on the heels of panic, basically not following her leap in logic, and he's tired of thinking about her damned feelings. He's tired of feeling them. He doesn't even get to feel his own feelings, he certainly doesn't want to feel hers instead. Especially when they are frequently so confusing. He hates confusion. An annoying inner voice at the back of his head insists that could have been easily avoided, or at least reduced, had he left the bottle beside him untouched. Fucking Know-It-All.
He still feels like complaining though. "Thanks to this... arrangement," the fingers of his left hand splay in the air between them, the feline side-eyes him until he resumes petting the pancake-faced creature, "I now have the pleasure of Occluding from dawn to dusk."
"But why? I thought the Loyalty Vow was supposed to protect you from any exposure or vulnerabilities from my side?" And right there is the beginning of a dark foreboding she's been trying to combat for most of the day. All too clearly she sees herself dragging her Head of House to the Professor's Infirmary room this morning... She begins to nibble her lip in trepidation.
"Did you now?" There's that eyebrow of his. He could let it speak for him, it's that expressive, but she'd miss his voice. She wouldn't dream of telling anyone, but she's missed his classes for more than just the chance to learn from him. She always enjoyed listening to him, too.
"To begin with, it's a question of definition. That's the problem with Oaths and Vows. Or even Veritaserum. There are ways around them if the framing allows for it. And that's rarely robust enough. Despite the severity of breaking them, their strength lives and dies with how they're phrased. And that tends to be the average wizard's weakness."
"You're not the average wizard." The reply is instant, almost automatic. Hermione's thinking of his logic riddle to guard the Philosopher's Stone. Or, um, the way he burst into the Transfiguration classroom Friday to rescue her, cloak swishing dramatically behind him. Almost definitely that. She thinks about that a lot. Hmm. And how he flattened the boys. Or maybe the way he carried her to the Infirmary. Yeah, that had sure made an impression. His hands, his arms, his chest... Holy Cricket, his poor chest! The frankly terrifying state of him at the time. Oof. And probably some other things. Nothing she plans on mentioning to anyone ever though. But she can stand by the general statement. Whatever else he is, he isn't average.
That's the second time she's made that claim now, it's hardly something he'd be likely to forget. He gives her a puzzled look, and immediately tests the bond. Most of it he doesn't begin to comprehend. But she still apparently means it. It still doesn't seem to be some sort of ploy or a clumsy attempt at flattery. It could be an thinly veiled insult... But no, it doesn't feel like that either... He hasn't a clue what it is, and decides what he really finds it is strange. Much like the witch.
"I didn't construct the Vows," he drawls. "Albus did."
There's an even stranger expression on her face, and he can't begin to define the muddle through the bond. "He's not exactly the average wizard either," she replies dryly.
"No. No, he is not," he sounds almost grateful for that, and she begins to smirk again in reply.
"So why is it still a threat?"
"Merlin, you really don't know?" He runs his fingers through his hair, cradling his head in defeat for a moment. He's not being mean about it, he just can't believe the stupidity of this bonding, or that either of them consented to it, especially not either of them, and he finds himself hard pressed to make its various failings clear to her now. Particularly as they can't change a ruddy thing.
He's wrong about that, though.
"Fine. To begin with, you are an open book. There's not a thought in your head a trained Legilimens can't read should he or she wish to. And most things play out across your pretty face clearly enough that Legilimency shouldn't even prove necessary." She may have perked up at the 'pretty'. He should probably be more circumspect with his language.
"How does Occlusion work to provide a defence against Legilimency?" He asks. She loves this. It's like being back in his class, only this time he'll actually call on her, no hand waving required.
She keeps it succinct. "Either by suppressing a memory, and keeping it hidden, or by editing, eliminating an emotional response to the memory."
"And in our case, when does that emotional response need eliminating? For the memory of any given incident to be 'clean'? Safe? Bearing in mind you can't Occlude."
"I'm not certain. Probably when the memory is made is safest... No, definitely, so it doesn't transmit via the bond. Because I can't hide that information and otherwise they could just get it from me."
"Very good, Miss Granger." She beams, he actually lets out a huff of laughter. "Sadly I shan't be awarding House points for that." She gives him a grin that lets him know she can tell it's all in fun. He wasn't entirely sure that it was, but also wasn't particularly malicious. Her enjoyment proves... contagious, however, and he finds himself... unwinding. Just a little.
"Further, if you are the living record of all events that take place between us, and anyone who cares to can examine them, given the mandatory skills, how could I resort to suppressing the memory?"
"You couldn't, Sir..."
"Correct again. Magnificent, Miss Granger." Despite the topic, he has a flight of whimsy. It's probably the alcohol combined with the Calming Draught, but he's a bit startled to hear himself saying, "Now I almost miss House points..."
"You could award chocolates instead," his lighter-heartedness is also contagious and she grins.
"That would never do. At this rate, you'd grow terribly fat." She's almost offended for a moment before she realises it's a compliment. And chocolates were a rubbish suggestion, she just hadn't a better one to make. Books would be too pricey... The golden star-shaped stickers from her Muggle Kindergarten cross her mind, but she'd sooner swallow poison than suggest them.
"I suppose then you wouldn't be able to carry me off the next time you come to my rescue."
"Don't be ridiculous." He appears quite stern, and she worries about a half a dozen things momentarily before she remembers to listen to the bond and relaxes. "That's what Mobilicorpuses are for." The corner of his mouth raises ever so slightly in amusement.
"I shall simply endeavour not to need rescuing."
"It would be appreciated."
"Or grow fat," she smirks. He returns it.
They sit like that for a few beats, almost enjoying the moment of peace before the topic reoccurs to Severus, probably precisely because he almost enjoyed a moment of peace, and he resumes, a bit sadly. "So essentially I need to not experience anything while you are present." She understands that instantly and the guilt returns.
"And finally, the bond apparently betrays enough of what I'm feeling, even in your absence, that I can't afford for you to be carrying a record of it. In consequence, what does that leave?"
"Non-stop Occlumency." Her voice is very low as she says it, and she looks horrified.
"Quite right, Miss Granger, but still no bonbons for you." He sounds almost flippant. "It's our 'what if', Miss Granger, if you can feel me, and 'they' can read that, what choice do I have other than to Occlude, day in and out? Regardless of the side I am on, I would no longer be able to drop my guard for a moment."
"Then what are you doing now?" she challenges pointedly, but she's sincerely worried, he can tell. He's the only one of them who understands the rules of the game they're now playing, and he currently isn't acting like it.
"Wallowing in stupidity, Miss Granger. An abundance of that and self pity." He sinks together in a sad heap. "You needn't worry, though. It's not quite as stupid as you might think." He waves his hand towards the side table, and swoop a phial of Sober-Up flies into his hand. "If I am... called," he gestures with the Potion towards his forearm where she knows only too well the Dark Mark is located, "I am prepared." He Banishes the Potion back to the table.
She looks only marginally less concerned. If he's called, given his health, he probably won't survive. She honestly can't begin to imagine how he copes with that very real possibility so calmly. Then again, he's hardly sober, and there's a Calming Draught in play, but she suspects his reaction would be the same without either factor. He misreads her concern completely and something about her erroneously perceived disapproval amuses him. He decides to poke fun.
"I'm entitled." Of course he is. He's a grown man, in the privacy of his own quarters, he's doing no one else any harm, and he's had a series of perfectly wretched days. He can do as he bloody well pleases, as far as she's concerned. Provided it doesn't affect his health.
They aren't quite on the same page.
The sarcasm is audible as he snarks, "I didn't get a stag night after all." That was unexpected. Her expression shows it. "Not that I care for stags..." She can't help wondering why.
He may be a grown man, but he's also an ass. Frequently. Things have gone surprisingly well, they haven't Hexed one another yet, and he perversely doesn't like leaving it at that at all. Getting along, that is; he can do without the Hexing. He's developed into a glutton for punishment, or at least that's what he tells himself, and can't bear the appearance of softness; he is not soft.
He's drunk, and ultimately his decision making processes aren't necessarily at their best just now.
Naturally he's also feeling sorry for himself in this arrangement. Some comfort can be had from sex after all, and now that too has been denied him. Dimly he reminds himself that the elimination of the pressures to participate in some of the darker Death Eater practices more than compensates for this particular sacrifice, but it's hard to grasp in his current disheartened state. Now that that particular threat has been thoroughly neutralised, it's no longer as present in his thoughts. And he does wish he had his rooms to himself, damn it. That too was some measure of comfort, poof, gone with the flick of a wand and a unwanted bonding.
Against a backdrop of various grievances, in fairness - more real than perceived, he needs to lash out a bit. Just at the moment, the best way to do so seems to be badgering her some more...
"And now the next lesson in Oaths. Are they absolute or relative?" It sounds glib. Somewhat loaded. It makes her wary.
"Sir? I don't follow?"
"If you had taken an Oath to only tell me the truth, does that function absolutely or relatively?" Her expression shows she's beginning to comprehend, and he warms to his subject. "If it worked absolutely, all that it would require is binding another with such an Oath, and I would know the truth of everything. Celestina Warbeck's natural hair colour, Mrs. Zabini's true age, the cure for Lycanthropy...
"I could ask and you would answer. Or worst case, you'd try answering, and suffer penalties every time you got it wrong. But that would still help to narrow down the possibilities. At least with Mrs. Warbeck's hair colour. We could be here all week trying to guess Mrs. Zabini's year of birth."
"And how does that translate to a Loyalty Oath then?" She's nervous.
Very nervous.
In addition to Professor McGonagall, she'd also provided Malfoy with information about the Professor, or rather his condition, today. 'I need you to share nothing about me with anyone.' Well she's done a bang up job of that.
As her anxiety ratchets up, he looks at her sharply.
There had been a spike of unease before. Here it is again. This is no coincidence, and he shouldn't have ignored it the first time... He deserts his previous line of questioning now to pursue this. That had been in fun, not necessarily entirely good natured fun, but still. This, however, seems... serious.
Unexpectedly, he finds himself becoming worried as well. He's not sure if it's purely her apprehension causing that, or if it's the fact she believes there's something he is unaware of to worry about. That unawareness strikes him as very dangerous indeed.
"What did you do?" he demands. His instincts are good. She's clutching that phial around her neck for dear life now, like it's some sort of protective talisman, her knuckles beginning to whiten under the force of her grip, her head lowered and staring intently at the floor. "Miss Granger! What did you do?!"
He leans close to her, very close, bending to see her better where she hides behind her curls. He never lifts a hand to reach for her, and with some surprise she realises she almost would have felt better if he had. Because she's Hermione, she instantly qualifies that with list of conditions (not too harshly, of course; probably not unexpectedly, she's also forced to concede...), but the essential fact remains unassailed. There's something a little unnatural in the way he avoids touching her. But his tone is commanding and between that and the compelling void created by the absence of touch - probably every bit as effective as if he had reached out, grabbed her arm, tucked her hair back or tilted her chin upwards - she looks up, meeting his eyes.
She doesn't have words for him, but doesn't need them either. She's practically flinging three memories, three thoughts at him, over and over, on a jumbled, non-sequential loop. Were he sober, he might not have looked at them. But given the serious nature of the threat she represents - he's convinced: it's potentially, probably, lethal - and the ease with which he slips into Legilimency... The results are a foregone conclusion.
Miss Granger dragging Minerva to see him, asleep, wounded in the Infirmary. 'You thought I had underestimated his condition. That he had taken advantage of me. I need to show you something.'
It explains the presence of the Warts and Warhol's voucher on his nightstand this morning. He'd hoped, ardently, that it was delivered by elves. He'd doubted it. Few in the castle can use the elves for such purposes; even fewer do. He'd half assumed, given his luck, that Minerva had stumbled across his admission to the Infirmary by chance, presumably when checking on the Gryffindors who'd apparently also spent the night in Poppy's care. But he'd never have guessed Miss Granger would have contributed to Minerva's discovery, exposing him in that fashion...
He tells himself Minerva is a trusted member of the Order. The young woman's Head of House. That Minerva was the person Miss Granger had trusted enough to choose to have screen her owls... It doesn't help much, but a little. He needs her not to share things with the Order or this will end badly for him. Very badly. Probably for them all.
Still, it helps inasmuch as he manages not to become enraged at the young woman beside him.
His anger at Albus, however, is a completely different matter. At Albus and his meddling, the stupidity of the bond, the idiocy of adding the thoroughly unnecessary emotional link... The fact he himself ever agreed to this... It's all very obvious through the bond. Less obvious is the direction of his anger, and Hermione begins to worry for real.
Miss Granger telling Draco his prognosis, how badly he'd been hurt...
He's about to explode as he sees that.
He'd only just held his anger in check before. An Order member he can almost understand, but a Death Eater?? The Malfoys are playing host to the fucking Inner Circle as Miss Granger well knows by now. Bloody buggering fuck!
This is proof her Oath offers him no protection at all. At the latest when the Death Eaters realise this, they can be relied upon to kill one or the other or both of them. There can be no doubt about that. The only reason they effectively aren't yet aware of this, given she'd spoken to Draco, for fuck's sake, is no one knows Severus had instructed her not to reveal things about him to others. That should last until anyone examines her memories. For half a moment he considers Obliviating that conversation and all related thoughts from her memory. Merlin knows, the witch before him seems to feel that's a legitimate course of action...
Even were he able to find some solace in the thought he could possibly escape the Death Eaters' response with his life, and he finds that far less comforting than he'd expect given the alternative, there's no way they can kill her without tearing him apart at the seams thanks to his Protection Vow. There was always a chance it could leave him permanently damaged. It was supposed to have been temporary, as it couldn't be entirely eliminated with a Geas, but he's not sure he entirely trusts how Albus constructed the Vows at this point. Merlin knows, this is proof enough of their fallibility... And how typical of his luck that this is the Vow that didn't take as planned.
But there's more to that memory. The rest comes flooding in, and neither of them seem able to stop it. On the contrary, she seems... eager for him to see the rest.
Malfoy enters the corridor to the Arithmancy classroom, the two of them are apparently alone there, her sharp spike of fear.
How she asks Malfoy, 'How was he?'
Malfoy.
She'd been that desperate to hear how the Professor was doing.
It...
He doesn't know what to do with that.
At all.
He sees it happening, hears the words spoken. He can feel her concern in the memory via the Legilimens. He can even feel her experiencing it now, through the bond, just from reliving the memory. In fact he can remember feeling it earlier this afternoon as he'd sat there drinking. Naturally he hadn't known it was directed at him, that he'd been the cause. No, quite the opposite. He'd been annoyed, wondering what on earth she had to worry about and had felt even sorrier for himself.
Well.
It's incredibly difficult to reconcile his responses to both the threat he perceives in her actions - perfectly legitimate and far from an overreaction - and to the depth of concern for him on her part that had motivated those actions. Ultimately the latter gains the upper hand.
In light of it, his anger begins to... crumble, collapsing in on itself, almost as if it were a physical thing, and with the way it leaves him feeling, it may as well have been.
It's not that his response makes any sense objectively. It really doesn't. Her concern, although real, wasn't earth shattering, he certainly doesn't mistake it for that, and the threat was severe. But he's very accustomed to the threat of death. It's a mixed blessing; for once that only works to his advantage. And he's very unaccustomed to people worrying about him. Undeniably, her concern had been... genuine. The combination has him feeling... lost. Unsure quite how to feel.
She'd been so worried about him, she'd been willing to ask Draco how he was doing.
The typical Slytherin would never do such a thing, he thinks, forgetting the times he himself has. That may be an unnecessary precaution on their parts, perhaps there was nothing all that substantial to be lost, she doesn't seem harmed by it, but still they wouldn't risk exposing their flanks in that way. And the emotional risk is a real enough thing.
But she'd... wanted... needed to know how he was. So much so, she'd resorted to... that.
He's been careful to try to avoid any attempt to dictate how she 'should' feel about what's happened to her. That should be for her to decide. But he suspects he finds the idea of her talking to Draco even more of an affront to his sensiblities than she does to hers. He'll need to watch that.
How she'd told Draco how he was doing apparently simply because the boy seemed to share her concern for Severus' well being. That she'd seen so little of that, and it had bothered her so much, she was willing to share information with Draco of all people...
That last is conveyed in a quick series of images, a collage of seconds of recollections and the emotions that accompanied them. It's effective and an usual selection for someone untrained in Legilimency. He has to wonder if that's how she naturally thinks. There are impressions of her facing other students and her temper flaring. It's elegantly composed. There are just hints of volume and tone, not enough of any memory to understand what the individuals had said and for him to have to react to that. Probably just as well, and not only because it eliminates that distraction.
Without the suggestion of context, he wouldn't even know why she's frustrated with the others. He hadn't, after all, while he experienced those emotions of hers all afternoon. Of course, without context, he'd ordinarily assume she's trying to mislead him, Merlin knows he uses that tactic often enough, but their bond proves she isn't feeling duplicitous. He... trusts it.
She felt too few cared and it had frayed her nerves. She just wanted to lash out at them all...
There's Poppy saying as much, Miss Granger's sadness, outrage, sympathy and regret as she hears it. More flashes, excerpts of interactions with other students, her anger again... Her relief at the shared concern, a kind word about him from Miss Lovegood and Draco. It comes very close to how Severus would try to present a thought, her emphasis however is far more emotional than his. He supposes that only makes sense given their personalities.
Severus' anger dissipates.
It's frankly impossible for him to remain angry in the face of that. But he still needs to make her understand the magnitude of her mistake, and he's trying to think how do so as the third memory rolls over him.
It's more of a rudimentary thought, really, made clearer by the emotions accompanying it. It's a great oddity. That's just not how Legilimency works. He wonders if the bond has anything to do with this. Even more strangely, but maybe it helps make it possible, it's apparently something she'd thought about sufficiently that parts of it were no longer attached to a single memory or setting. She would probably be exceptionally grateful for that fact were she more fully aware of it, given the first time she'd thought about it, she'd been seated on his Infirmary bed, his half naked form curled around her...
Miss Granger wondering how she could circumvent the Loyalty Vow so thoroughly.
The memory of him telling her, 'I need you to share nothing about me with anyone.'
And yet she had and seems to be very aware of that fact. Disturbed by it...
A quick impression of her leading Minerva through the Infirmary this morning. Another two of Miss Granger telling Draco, 'he'll make a full recovery' and 'he was very badly hurt'.
Her emotions at the time contrasted with her emotions now help explain why it happened and prove how she's come to view it. He accepts the truth of that.
A last thought, underscored once again by her emotions, then and now, a slurry of confusion, defeat, guilt, dread and fear. She doesn't understand what she's done wrong or how she was able to do it, she only knows that she's failed badly on that front... She thinks she may be a massive threat to his security.
There are tears in her eyes when the link ends, and she lowers her head again. Their Legilimency hadn't hurt her, it isn't pain. It isn't trauma. She doesn't even feel... No, she doesn't feel violated. Thank Merlin. That had been a serious risk in her present state, and why he'd have never attempted that if sober. It had been stupid. He's not even sure he had attempted it now, truth be told. Mostly it sort of happened. They'd fallen into it, and vaguely he wonders if the bond makes them more susceptible to it. Yet another question for another day.
Maybe he has the Calming Draughts to thank for her not feeling he'd assaulted her thoughts, her mind. Or maybe she can feel his absence of malice, that he hadn't attacked her, just as he'd known to trust her when she cast her foolish fluffing Charm on him before. The tears express... her regret, he finally decides.
He doesn't say anything for several minutes as he collects himself.
She's understood it's a problem, repeating that fact won't help. Taken on a purely self-serving level, upsetting her by doing so will only have him suffering alongside her. But even as he thinks it, he knows that's not his motivation. Still, she truly hasn't grasped the nature of the problem, or she wouldn't have done it twice.
This is incredibly dangerous. For them both.
"Minerva and Draco? Both sides?" That's met by a sniffle and then silence. "On the off chance you weren't certain which side I serve?" His Tergeo to clear her nose is surprisingly soft, and the feeling of his magic on her lifts her spirits a little. She is sure that wasn't his intention. But she looks him in the eye, a little more hopefully than a moment ago.
"No, of course not..."
"That's a truly flagrant violation of the intent of the Oath." He searches in his pocket for a moment and then hands her his handkerchief. She wipes her eyes. It smells faintly like him, which comforts her further. She finds herself now clutching it. Tightly. It serves much the same purpose as the phial around her neck. She's also sure that wouldn't have been his intention either.
"The intent, perhaps, but not the Oath itself, or I couldn't have..."
"Malfoy?" Utter disbelief. She can't really blame him.
"He seemed genuinely concerned..." He has no words. She'd understood it at the time. Why she'd done it. Wanted to do it. It had made perfect sense to her then. Right now she's having difficulty putting together a convincing argument even just for her own ears. This would seem to be one of those things she'll never be able to explain to anyone else. Certainly not him.
He stares at her silently, blinking. Again. Eventually he replies, "Well then, by all means... As long as he was concerned."
He hasn't taken her head off, she realises. It's taken her a little while to do so. He doesn't even feel all that angry through the bond anymore, she finally notices. But perhaps she'd been afraid to listen to it before. She swallows and grabs a bit of courage and with an attempt at humour offers, "Genuinely."
He almost snorts at that. "Of course. That makes all the difference," he replies. She takes it purely for a witticism; in part, he's acknowledging what a difference her genuine concern had made to him.
They sit there in silence for a while. She dabs at the tears that seem to still want to come. He performs another Tergeo when she sniffles again, so immediately she hadn't even noticed her nose had become congested once more. It's not just the way the bond affects magic, she's sure. It's gentler than Madam Pomfrey's. Admittedly, the Matron is more goal oriented in her applications. But the fact of it, coupled with the feel of it has her smiling a little. Before that becomes more noticeable she needs to apologise. She can't, she won't have him thinking she didn't take this seriously. Truthfully, at this point he probably couldn't convince himself of that even if he wished to.
"I'm very sorry about that. It wasn't what I meant... I mean, I didn't mean to..." She flounders and gives up. "I'm very sorry."
His lips form a thin line, and then he nods. Finally he sighs. "So I gathered."
He has an idea, he suspects it isn't a good one. But he needs her to learn this lesson. Indelibly.
He elegantly stretches a hand up in the simultaneously overly dramatic way of the hammered and flicks his fingers towards the door of his laboratory, which opens, and wandlessly and silently Summons a small number of potions. Another flick, and the door closes. She can hear the tumblers locking it once more as he fumbles for something in his breast pocket again.
"An experiment, if you will." He hands her the three phials he Summoned. She examines them closely, but doesn't recognise any of the potions. Hardly surprising, she supposes. "Kindly administer them to me." Now she looks really confused. Madam Pomfrey has only just explained that Hermione most certainly can't administer the potions...
"How?"
"Really, Miss Granger..." He makes a series of 'tsking' noises before throwing his head back, his mouth open, looking for all the world like an oversized baby crow. When she doesn't move, he turns to face her, "Come now, feed me." She could swear he's laughing at her. Silently.
Crooks shifts his gaze warily between them before getting up and seeking the safety of her chair. His convictions that humans really aren't the brightest creatures are only reinforced when Hermione crawls into the space he just vacated.
This seems like a very bad idea, but she doesn't quite grasp why. Yet. So she opens the first of the three phials and pours it into the Professor's mouth.
And absolutely nothing discernible happens.
It's almost a disappointment. Then she remembers she should probably feel relieved. She reaches for the next phial, unstoppers it, and pours it after the first.
The results are quite spectacular and almost immediate. He turns a horrible shade of sickly green, and begins gagging and retching straight away.
She's still blinking in terror as he shoves something from his fist into his mouth, struggling to swallow it as he coughs in fits all the while. He had clearly palmed it, prepared for this eventuality, and for all his deathly pallor, he seems not a bit surprised.
"Be... Bez... Be... Bezoar," he finally gasps, as his colour begins to return. Not that there's usually much of it, but what there is of it is generally less... green.
"Poison," he finally explains, rather superfluously.
"I gathered." She's furious.
"Rather disloyal of you to feed it to me, wouldn't you say?" His voice is ragged.
"You asked me to." She's steaming.
"And your Vow didn't stop you." He has to pause, apparently to try coughing up a lung. Serves him right as far as she's concerned. He helps himself to her glass of water, but still has to struggle to swallow, and then asks, "What have you learnt?"
"That you are not to be trusted!" That was the stupidest display she's ever seen, and she's seen rather a lot of stupidity living with the Gryffindor boys for over six years.
"Tone, Miss Granger." He misses House points. Maybe he'll reconsider the bonbon system. He pauses a moment to reflect. Then as if it's only just occurred to him, which it may well have done, asks, "Which potions did you give me before?" She lists them. "Hmm. How long ago would you say that was?" She tells him.
He Summons three of them from his stores, the final door - clearly his bed chambers - flying open to permit them to pass before slamming closed, and then quaffs two thirds of each phial. He looks at the third phial for a moment, shrugs, and then quaffs the rest. She just stares at him as though he's mad. Completely bonkers. Gone round the twist, never to be seen again from the look of it. "Bezoar will have counteracted them," he explains.
"Yes, I gathered that as well. One went directly to the bloodstream and the other two won't have been seen as requiring an antidote, I take it."
"Only one, the second was fast acting," but he looks pleased she remembered that lesson from... Merlin's balls... Friday. She was learning even then. He's impressed. He's also still exceedingly miserable. He deserves it. It was probably worth it, though. She won't forget this lesson either. Although now he's wondering if he shouldn't put more faith in her ability to learn. It would certainly be easier. He'll give it some thought.
Later.
Should he resume thinking at that time.
Clearly he isn't just at the moment.
He repeats, "What have you learnt?"
"That the Vow won't keep me from disloyal behaviour absolutely. It apparently is relative, and I suspect it will only work to forbid an action if I perceive that behaviour as disloyal."
Damn. She does deserve a chocolate for that. He wonders if he could have Sunny impound a chocolate frog for her. Draco usually has some about. The little rotter definitely owes them both at least that. Or maybe Severus deserves the chocolate himself for that very memorable lesson... "Very good. I see my effort was not wasted on you."
"Madam Pomfrey's very nearly was. She put a great deal of effort into saving you, and then you risk it all for... what? A cheap parlour trick?"
"A road test. We are now better acquainted with the limitations of our Vows. More aware of them. And as I claimed, and contrary to your beliefs, despite the Vow, you can quite literally be the death of me."
"And where's the failing in your Vow? When will you cease to protect me? Or would you be able to harm me?" Her anger is beginning to yield to disappointment.
"I almost definitely will."
"Relatively or absolutely?"
"Oh, then I absolutely will." She's not amused. He tries again, "Relatively, with certainty, because different definitions are fundamental weaknesses of such Vows. Absolutely... That's probably more complicated. 'Incidit in scyllam cupiens vitare charybdim'."
"Stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. A rock and a hard place."
"Marvellous, Miss Granger. A dilemma. When both choices are equally bad. Or perhaps a Hobson's choice. The absence of one."
"So we did all this, and it won't keep us safe? It may actually put us in danger?"
"I think it's safe to say it already has." The eyebrow, the dry voice, that look like she's thick as they come... She kicks herself again how quickly she forgets what he went through last night, but it's just too frightening to keep at the forefront of her thoughts. "And no, it probably won't be quite as effective as you hoped."
"You didn't hope..." She wants to ask, but he heads her off.
"I'm not given to hoping."
And this mad man is who she married... for what purpose? She just stares at him in disbelief. He senses that, just like everything else she feels, and becomes annoyed.
"But you needn't worry. You won't be bonded forever," he dangles provocatively in front of the naturally inquisitive witch.
Her confusion is instantly apparent; her query predetermined. "But, Professor, I thought the whole point was that the bond couldn't be dissolved? If it could be, 'with any degree of ease', then it would offer no protection?"
"Quite right, Miss Granger," he's again quick to reassure. And deriving a bit of sadistic pleasure proceeds, "But as I shan't be surviving this war, you will no longer be bonded." Her anger at this surprises him, but he's in poor shape to reconsider and, having started on this ill-advised course, won't permit any correction. "But fear not, I shall make every effort to survive just as long as possible to continue to provide the requisite... protection."
And now even without their bond, he's reasonably sure he would feel her fury. It's virtually palpable, even in his numbed state. "See that you do," she hisses at him before rising, angrily Summoning some books - unexpectedly they seem to be the ones he'd checked out for her on pet keeping, her robe, and then with a very pointed look, sharper than any Diffindo, she arcs her wand a final time and Summons a Draught of Peace that she waggles at him irately before stalking from his, their, chambers.
Not that she takes it immediately. No, of course not, his luck was never that good. The feline 'mrowr's his agreement, so he probably said that out loud as well.
He's not sure where she's going, and not sure why he even thinks to wonder. It's not as though he cares. Except the anger he feels lapping harshly across the bond, and his apparently insufficiently dulled nerves, belies that for practical reasons at the least. It's good to know he can run her off this easily, but if the cost is this level of... irritation, then he isn't sure this will be a... satisfactory solution moving forward. He shall have to get creative. As if he hadn't enough to demand his attention.
Hermione and Severus, Crooks
Originally Published: 2018-06-08 on AO3
Chapter: 077 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
The bond keeps at him. For days now - has it only been two? - it's refused to give him any peace, deluging him with her every feeling. He doesn't understand how determination follows guilt on the heels of panic, basically not following her leap in logic, and he's tired of thinking about her damned feelings. He's tired of feeling them. He doesn't even get to feel his own feelings, he certainly doesn't want to feel hers instead. Especially when they are frequently so confusing. He hates confusion. An annoying inner voice at the back of his head insists that could have been easily avoided, or at least reduced, had he left the bottle beside him untouched. Fucking Know-It-All.
He still feels like complaining though. "Thanks to this... arrangement," the fingers of his left hand splay in the air between them, the feline side-eyes him until he resumes petting the pancake-faced creature, "I now have the pleasure of Occluding from dawn to dusk."
"But why? I thought the Loyalty Vow was supposed to protect you from any exposure or vulnerabilities from my side?" And right there is the beginning of a dark foreboding she's been trying to combat for most of the day. All too clearly she sees herself dragging her Head of House to the Professor's Infirmary room this morning... She begins to nibble her lip in trepidation.
"Did you now?" There's that eyebrow of his. He could let it speak for him, it's that expressive, but she'd miss his voice. She wouldn't dream of telling anyone, but she's missed his classes for more than just the chance to learn from him. She always enjoyed listening to him, too.
"To begin with, it's a question of definition. That's the problem with Oaths and Vows. Or even Veritaserum. There are ways around them if the framing allows for it. And that's rarely robust enough. Despite the severity of breaking them, their strength lives and dies with how they're phrased. And that tends to be the average wizard's weakness."
"You're not the average wizard." The reply is instant, almost automatic. Hermione's thinking of his logic riddle to guard the Philosopher's Stone. Or, um, the way he burst into the Transfiguration classroom Friday to rescue her, cloak swishing dramatically behind him. Almost definitely that. She thinks about that a lot. Hmm. And how he flattened the boys. Or maybe the way he carried her to the Infirmary. Yeah, that had sure made an impression. His hands, his arms, his chest... Holy Cricket, his poor chest! The frankly terrifying state of him at the time. Oof. And probably some other things. Nothing she plans on mentioning to anyone ever though. But she can stand by the general statement. Whatever else he is, he isn't average.
That's the second time she's made that claim now, it's hardly something he'd be likely to forget. He gives her a puzzled look, and immediately tests the bond. Most of it he doesn't begin to comprehend. But she still apparently means it. It still doesn't seem to be some sort of ploy or a clumsy attempt at flattery. It could be an thinly veiled insult... But no, it doesn't feel like that either... He hasn't a clue what it is, and decides what he really finds it is strange. Much like the witch.
"I didn't construct the Vows," he drawls. "Albus did."
There's an even stranger expression on her face, and he can't begin to define the muddle through the bond. "He's not exactly the average wizard either," she replies dryly.
"No. No, he is not," he sounds almost grateful for that, and she begins to smirk again in reply.
"So why is it still a threat?"
"Merlin, you really don't know?" He runs his fingers through his hair, cradling his head in defeat for a moment. He's not being mean about it, he just can't believe the stupidity of this bonding, or that either of them consented to it, especially not either of them, and he finds himself hard pressed to make its various failings clear to her now. Particularly as they can't change a ruddy thing.
He's wrong about that, though.
"Fine. To begin with, you are an open book. There's not a thought in your head a trained Legilimens can't read should he or she wish to. And most things play out across your pretty face clearly enough that Legilimency shouldn't even prove necessary." She may have perked up at the 'pretty'. He should probably be more circumspect with his language.
"How does Occlusion work to provide a defence against Legilimency?" He asks. She loves this. It's like being back in his class, only this time he'll actually call on her, no hand waving required.
She keeps it succinct. "Either by suppressing a memory, and keeping it hidden, or by editing, eliminating an emotional response to the memory."
"And in our case, when does that emotional response need eliminating? For the memory of any given incident to be 'clean'? Safe? Bearing in mind you can't Occlude."
"I'm not certain. Probably when the memory is made is safest... No, definitely, so it doesn't transmit via the bond. Because I can't hide that information and otherwise they could just get it from me."
"Very good, Miss Granger." She beams, he actually lets out a huff of laughter. "Sadly I shan't be awarding House points for that." She gives him a grin that lets him know she can tell it's all in fun. He wasn't entirely sure that it was, but also wasn't particularly malicious. Her enjoyment proves... contagious, however, and he finds himself... unwinding. Just a little.
"Further, if you are the living record of all events that take place between us, and anyone who cares to can examine them, given the mandatory skills, how could I resort to suppressing the memory?"
"You couldn't, Sir..."
"Correct again. Magnificent, Miss Granger." Despite the topic, he has a flight of whimsy. It's probably the alcohol combined with the Calming Draught, but he's a bit startled to hear himself saying, "Now I almost miss House points..."
"You could award chocolates instead," his lighter-heartedness is also contagious and she grins.
"That would never do. At this rate, you'd grow terribly fat." She's almost offended for a moment before she realises it's a compliment. And chocolates were a rubbish suggestion, she just hadn't a better one to make. Books would be too pricey... The golden star-shaped stickers from her Muggle Kindergarten cross her mind, but she'd sooner swallow poison than suggest them.
"I suppose then you wouldn't be able to carry me off the next time you come to my rescue."
"Don't be ridiculous." He appears quite stern, and she worries about a half a dozen things momentarily before she remembers to listen to the bond and relaxes. "That's what Mobilicorpuses are for." The corner of his mouth raises ever so slightly in amusement.
"I shall simply endeavour not to need rescuing."
"It would be appreciated."
"Or grow fat," she smirks. He returns it.
They sit like that for a few beats, almost enjoying the moment of peace before the topic reoccurs to Severus, probably precisely because he almost enjoyed a moment of peace, and he resumes, a bit sadly. "So essentially I need to not experience anything while you are present." She understands that instantly and the guilt returns.
"And finally, the bond apparently betrays enough of what I'm feeling, even in your absence, that I can't afford for you to be carrying a record of it. In consequence, what does that leave?"
"Non-stop Occlumency." Her voice is very low as she says it, and she looks horrified.
"Quite right, Miss Granger, but still no bonbons for you." He sounds almost flippant. "It's our 'what if', Miss Granger, if you can feel me, and 'they' can read that, what choice do I have other than to Occlude, day in and out? Regardless of the side I am on, I would no longer be able to drop my guard for a moment."
"Then what are you doing now?" she challenges pointedly, but she's sincerely worried, he can tell. He's the only one of them who understands the rules of the game they're now playing, and he currently isn't acting like it.
"Wallowing in stupidity, Miss Granger. An abundance of that and self pity." He sinks together in a sad heap. "You needn't worry, though. It's not quite as stupid as you might think." He waves his hand towards the side table, and swoop a phial of Sober-Up flies into his hand. "If I am... called," he gestures with the Potion towards his forearm where she knows only too well the Dark Mark is located, "I am prepared." He Banishes the Potion back to the table.
She looks only marginally less concerned. If he's called, given his health, he probably won't survive. She honestly can't begin to imagine how he copes with that very real possibility so calmly. Then again, he's hardly sober, and there's a Calming Draught in play, but she suspects his reaction would be the same without either factor. He misreads her concern completely and something about her erroneously perceived disapproval amuses him. He decides to poke fun.
"I'm entitled." Of course he is. He's a grown man, in the privacy of his own quarters, he's doing no one else any harm, and he's had a series of perfectly wretched days. He can do as he bloody well pleases, as far as she's concerned. Provided it doesn't affect his health.
They aren't quite on the same page.
The sarcasm is audible as he snarks, "I didn't get a stag night after all." That was unexpected. Her expression shows it. "Not that I care for stags..." She can't help wondering why.
He may be a grown man, but he's also an ass. Frequently. Things have gone surprisingly well, they haven't Hexed one another yet, and he perversely doesn't like leaving it at that at all. Getting along, that is; he can do without the Hexing. He's developed into a glutton for punishment, or at least that's what he tells himself, and can't bear the appearance of softness; he is not soft.
He's drunk, and ultimately his decision making processes aren't necessarily at their best just now.
Naturally he's also feeling sorry for himself in this arrangement. Some comfort can be had from sex after all, and now that too has been denied him. Dimly he reminds himself that the elimination of the pressures to participate in some of the darker Death Eater practices more than compensates for this particular sacrifice, but it's hard to grasp in his current disheartened state. Now that that particular threat has been thoroughly neutralised, it's no longer as present in his thoughts. And he does wish he had his rooms to himself, damn it. That too was some measure of comfort, poof, gone with the flick of a wand and a unwanted bonding.
Against a backdrop of various grievances, in fairness - more real than perceived, he needs to lash out a bit. Just at the moment, the best way to do so seems to be badgering her some more...
"And now the next lesson in Oaths. Are they absolute or relative?" It sounds glib. Somewhat loaded. It makes her wary.
"Sir? I don't follow?"
"If you had taken an Oath to only tell me the truth, does that function absolutely or relatively?" Her expression shows she's beginning to comprehend, and he warms to his subject. "If it worked absolutely, all that it would require is binding another with such an Oath, and I would know the truth of everything. Celestina Warbeck's natural hair colour, Mrs. Zabini's true age, the cure for Lycanthropy...
"I could ask and you would answer. Or worst case, you'd try answering, and suffer penalties every time you got it wrong. But that would still help to narrow down the possibilities. At least with Mrs. Warbeck's hair colour. We could be here all week trying to guess Mrs. Zabini's year of birth."
"And how does that translate to a Loyalty Oath then?" She's nervous.
Very nervous.
In addition to Professor McGonagall, she'd also provided Malfoy with information about the Professor, or rather his condition, today. 'I need you to share nothing about me with anyone.' Well she's done a bang up job of that.
As her anxiety ratchets up, he looks at her sharply.
There had been a spike of unease before. Here it is again. This is no coincidence, and he shouldn't have ignored it the first time... He deserts his previous line of questioning now to pursue this. That had been in fun, not necessarily entirely good natured fun, but still. This, however, seems... serious.
Unexpectedly, he finds himself becoming worried as well. He's not sure if it's purely her apprehension causing that, or if it's the fact she believes there's something he is unaware of to worry about. That unawareness strikes him as very dangerous indeed.
"What did you do?" he demands. His instincts are good. She's clutching that phial around her neck for dear life now, like it's some sort of protective talisman, her knuckles beginning to whiten under the force of her grip, her head lowered and staring intently at the floor. "Miss Granger! What did you do?!"
He leans close to her, very close, bending to see her better where she hides behind her curls. He never lifts a hand to reach for her, and with some surprise she realises she almost would have felt better if he had. Because she's Hermione, she instantly qualifies that with list of conditions (not too harshly, of course; probably not unexpectedly, she's also forced to concede...), but the essential fact remains unassailed. There's something a little unnatural in the way he avoids touching her. But his tone is commanding and between that and the compelling void created by the absence of touch - probably every bit as effective as if he had reached out, grabbed her arm, tucked her hair back or tilted her chin upwards - she looks up, meeting his eyes.
She doesn't have words for him, but doesn't need them either. She's practically flinging three memories, three thoughts at him, over and over, on a jumbled, non-sequential loop. Were he sober, he might not have looked at them. But given the serious nature of the threat she represents - he's convinced: it's potentially, probably, lethal - and the ease with which he slips into Legilimency... The results are a foregone conclusion.
Miss Granger dragging Minerva to see him, asleep, wounded in the Infirmary. 'You thought I had underestimated his condition. That he had taken advantage of me. I need to show you something.'
It explains the presence of the Warts and Warhol's voucher on his nightstand this morning. He'd hoped, ardently, that it was delivered by elves. He'd doubted it. Few in the castle can use the elves for such purposes; even fewer do. He'd half assumed, given his luck, that Minerva had stumbled across his admission to the Infirmary by chance, presumably when checking on the Gryffindors who'd apparently also spent the night in Poppy's care. But he'd never have guessed Miss Granger would have contributed to Minerva's discovery, exposing him in that fashion...
He tells himself Minerva is a trusted member of the Order. The young woman's Head of House. That Minerva was the person Miss Granger had trusted enough to choose to have screen her owls... It doesn't help much, but a little. He needs her not to share things with the Order or this will end badly for him. Very badly. Probably for them all.
Still, it helps inasmuch as he manages not to become enraged at the young woman beside him.
His anger at Albus, however, is a completely different matter. At Albus and his meddling, the stupidity of the bond, the idiocy of adding the thoroughly unnecessary emotional link... The fact he himself ever agreed to this... It's all very obvious through the bond. Less obvious is the direction of his anger, and Hermione begins to worry for real.
Miss Granger telling Draco his prognosis, how badly he'd been hurt...
He's about to explode as he sees that.
He'd only just held his anger in check before. An Order member he can almost understand, but a Death Eater?? The Malfoys are playing host to the fucking Inner Circle as Miss Granger well knows by now. Bloody buggering fuck!
This is proof her Oath offers him no protection at all. At the latest when the Death Eaters realise this, they can be relied upon to kill one or the other or both of them. There can be no doubt about that. The only reason they effectively aren't yet aware of this, given she'd spoken to Draco, for fuck's sake, is no one knows Severus had instructed her not to reveal things about him to others. That should last until anyone examines her memories. For half a moment he considers Obliviating that conversation and all related thoughts from her memory. Merlin knows, the witch before him seems to feel that's a legitimate course of action...
Even were he able to find some solace in the thought he could possibly escape the Death Eaters' response with his life, and he finds that far less comforting than he'd expect given the alternative, there's no way they can kill her without tearing him apart at the seams thanks to his Protection Vow. There was always a chance it could leave him permanently damaged. It was supposed to have been temporary, as it couldn't be entirely eliminated with a Geas, but he's not sure he entirely trusts how Albus constructed the Vows at this point. Merlin knows, this is proof enough of their fallibility... And how typical of his luck that this is the Vow that didn't take as planned.
But there's more to that memory. The rest comes flooding in, and neither of them seem able to stop it. On the contrary, she seems... eager for him to see the rest.
Malfoy enters the corridor to the Arithmancy classroom, the two of them are apparently alone there, her sharp spike of fear.
How she asks Malfoy, 'How was he?'
Malfoy.
She'd been that desperate to hear how the Professor was doing.
It...
He doesn't know what to do with that.
At all.
He sees it happening, hears the words spoken. He can feel her concern in the memory via the Legilimens. He can even feel her experiencing it now, through the bond, just from reliving the memory. In fact he can remember feeling it earlier this afternoon as he'd sat there drinking. Naturally he hadn't known it was directed at him, that he'd been the cause. No, quite the opposite. He'd been annoyed, wondering what on earth she had to worry about and had felt even sorrier for himself.
Well.
It's incredibly difficult to reconcile his responses to both the threat he perceives in her actions - perfectly legitimate and far from an overreaction - and to the depth of concern for him on her part that had motivated those actions. Ultimately the latter gains the upper hand.
In light of it, his anger begins to... crumble, collapsing in on itself, almost as if it were a physical thing, and with the way it leaves him feeling, it may as well have been.
It's not that his response makes any sense objectively. It really doesn't. Her concern, although real, wasn't earth shattering, he certainly doesn't mistake it for that, and the threat was severe. But he's very accustomed to the threat of death. It's a mixed blessing; for once that only works to his advantage. And he's very unaccustomed to people worrying about him. Undeniably, her concern had been... genuine. The combination has him feeling... lost. Unsure quite how to feel.
She'd been so worried about him, she'd been willing to ask Draco how he was doing.
The typical Slytherin would never do such a thing, he thinks, forgetting the times he himself has. That may be an unnecessary precaution on their parts, perhaps there was nothing all that substantial to be lost, she doesn't seem harmed by it, but still they wouldn't risk exposing their flanks in that way. And the emotional risk is a real enough thing.
But she'd... wanted... needed to know how he was. So much so, she'd resorted to... that.
He's been careful to try to avoid any attempt to dictate how she 'should' feel about what's happened to her. That should be for her to decide. But he suspects he finds the idea of her talking to Draco even more of an affront to his sensiblities than she does to hers. He'll need to watch that.
How she'd told Draco how he was doing apparently simply because the boy seemed to share her concern for Severus' well being. That she'd seen so little of that, and it had bothered her so much, she was willing to share information with Draco of all people...
That last is conveyed in a quick series of images, a collage of seconds of recollections and the emotions that accompanied them. It's effective and an usual selection for someone untrained in Legilimency. He has to wonder if that's how she naturally thinks. There are impressions of her facing other students and her temper flaring. It's elegantly composed. There are just hints of volume and tone, not enough of any memory to understand what the individuals had said and for him to have to react to that. Probably just as well, and not only because it eliminates that distraction.
Without the suggestion of context, he wouldn't even know why she's frustrated with the others. He hadn't, after all, while he experienced those emotions of hers all afternoon. Of course, without context, he'd ordinarily assume she's trying to mislead him, Merlin knows he uses that tactic often enough, but their bond proves she isn't feeling duplicitous. He... trusts it.
She felt too few cared and it had frayed her nerves. She just wanted to lash out at them all...
There's Poppy saying as much, Miss Granger's sadness, outrage, sympathy and regret as she hears it. More flashes, excerpts of interactions with other students, her anger again... Her relief at the shared concern, a kind word about him from Miss Lovegood and Draco. It comes very close to how Severus would try to present a thought, her emphasis however is far more emotional than his. He supposes that only makes sense given their personalities.
Severus' anger dissipates.
It's frankly impossible for him to remain angry in the face of that. But he still needs to make her understand the magnitude of her mistake, and he's trying to think how do so as the third memory rolls over him.
It's more of a rudimentary thought, really, made clearer by the emotions accompanying it. It's a great oddity. That's just not how Legilimency works. He wonders if the bond has anything to do with this. Even more strangely, but maybe it helps make it possible, it's apparently something she'd thought about sufficiently that parts of it were no longer attached to a single memory or setting. She would probably be exceptionally grateful for that fact were she more fully aware of it, given the first time she'd thought about it, she'd been seated on his Infirmary bed, his half naked form curled around her...
Miss Granger wondering how she could circumvent the Loyalty Vow so thoroughly.
The memory of him telling her, 'I need you to share nothing about me with anyone.'
And yet she had and seems to be very aware of that fact. Disturbed by it...
A quick impression of her leading Minerva through the Infirmary this morning. Another two of Miss Granger telling Draco, 'he'll make a full recovery' and 'he was very badly hurt'.
Her emotions at the time contrasted with her emotions now help explain why it happened and prove how she's come to view it. He accepts the truth of that.
A last thought, underscored once again by her emotions, then and now, a slurry of confusion, defeat, guilt, dread and fear. She doesn't understand what she's done wrong or how she was able to do it, she only knows that she's failed badly on that front... She thinks she may be a massive threat to his security.
There are tears in her eyes when the link ends, and she lowers her head again. Their Legilimency hadn't hurt her, it isn't pain. It isn't trauma. She doesn't even feel... No, she doesn't feel violated. Thank Merlin. That had been a serious risk in her present state, and why he'd have never attempted that if sober. It had been stupid. He's not even sure he had attempted it now, truth be told. Mostly it sort of happened. They'd fallen into it, and vaguely he wonders if the bond makes them more susceptible to it. Yet another question for another day.
Maybe he has the Calming Draughts to thank for her not feeling he'd assaulted her thoughts, her mind. Or maybe she can feel his absence of malice, that he hadn't attacked her, just as he'd known to trust her when she cast her foolish fluffing Charm on him before. The tears express... her regret, he finally decides.
He doesn't say anything for several minutes as he collects himself.
She's understood it's a problem, repeating that fact won't help. Taken on a purely self-serving level, upsetting her by doing so will only have him suffering alongside her. But even as he thinks it, he knows that's not his motivation. Still, she truly hasn't grasped the nature of the problem, or she wouldn't have done it twice.
This is incredibly dangerous. For them both.
"Minerva and Draco? Both sides?" That's met by a sniffle and then silence. "On the off chance you weren't certain which side I serve?" His Tergeo to clear her nose is surprisingly soft, and the feeling of his magic on her lifts her spirits a little. She is sure that wasn't his intention. But she looks him in the eye, a little more hopefully than a moment ago.
"No, of course not..."
"That's a truly flagrant violation of the intent of the Oath." He searches in his pocket for a moment and then hands her his handkerchief. She wipes her eyes. It smells faintly like him, which comforts her further. She finds herself now clutching it. Tightly. It serves much the same purpose as the phial around her neck. She's also sure that wouldn't have been his intention either.
"The intent, perhaps, but not the Oath itself, or I couldn't have..."
"Malfoy?" Utter disbelief. She can't really blame him.
"He seemed genuinely concerned..." He has no words. She'd understood it at the time. Why she'd done it. Wanted to do it. It had made perfect sense to her then. Right now she's having difficulty putting together a convincing argument even just for her own ears. This would seem to be one of those things she'll never be able to explain to anyone else. Certainly not him.
He stares at her silently, blinking. Again. Eventually he replies, "Well then, by all means... As long as he was concerned."
He hasn't taken her head off, she realises. It's taken her a little while to do so. He doesn't even feel all that angry through the bond anymore, she finally notices. But perhaps she'd been afraid to listen to it before. She swallows and grabs a bit of courage and with an attempt at humour offers, "Genuinely."
He almost snorts at that. "Of course. That makes all the difference," he replies. She takes it purely for a witticism; in part, he's acknowledging what a difference her genuine concern had made to him.
They sit there in silence for a while. She dabs at the tears that seem to still want to come. He performs another Tergeo when she sniffles again, so immediately she hadn't even noticed her nose had become congested once more. It's not just the way the bond affects magic, she's sure. It's gentler than Madam Pomfrey's. Admittedly, the Matron is more goal oriented in her applications. But the fact of it, coupled with the feel of it has her smiling a little. Before that becomes more noticeable she needs to apologise. She can't, she won't have him thinking she didn't take this seriously. Truthfully, at this point he probably couldn't convince himself of that even if he wished to.
"I'm very sorry about that. It wasn't what I meant... I mean, I didn't mean to..." She flounders and gives up. "I'm very sorry."
His lips form a thin line, and then he nods. Finally he sighs. "So I gathered."
He has an idea, he suspects it isn't a good one. But he needs her to learn this lesson. Indelibly.
He elegantly stretches a hand up in the simultaneously overly dramatic way of the hammered and flicks his fingers towards the door of his laboratory, which opens, and wandlessly and silently Summons a small number of potions. Another flick, and the door closes. She can hear the tumblers locking it once more as he fumbles for something in his breast pocket again.
"An experiment, if you will." He hands her the three phials he Summoned. She examines them closely, but doesn't recognise any of the potions. Hardly surprising, she supposes. "Kindly administer them to me." Now she looks really confused. Madam Pomfrey has only just explained that Hermione most certainly can't administer the potions...
"How?"
"Really, Miss Granger..." He makes a series of 'tsking' noises before throwing his head back, his mouth open, looking for all the world like an oversized baby crow. When she doesn't move, he turns to face her, "Come now, feed me." She could swear he's laughing at her. Silently.
Crooks shifts his gaze warily between them before getting up and seeking the safety of her chair. His convictions that humans really aren't the brightest creatures are only reinforced when Hermione crawls into the space he just vacated.
This seems like a very bad idea, but she doesn't quite grasp why. Yet. So she opens the first of the three phials and pours it into the Professor's mouth.
And absolutely nothing discernible happens.
It's almost a disappointment. Then she remembers she should probably feel relieved. She reaches for the next phial, unstoppers it, and pours it after the first.
The results are quite spectacular and almost immediate. He turns a horrible shade of sickly green, and begins gagging and retching straight away.
She's still blinking in terror as he shoves something from his fist into his mouth, struggling to swallow it as he coughs in fits all the while. He had clearly palmed it, prepared for this eventuality, and for all his deathly pallor, he seems not a bit surprised.
"Be... Bez... Be... Bezoar," he finally gasps, as his colour begins to return. Not that there's usually much of it, but what there is of it is generally less... green.
"Poison," he finally explains, rather superfluously.
"I gathered." She's furious.
"Rather disloyal of you to feed it to me, wouldn't you say?" His voice is ragged.
"You asked me to." She's steaming.
"And your Vow didn't stop you." He has to pause, apparently to try coughing up a lung. Serves him right as far as she's concerned. He helps himself to her glass of water, but still has to struggle to swallow, and then asks, "What have you learnt?"
"That you are not to be trusted!" That was the stupidest display she's ever seen, and she's seen rather a lot of stupidity living with the Gryffindor boys for over six years.
"Tone, Miss Granger." He misses House points. Maybe he'll reconsider the bonbon system. He pauses a moment to reflect. Then as if it's only just occurred to him, which it may well have done, asks, "Which potions did you give me before?" She lists them. "Hmm. How long ago would you say that was?" She tells him.
He Summons three of them from his stores, the final door - clearly his bed chambers - flying open to permit them to pass before slamming closed, and then quaffs two thirds of each phial. He looks at the third phial for a moment, shrugs, and then quaffs the rest. She just stares at him as though he's mad. Completely bonkers. Gone round the twist, never to be seen again from the look of it. "Bezoar will have counteracted them," he explains.
"Yes, I gathered that as well. One went directly to the bloodstream and the other two won't have been seen as requiring an antidote, I take it."
"Only one, the second was fast acting," but he looks pleased she remembered that lesson from... Merlin's balls... Friday. She was learning even then. He's impressed. He's also still exceedingly miserable. He deserves it. It was probably worth it, though. She won't forget this lesson either. Although now he's wondering if he shouldn't put more faith in her ability to learn. It would certainly be easier. He'll give it some thought.
Later.
Should he resume thinking at that time.
Clearly he isn't just at the moment.
He repeats, "What have you learnt?"
"That the Vow won't keep me from disloyal behaviour absolutely. It apparently is relative, and I suspect it will only work to forbid an action if I perceive that behaviour as disloyal."
Damn. She does deserve a chocolate for that. He wonders if he could have Sunny impound a chocolate frog for her. Draco usually has some about. The little rotter definitely owes them both at least that. Or maybe Severus deserves the chocolate himself for that very memorable lesson... "Very good. I see my effort was not wasted on you."
"Madam Pomfrey's very nearly was. She put a great deal of effort into saving you, and then you risk it all for... what? A cheap parlour trick?"
"A road test. We are now better acquainted with the limitations of our Vows. More aware of them. And as I claimed, and contrary to your beliefs, despite the Vow, you can quite literally be the death of me."
"And where's the failing in your Vow? When will you cease to protect me? Or would you be able to harm me?" Her anger is beginning to yield to disappointment.
"I almost definitely will."
"Relatively or absolutely?"
"Oh, then I absolutely will." She's not amused. He tries again, "Relatively, with certainty, because different definitions are fundamental weaknesses of such Vows. Absolutely... That's probably more complicated. 'Incidit in scyllam cupiens vitare charybdim'."
"Stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. A rock and a hard place."
"Marvellous, Miss Granger. A dilemma. When both choices are equally bad. Or perhaps a Hobson's choice. The absence of one."
"So we did all this, and it won't keep us safe? It may actually put us in danger?"
"I think it's safe to say it already has." The eyebrow, the dry voice, that look like she's thick as they come... She kicks herself again how quickly she forgets what he went through last night, but it's just too frightening to keep at the forefront of her thoughts. "And no, it probably won't be quite as effective as you hoped."
"You didn't hope..." She wants to ask, but he heads her off.
"I'm not given to hoping."
And this mad man is who she married... for what purpose? She just stares at him in disbelief. He senses that, just like everything else she feels, and becomes annoyed.
"But you needn't worry. You won't be bonded forever," he dangles provocatively in front of the naturally inquisitive witch.
Her confusion is instantly apparent; her query predetermined. "But, Professor, I thought the whole point was that the bond couldn't be dissolved? If it could be, 'with any degree of ease', then it would offer no protection?"
"Quite right, Miss Granger," he's again quick to reassure. And deriving a bit of sadistic pleasure proceeds, "But as I shan't be surviving this war, you will no longer be bonded." Her anger at this surprises him, but he's in poor shape to reconsider and, having started on this ill-advised course, won't permit any correction. "But fear not, I shall make every effort to survive just as long as possible to continue to provide the requisite... protection."
And now even without their bond, he's reasonably sure he would feel her fury. It's virtually palpable, even in his numbed state. "See that you do," she hisses at him before rising, angrily Summoning some books - unexpectedly they seem to be the ones he'd checked out for her on pet keeping, her robe, and then with a very pointed look, sharper than any Diffindo, she arcs her wand a final time and Summons a Draught of Peace that she waggles at him irately before stalking from his, their, chambers.
Not that she takes it immediately. No, of course not, his luck was never that good. The feline 'mrowr's his agreement, so he probably said that out loud as well.
He's not sure where she's going, and not sure why he even thinks to wonder. It's not as though he cares. Except the anger he feels lapping harshly across the bond, and his apparently insufficiently dulled nerves, belies that for practical reasons at the least. It's good to know he can run her off this easily, but if the cost is this level of... irritation, then he isn't sure this will be a... satisfactory solution moving forward. He shall have to get creative. As if he hadn't enough to demand his attention.