“beyond wandpoint” 112b by gingerbred
“11 12y Wednesday - Unexpected Reactions” Part 2
Severus, Hermione, Crooks, Sunny
Originally Published: 2019-08-19 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 112 part 2 Characters:
Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)
Mentioned briefly: Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Sunny the House Elf
A/N: In light of the lengthy break between this and the last chapter, I'm making the Previouslies here a bit more robust. (And if you're reading this in one shot at a later date, sorry about that.)
Previously:
In the corridor, before Ancient Runes Wednesday afternoon... After they insult Hermione, Draco manages to trick some hex-happy Hufflepuffs into twitching their wands in response to his silent Protego. Justin tries to stop them, recognising their mistake, only to wind up with two heads for his bother. Typical. Equally typically, he's dispatched to Poppy for treatment. Say what you will, her job isn't boring. (100b)
When Molly's Howler to Severus in the Infirmary Tuesday morning mentions Hermione's 'absentee parents', Minerva tries to comfort Hermione by reaching out to her only to make her jump. (067) Any question Hermione might have as to whether or not she's grown more sensitive to physical contact is confirmed when Lavender's causal touch in the corridors also sends her leaping. (108)
Hermione returns home Tuesday night to find a drunk and shirtless Severus passed out on the couch. (081) Her judgment often nothing short of questionable of late, reasonably enough, she decides she needs to see to applying the Scar Salve to his chest (082) before retiring. Unable to sleep, Hermione decides to kip on the floor next to Severus, having pretty much gotten in the habit of doing so over the past few days, at least while he was in the Infirmary. (Neither are aware Sunny had relocated Severus from the privacy of his bed to the couch, nor that the presumptuous little house elf had removed Severus' pyjama top while about it.) (085)
After Hermione takes Severus by surprise - once again - with her sleepwear Wednesday morning, he feels... pressed to have a talk with her about appropriate attire for their common spaces. (090)
Hermione tries to make Severus feel more comfortable with having needed her assistance after he was tortured at the Manor Monday evening. (Because clearly that was the thing that should have upset him about the evening's events, needing her help, and not the fact he was tortured... Sadly, any other viewpoint wouldn't be conducive to coping with the life he's forced to lead.) Rather unusually, she elects to do this by teasing him about the state of his trousers at the time. 'Naturally, I had hoped the incontinence might come a little later...' It's not exactly an approach to which he's accustomed, and perhaps for that reason it's more successful than either would have predicted. (110) That success in turn has her feeling more confident about interacting with him, a confidence which may or may not be warranted.
They make a somewhat awkward attempt at conversation; the topic, for want of a neutral one, is the hexing that took place in the Gryffindor Tower Monday evening, during which Ron force-fed Seamus a Puking Pastille. Concerned his reaction to the story might make her see similarities between this act and the assault on herself Friday evening, Severus tries to cover by complimenting Weasley's tactic (of all things). He's so focused on that aspect of it - Weasley (of all people!) - he fails, utterly, to consider the advisability of using the Battle of DoM as an example, no matter how applicable. Hmm.
Fine, it wasn't one of his better moments.
In an effort to make amends, he enquires into her ongoing problems with the wound from that battle. (111)
Abruptly Severus rises and goes to his bedroom door. He silently Summons something and then returns to Hermione's side holding out a small glass pot.
He extends his hand towards her, and the contents of the pot shimmer, an irresistible honey gold, attracting her attention. Considering the hand upon which the Salve is resting, that's saying something she can't picture ever admitting out loud. When she's finally able to tear her eyes away, she gives him an enquiring look, and he silently gestures for her to take it. Cautiously, she does. Her raised eyebrow, seeking permission to open the pot, is met with nothing more than an amused smirk.
When he doesn't see fit to expand on it - No, why should he? That would be helpful - she asks, "Is it safe to open it?"
"You'll recall the Protection Vow I took? As it was elicited only this past Sunday, I had rather expected you should. It hasn't been all that long..." He sighs, over-dramatically to her mind. With a much put upon air he carries on, "When I agreed to bond someone, I was aware there might come a time when I would have to care for her. I had hoped the dementia might come a little later..." It gets him the laugh he'd been trying for, and already his gaffe, all mention of the DoM seems forgotten, replaced by amusement and curiosity. Both sensations are vastly preferable through the bond to the upset she'd projected before, which is probably the only reason he prefers to see her smile... "Proceed. Open it. Tell me what you can smell."
She unscrews the lid and takes a careful sniff. She's certain now that she needn't use great caution here, unconcerned about potentially corrosive or even lethal substances, but equally sure the Protection Vow wouldn't preclude some particularly nasty smell, for example. She's fairly confident that he could derive some pleasure from her reaction were that the case. As it is, her hesitancy amuses him too, and he can well guess her thoughts. His smirk tells her as much. She takes a deeper sniff, inhaling the delicate scent of the Salve and attempts to puzzle out its component parts.
"It's a Scar Scarcefying Salve, but... not?" She asks, uncertain. Given the topic that had sent him scurrying to fetch the Salve, he thinks it shouldn't have been that much of a stretch, but his nod encourages her to continue. "The usual base, but with some changes. Lavender, that's easy. I'd say Clandestine Calming Calendula..."
"You couldn't have smelt that." He's adamant. And correct.
"No, but with the advantage of knowing it is in fact some version of a Scar Scarcefier, and judging by it's appearance, it seemed a given." He quirks a brow in reply and she smiles. "Fine, it seemed probable." He nods once more and her smile broadens. "If the colour is anything to go by, Tumescent Turmeric?" Again he acknowledges her inference and she keeps going, eager to tease out the lot. "Leaping Lemongrass, or is that Languid Lemon Balm?
"Both, actually. Well recognised." She beams, innerly and outwardly, it's the best way to describe the sensation, and Severus is just thankful he doesn't have her in his class anymore. He can admit it, there's more than a little temptation to cause that reaction. Certainly in contrast to her anxiety before... This is... pleasant.
"Dandelion Roots... Comfrey?"
"A confit thereof, yes."
"Candied? Interesting. There's something else... Something... It reminds me of..." She pinks, and now he's curious. She's done very well. There are three ingredients she's missed, and for the life of him he can't imagine why any of them would make her blush.
"What? What does it remind you of?" If pressing the issue makes her blush some more, why not? It's a spot of harmless fun.
Her answer isn't what he expected, and only serves to highlight that he really doesn't understand her.
"My gran's Christmas biscuits," she admits softly. "From when I was little. But I can't quite tell what it is..."
"Apparently you weren't kidding about not baking."
"I really wasn't," she grins. "Much worse than Hagrid."
"Nurturing nutmeg and common cloves."
"Oh, that explains why I couldn't quite place it. I thought it was only one spice."
"Yes, I could see how one might conflate the two." She gets the idea that was mite sarcastic. "Anything else?" He prompts.
She inhales again, more deeply this time, and then ruefully shakes her head. "I'm afraid I haven't a clue." That appeals to him. He stands there, quite pleased with himself, feeling terribly clever, which is silly, because she has no hope of identifying an unknown. They haven't worked with it before. Still, she'd done well enough distinguishing the other elements, which he finds... satisfactory. Considering he's taught her most of what she knows, he could even frame it as a shared victory. That thought, once formed, appeals a great deal less, and he immediately decides to view the accomplishment solely as her own, if only for his peace of mind. "So what is it exactly?" She asks.
"It hasn't been named," he answers, not that it's entirely true. In his thoughts he often calls it Severus Snape's Stunningly Superior Scar Scarcefying Salve, the septuple S.
"There must be some way to refer to it," she objects.
"It hasn't been... published, so it isn't... referred to." Her brow furrows, the question plain. He explains, "It's still... experimental."
Her eyes narrow as she regards him. At first it's nearly comical, but as the moment stretches he begins to feel... exposed. And isn't that a thing? To feel more naked under her stare than he does in front of the Dark Lord...
"No," she replies slowly, still peering at him closely and shaking her head. "It's yours, isn't it?" She asks. Reluctantly he nods. She isn't surprised. He'd been far too proud for it not to be something of his own creation, and the very idea of it has her more eager than ever to try the Salve. "And it isn't experimental," she very nearly gloats. And that's when he realises just how much the blasted bond reveals. He hadn't even felt particularly guilty about that bit of deceit, and yet she'd sniffed it out, and quite easily at that. He's more than passing annoyed by that. Albus and his meddling... The man is a fool. Or has been reduced to one of late. That might be a fairer assessment. Not that Severus gives a rat's about fairness at present... It's merely... accurate.
His lips tighten and then purse, his displeasure apparent as he considers his options. It's too late now. Finally he shakes his head. "It is not. You are correct." She smiles at him, he supposes she believes it's encouraging. Were he to feel much of anything at the moment, he imagines he'd be nauseous. Perhaps he needs a Snape's Stomach Soother... "I expect this will be the first real test of your Loyalty Vow then. You can't tell anyone about this. No one, are we clear?"
She nods, but her confusion is plainly written on her face.
Perfect.
Well he has no one but himself to blame for this one. He revises that to include Albus. And then he includes Draco. And promptly adds Crabbe and the other seventh year boys... And while he's about it, he could include the Dark Lord and his entire Inner Circle, why doesn't he? The list could be nigh endless...
He should have been more careful with the Salve.
There's nothing for it now. "Why don't you try a patch?"
"Oh I will," she assures him, rather enthusiastically, and yet makes no move to do so.
"Now?" He prods. If he has to accept the risk of exposure evidently inherent in this noble gesture of his, he'd at least like to see how the Salve performs; that would be a small measure of compensation. It's not that he expects her to apply it here in the lounge - he'd be appalled if she did - but her perfectly serviceable bedroom is mere yards away, and still she makes no move to stand.
"It's an improvement on the regular Scar Scarcefier?" That earns her his raised brow, because he considered that a given at this point. "But it has the same characteristics? It is the same base? It's just a variant?" The 'just' has him adding a stern furrow to his raised brow resulting in an expression she's fairly certain she couldn't manage if she practised for a decade. Suitably chagrined, she tries again. "I meant it needs to be applied in the same manner?"
"It does." She could hardly mean to drink it... He endeavours to hold off on aspersions on her intelligence.
"Assuming Madam Pomfrey has the right of it, and she seems to, doesn't she? Usually?" Waffling. The woman waffles. "Get things right? She, um..." Hermione takes a deep breath, no more 'um's, and tries again. "She insists it's more effective if there's no... clothing over the Salve." Severus blinks at that, because of all the possible reasons for trying or not trying the Salve at present... This wouldn't have made his list.
"There is such a thing as an Impervius," he asserts, certain and beginning to become uncomfortable with some of the implications.
Hermione smiles, "That's exactly what I suggested, but the Matron was most firm, the air made all the difference. She was quite insistent there should be no cloth whatsoever placed over the Salve. All other considerations being equal that is. In the absence of any contraindications." Such as someone having bad dreams on the couch and requiring a magical blanket, say, not that she'd dream of saying as much.
Severus blinks again as it occurs to him just when Miss Granger may have learnt this little tidbit from Poppy, and that the intransigent Mediwitch had used the Salve rather generously on him this week, and that Miss Granger had also more or less taken up residence in his Infirmary room by all appearances. Those thoughts distract him rather thoroughly for a moment, and then he inevitably gets around to considering her applying the Salve... that night, say, and sleeping... He battles not to complete the thought, but some traitorous part of his brain supplies the ever so obvious missing word: 'topless'... Which he does not picture. Not at all. He's trying very hard, struggling valiantly not to put an image to those words. He seeks refuge in visions of the black bikini he then immediately also tries not to imagine.
He really has no idea why he seems to think a bikini would be much safer...
This young woman is proving... challenging.
Hermione can feel him starting to Occlude and has to fight not to laugh, which doesn't improve things much as he can feel it. He Occludes a little more fiercely, dissatisfied with the entire situation now. He's trying to hide bits and pieces and not others, and this is proving very different to what he usually does, which is focussed first and foremost on hiding thoughts, not feelings. He's not satisfied with that fact either. Or the potential repercussions if he's this transparent to her.
She thinks there must be some sort of Conservation Law in effect, because the more uncertain he becomes, the more sure she feels. Perversely she seems to derive confidence from his lack thereof, at least in this regard, possibly because it makes him seem safe in all the ways that presently matter, and matter far too much at that, if she were capable of being honest about it. Compounding the problem, there's a kind of need to know she hadn't been in the wrong when she'd treated him with such a Salve just last night, and there's really only one person who can provide absolution on that count... And then, so fortunately, she also has a long list of things she needs to prove to demonstrate how little last Friday has affected her (because it hasn't, not at all), and she isn't the least bit haunted by recollections of shrinking from Lavender's or Professor McGonagall's touches... Perfectly normal that. No, Friday hasn't left any sort of a mark in the least.
Has it?
It's hardly considered, more nearly instinctive; she finds she can't quite resist teasing him. "But we could try some now, if you'd like?" She pulls her collar suggestively to the side as she gestures to her shoulder. She leaves her hand toying with her buttons as the invitation hovers between them.
Severus strongly dislikes running from a challenge and that, that was one too many, particularly as intellectually, he's positive it means nothing more than applying a bit of medicinal Salve to a scar. Just that and nothing more, and he's being absurd. It's something that shouldn't present any sort of problem in the least, and the suggestion it does lends the whole thing an importance he'd far rather... not. It definitely doesn't help that he has a deep-seated need to prove himself, to demonstrate his courage when possible, if only for his own benefit. (It's generally for his own benefit. Spy and all that entails after all...) There've been far too many occasions when he's been forced to buckle thanks to the dual hats he wears... Accusations of cowardice, even in his own mind, particularly in his own mind, grate terribly on his sense of self, and it feels as though it's been framed that way. He's not in the least bit pleased with her amusement at his expense, and in fact, yes, he would like for her to test a bit now, ta. He knows, he's sure, that if she only tries it, she'll be convinced of the superiority of his Salve, but that depends on her actually using it at some point. Much as he had left the Scarcefier she'd provided him yesterday untouched on the end table, he fears she might be capable of doing the same.
There may also be a last niggling doubt that his behaviour last night was unacceptable, that he'd been... inappropriate, and he would like... No, that's stating it too strongly. It could be... opportune to gauge her reaction while he's in possession of his faculties to attempt to assess if he'd taken advantage of her somehow. Not that that test is his goal as such, or would have dictated his behaviour on its own, he'd never subject either of them to that, but clearly it's a serendipitous benefit to be had. Clarity.
He calls her bluff.
Or perhaps not.
He takes the pot from her, dips one of his elegant fingers into it and holds it up demonstratively before her, "Would you permit me to test a patch on your shoulder?" She's proud of herself, extremely. She thinks she's kept her blinking more or less to normal. "I haven't had another subject to test it."
And that's when she stops blinking quite so regularly. "It really is experimental?" She demands, eyes wide.
"In as much as the testing wasn't as thorough as it should be, couldn't be as thorough as it should be, absolutely. Men and women aren't physiologically the same, obviously. And of course there are always risks of potion interactions, although I believe they're negligible and easily discounted with a topical Salve such as this one." And while all of that is perfectly true, frankly he'd quite like to see her response. He's never had the opportunity to share this with anyone else before. If the offer to test it means he actually gets to see her response, not the delayed reaction but her expression the moment it's applied... Well, the stuff is good, and yes, actually, he'd like that. It would be nice to be associated with something positive for once. Beyond just having her try it, he would like to see her reaction. Of course, there is always the small chance of the interactions he'd mentioned, safety is an issue... And there is a possibility, considerably less likely, but a chance nevertheless, of a certain very specific reaction, which could prove... useful...
Or problematic.
It's frankly unclear. Potentially both.
"So you want to use me as your guinea pig?" She asks. There's a note of disbelief to her tone and he might have put a stop to things right there, but the bond makes it clear she's practically vibrating with excitement. It seems... positive, eager, and so he simply nods.
That's all it takes.
Crooks, scenting... something - other than the elf - and thoroughly convinced (as always) that he's demonstrating more sense than either of the humans, chooses this moment to jump from Hermione's lap. He makes a series of leaps to one of the ledges their wizard had made him where he can observe the proceedings from a safe distance. This time he keeps well away from the elf creature, once again resting in what is apparently its favourite spot, Disillusioned on the mantle. Crooks has the idea that any stalking of the elf he should like to do is best conducted when the humans are otherwise occupied. Well more otherwise than at present. Presumably elsewhere even. There's plenty of time to teach the elf its place, and he means to make full use of it.
Instead of calling her to her senses, Crooks' retreat only amuses Hermione further. She's smirking now as she undoes the next three buttons of her blouse, and it occurs to Severus he hasn't thought this through all that well. She peels the left side of her top back revealing a stretch of lightly tanned skin that he happens to know is incredibly soft, and the strap of her brassiere and a flash of beige lace, and he finds himself trying not to think of what she was wearing Friday evening, but she tears him roughly from those thoughts he's trying to avoid when she speaks, batting a glib, "And here I thought I was supposed to cover up," with a wide smirk his way.
It hits the wicket squarely.
He gives her a wry eyebrow. "I've seen you in less," he repeats her words from this morning back to her, pleased to see she's simply amused as if by a shared joke, and perhaps it is. Apparently they tease now. About perfectly black topics. In principle, that's rather to his liking. Briefly it almost suffices to take his mind off her state of undress. Almost. But as his hand nears her soft shoulder, he becomes increasingly discomfited with the arrangement.
Clearly when all is said and done, she won't have been the only one whose rational interests weren't considered last night. Further proof, although it's superfluous at this point, that he shouldn't drink to excess, and that he's no longer free to behave as he pleases in his home. That's just an additional uncomfortable truth, so welcome at present.
There's no hesitation, not in his movements, as his finger draws closer to her flesh, but she can sense his discomfort and simply smiles. He begins to Occlude more strongly, differently - evidently he's experimenting - and her smile widens. Something provocative, almost biting perches on her lips, so frightfully clever, about to tumble forth...
And then dies there.
The moment is so quick, she almost misses it, and then dearly wishes she had. One instant she's merrily teasing him, such a lark, and the next a whole bunch of realisations hit her like a lorry, and she's teasing. Professor. Snape.
Suddenly too many painful things are threatening to become crystal clear.
For one thing, she stops seeing any sort of amusement in his discomfort - what kind of harpy is she? - ceasing to feel remotely bolstered by it. It dawns on her that this isn't someone playing coy, he was genuinely uneasy at having to touch her. This is the man who had been utterly revolted at having to bond her.
Revolted.
That sits.
And if she accepts that thought, goodness knows she's been doing her level best to repress it, then it throws the events of the previous night under a whole different light.
And that lighting is very unflattering.
She'd been thankful, so, that he'd been willing to revisit his initial reaction, and sure, perhaps he'd needed Firewhiskey goggles to do so, but he had, and it had been... nice. Rather. A hint of what might be possible if they ever got over themselves, which, frankly, was so very necessary - Wasn't it? Someday? - because the idea of a lifetime bonded and simply, and oh so chastely, ignoring their respective partners? It sounded... sad. And stupid and wasteful and prudish and any of a hundred other things she's not and doesn't wish to be. And she'd been even more relieved when he hadn't felt the need to discuss it, thank goodness, not that she could imagine such a discussion, but then that was much the reason for her relief...
But now she's beginning to wonder how much he remembers from last night, because if he remembered absolutely nothing at all, would his behaviour towards her today have been any different? She has the horrible suspicion that it would far more accurately explain it.
Which means she assaulted an inebriated man last night.
She. Assaulted. An. Incapacitated. Person.
She has no words for herself, her actions, any of it. There's nothing but disgust and mortification welling up, or more accurately threatening to well up, and her thoughts would spiral out of control, so completely out of control, there's no way back from this, except just. then. his finger connects with her shoulder and puts an end to all thought for the present.
Oof.
Wow.
When she's able to think again, she'll have other thoughts to occupy her, and the moment had been so quick, so fleeting - and so thoroughly undesirable - that she isn't entirely certain it was real and not some sort of panic attack. That's the preferred explanation by far. Naturally that won't stop her from tormenting herself with her doubts later tonight, but right now, right now she's received a reprieve.
Severus hasn't a clue what's going through that pretty little head of hers, but he'd find it worrisome were he inclined to permit such thoughts and associated feelings. He declines, he has enough on his plate. (And that doesn't work nearly as well as he'd like to believe.) The fact remains, one moment she's laughing at him - too kind, ta muchly - the next she apparently comes to her senses and recoils from him, her mortification too reminiscent of their bonding for comfort.
Splendid.
And that answers any remaining questions he'd had about the previous night.
Marvellous.
He's just shifted his Occluding, trying to block his response - and yes, as far as that's concerned, he'd go with revulsion, just as he had then - and trying to block hers, and is contemplating simply Occluding for all he's worth and not subjecting himself to more of... this, when he touches her shoulder and everything... changes.
"Holy Cricket," she sighs, breathy and stunned - it's amazing - and the things lapping through the bond are a far sight different to just a moment ago.
'Holy Cricket' indeed, he thinks, and it's nearly a struggle to draw a lungful of air.
He knew his Salve was good, but he still hadn't anticipated... this.
All efforts to Occlude cease immediately. He's not an idiot. Well, not through and through. Later he'll admit to himself that he quite shamefully stood there soaking up every drop of her approval, even if it was only directed towards a Salve of his invention. He doesn't care. For the moment, he simply basks in it.
It's a... lovely feeling really. Like being parched and taking that first gulp of water, or perhaps more like providing a starving man with a gourmet meal. He isn't used to this feeling. He isn't sure he's ever been that grateful for the relief one of his potions provides, even when the need has been more dire. It's become too... commonplace for him, and he realises he most definitely doesn't appreciate things the way she quite evidently does. Or at least can. Perhaps he's too jaded, or possibly it's a side effect of years, decades of hiding his reactions, and not simply when he Occludes. Hiding them even from himself...
He's touched only the tip of her scar, applied the Salve to no more than an inch of it, possibly less, but it might be the absolute best thing she's ever felt. The first reaction is indescribably pleasant, it feels simply... amazing. It's as though every moment of discomfort, pain the scar has caused for the past year and a half had been condensed and counterbalanced in this moment and the thing feels... yes, simply amazing.
Mercy that's good.
And she doesn't care if he knows it.
No, he should know it.
She's trying to find words, to explain, to express her gratitude. Dimly she's aware her mouth is working like some kind of landed fish, so flattering, but she can't vocalise this. She turns to him, the wonder apparent in her expression. It's probably more eloquent than any words would have been.
All she manages is a whimper.
On reflection, she finds it conveys her feelings adequately. He couldn't truthfully say he minds that fact.
Still, Severus retreats a step to allow her to come to terms with the feelings. He remains close, just in case, but he worries his presence is too much of an intrusion, something she'll blame him for later.
He can remember when he first applied the Salve to older scars, the feeling was more intense. Like a reversal of the accumulated pain... But not like this, though. Never like this.
Hermione's momentarily thankful they'd tried just a small patch at first. It's probably the only thing keeping her from melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. She's trying to recall why that might be an undesirable thing... No, she's got nothing.
She collapses further back in her chair, reeling from the sensations.
As they begin to recede, diminishing in intensity, she tries to catch her breath. "Can we do the rest?" She pleads before her brain can catch up to her mouth.
He laughs.
"That may be a little over-ambitious." He smiles. It's not unkind. "Perhaps give it a day or two to see how you respond. If there are no adverse reactions..."
She's trying not to pant, too blissed out to imagine such a thing. "Such as?" She practically sighs.
"Should you sprout a second head, say..." His equanimity seems to have returned in light of her reaction. It's far too difficult to remain snubbed and aloof in the second hand, reflected glow of her pleasure. It's a bit of an uncomfortable surprise to realise this is the best he's felt in quite some time.
What does that say about his life?
"Don't even joke about that," she chides in jest, far too pleased to work up any real sense of disapproval. "That's an actual thing, you know." She can't help but picture Finch-Fletchley as he was sent away to the Infirmary...
"I'm well aware." He watches her sprawl, boneless in the wingback, and a sense of satisfaction he'd rather not interrogate overcomes him. "But I consider it unlikely with this Salve. And I believe if the reactions were anywhere near that extreme, I'd tend to notice." He strikes a more serious tone, "But I would ask you to inform me if there is anything more subtle. If there aren't any problems, then by all means, feel free to apply it to the rest of the scar." Her disappointment is instant, and he can't explain it beyond her wanting to rid herself of the scar's pain as soon as possible.
She wouldn't dream of admitting she liked his application, particularly if he found the process that... onerous. But he seems more at peace with it now, satisfied with the result if nothing else. It's like it somehow wiped the slate between them, and the awkwardness has vanished. But then it's nearly impossible to be awkward when one feels this good. It occurs to her that if she can keep from being uncomfortable, perhaps he'll feel better about things, too.
She's just considering that when the first stab of pain hits. It's so unexpected, sudden and brief initially, she has a hard time placing the sensation, as strange as that seems. Her body, by contrast, isn't that fortunate, and Severus, still watching her closely, recognises it right off the bat. She's just reaching for her shoulder when the second wave comes, longer, more intense.
Her whimper this time is of an entirely different nature.
Later she'll decide it was a bit like losing one of her milk teeth. There's a protracted moment of pain that will be followed by a much, much greater relief; but for now, it simply hurts. The Professor is at her side before she even notices him moving and, unthinking, with a moan she leans her head against his hip and, equally unthinking, he cradles her there. His right hand briefly captures hers, arresting its movement, his thumb and forefinger extend to hold the collar of her emerald green blouse well away from the small black trickle forming at the top of her scar, and his left carefully shifts her hair to her other shoulder. Instead of removing his hand when he's done, it remains there and begins absently stroking her hair. It's far more comforting a gesture than either of them would have anticipated, and her reaction spurs him to continue.
"Shh. Easy. It will be over soon," he seeks to quiet her, which is when she discovers she'd begun whimpering. "Just a moment longer. The Salve has almost completed its work."
She turns to follow his gaze and unhappily notes a vile and somewhat smelly viscous substance beading on her shoulder and whimpers again more loudly. "What is that?"
"Ichor Malus. Concentrated purulency. Figuratively, coalesced Dark Magic, leaching from the wound. It forms, occasionally, post suppuration, when the body has had to fight against it for some length of time, and then only when that magic is successfully purged."
"Magical pus?" She stares at it, appalled, as the trickle slowly grows thicker.
"If you prefer." It's scarcely the nomenclature he'd have chosen, but who is he to argue? Well. But perhaps not right at the moment...
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
"No. It's very rare." There had been a possibility of this, of course, but as it hadn't been remotely likely, he hasn't decided on the best way to deal with this without offending her... sensibilities. He could simply Banish it. With the speed with which he performs the Spell, she'd never know he hadn't Vanished it instead. Theoretically that could affect its potency, although he discounts that possibility, but most probably there will be more of this to form later, whenever she applies the Salve to the rest of the wound, and it's frankly too valuable to waste. Given she seems able to detect even hints of dishonesty thanks to the damnable bond... And regardless, due to the nature of it, he'd much prefer the direct approach here. And at least this comes without risk, after all. "Would you... object to my collecting it? It's exceedingly useful as an additive in certain potions."
She shakes her head slightly, her range of motion impeded by his sharp hip bone. "If it'll help..." She sounds sceptical about that, not because she doesn't believe him or doesn't know perfectly disgusting substances can be useful - that would be ridiculous for a N.E.W.T. Potions student, especially one of her calibre - but this stuff... On her shoulder no less... It's a purely reflexive response on her part. "Go right ahead. It's all yours."
She shivers slightly as his magic whisks it away to a phial he seems to have Summoned from nowhere. He's fast that way. As the last bit leaves her skin, she's overcome with a sense of relief and sags into him with a sigh. Mercy, that feels... That feels good.
No, that feels magnificent.
She can't remember when she last felt that good, and then blushes as she considers it, because of course she does; it's like a question posed and they demand answers, don't they, and the particular answer that had popped to mind was 'post-orgasmic bliss'. Which is about the time when she realises just where she's burying her now burning cheeks. She freezes; considering her company that's easily as noticeable as if she'd bolted, although far more polite. She finally pulls her dignity about her like a robe and sits up slowly, backing away from him and deeper into her chair in the process.
"Thank you," she says, looking up at him with a very sincere smile once she's sure the blush has faded. She owes him thanks for any of a number of things really, but she greatly prefers not to specify, and she's fairly certain that suits him as well.
"You're very welcome." He seems slightly amused. He stands there, still very close - almost too close, but not; it's comforting somehow, if only because it doesn't smack of revulsion, although it's definitely more than that - holding the open phial in his hand, rolling it idly between his long fingers as he weighs his next words. "Given the Ichor Malus formed, it's very likely there will be more when you apply the Salve to the rest of your scar. May I impose upon you... Would you be willing to collect it for me?"
And just like that, her blush is back. Her thoughts are exceedingly transparent, and now the both of them are trying not to picture her applying the Salve to her scar in light of her insistence on exposing it to the air. Once more, he's quick to picture her in the black bikini he has no idea if she owns, and again irked to find that isn't much of an... improvement. As if spurred to action by the thought, he gropes behind him with his free hand for that blanket of hers where he'd draped it on the couch and hands it to her. Hermione takes it from him with a murmured word of thanks, but she's momentarily too exhausted to do much more than lay it over her lap.
Quite obviously that doesn't do a thing to cover the gaping opening of her blouse which he studiously ignores...
She tries to address his request, without much success. She hums and haws a bit, clearly having difficulty phrasing her answer. "Ask," he finally commands, hoping its terseness will put an end to her shilly-shallying.
It does.
"Is it going to hurt proportionally?" Not what he was expecting, but a perfectly legitimate concern he'll allow.
"It doesn't usually hurt at all." He pauses. "I assume the pain came exclusively from the effusion of the Ichor. That could have been the extent of it or may be just the beginnings. Although the former is far less likely, I can't reliably say if it will happen again, and if it does, if it will hurt similarly, less or more so."
She raises her chin, almost with a hint of defiance, although that defiance, such as it is, is purely directed towards any of her own skittishness this engenders. Not that he has any way of knowing that, of course. Unsurprisingly, it provides no consolation for him. "Then I can't reliably say if I'd be able to collect it for you. If you want the... Ichor Malus? You'll need to be present to gather it yourself." She manages to state that as matter-of-factly as possible, and Severus doesn't care to flinch in the face of it.
He may not care to, but he does.
"That's highly irregular..." A faint echo of her notion that he could be genuinely averse to having to touch her keeps it from being even slightly amusing this time, but it does still make her feel safer in his company. She'd rather it didn't because of what that probably means, and she'd much rather he didn't feel that way, but safety is at a premium and worth so much these days... It's too hard not to accept it gratefully. But there's also something about the vaguely scandalised feel of him... It goes a way to making her feel less awkward. She still has hopes that might have knock on effects for him as well, and doesn't bother restraining herself.
She lets out a huff of dark humour, too soft for a bark, too short for a laugh. "There's been a rather lot of that, hasn't there?
"Assuming Madam Pomfrey's correct about letting air at it," she begins; he feels like a trapped animal and this time she doesn't smirk, "and of course you'd need... erm, access. If you aren't comfortable with a bra," and right there, that complete non-reaction on his face, she could swear that's his version of a blush from the feel of him. Isn't he lucky? So much more subtle. And surely that's better than revulsion? A witch can hope. "I could wear a bathing suit."
He endeavours not to mumble, with mixed success, as he objects automatically, "A bathing suit would cover precisely the area in need of the Salve." And precious little else, he manages not to add. Small mercies. He'll take his victories where he can.
The look she gives him says 'he's touched' quite clearly, and he's back to struggling not to picture that thrice damned bikini again. "I'm certain I can find one that wouldn't," she reassures him. Oddly, he doesn't find it remotely reassuring, but he'll readily believe it, for it's the only explanation for her tan. And no, he isn't standing there trying to explain the absence of visible tan lines.
Except he apparently is.
He's not pleased with his reaction... to her or her offer and worries it like a loose tooth. This would all be easier if she weren't a student. Or if this were medically necessary. Or if he wouldn't need to see her afterwards, and regularly at that, if she weren't ensconced in his home, sleeping only yards from his bed, and inclined to wander about in frankly skimpy frippery. Or if he had appealed to Albus for an Obliviate for a whole host of memories of her from Friday evening, if she hadn't propositioned him with a look of unbridled longing on her face. Or if she weren't his bondmate.
Or if she hadn't responded to that bonding with sheer... Mortification, was it?
Close enough.
Quite.
Well, if she's adult enough to deal with this, particularly in the face of that, he'd best see to it he is as well...
"We'll need to wait a few days to see if there are any other adverse effects first," he points out. It's true, but at this point it's also a defensive manoeuvre. He wants the Ichor. Merlin knows he's done worse for far less. Ultimately he's pragmatic. Give him a little time, he's certain he'll come around and shake off this ridiculously puerile reaction.
He stoppers the phial and places it in his pocket. Perhaps they'll revisit this again... If not... Well he has this much, and it was unanticipated. He wonders when he became this squeamish, and if that isn't a good deal of the reason Albus had insisted on this solution to begin with. He also wonders if the solution isn't making him even more so. Or perhaps it's simply concentrated all of his... qualms on this singular point...
It's not a question with a ready answer, and he isn't at all certain that thinking about it doesn't simply make matters worse. And they have enough other things to deal with. More pressing things.
After the fact Sunny is pleased to sum up the exchange as a resounding success. Unexpectedly, Master had proven surprisingly accommodating, willing to see to Mistress' injuries, more so than Mistress had last night even, when the roles had been reversed. He's rather proud of Master for that. It was a very good showing. No, this time Sunny hadn't needed to take any steps at all to get those two to properly behave. (Of course the elf attributes that largely to all the previous measures he's undertaken; he's modest that way.)
No, on balance, he's exceedingly pleased with the two of them just now. They may have finally gotten the right of things.
A/N:
Sorry about disappearing for a while there. I had some medical stuff that required thinking about. (Got nowhere with it, so I figured I may as well write instead. (Slightly cheeky (that's me), but also essentially true. It is what it is. *shrugs*)) Moving on...
Belated birthday greetings to Madameslytherin and Goldenbassets, and (so unexpectedly) fairly punctual 'happy birthday' wishes to chrispina. 🎈w00t! 🎉 All the best to the three of you. 🍰🎂🎉🥳
A cheery 'thanks' to Aldersprig for doing their level best to convince me DW is worth crossposting on. (You are an honest to goodness champ.) And likewise to the small handful on Twitter that had me trying to recall my password earlier tonight... lol (It transpires there are occasionally drawbacks to getting creative.)
Other than that... some things you may have missed:
Mine! I wrote a bunch of completed stuff back before the medical whatnot got a little wild:
Two more short stories in the 'christmas spirit' Universe ( LJ / DW ):
'lucius' zebras' ( LJ / DW )
'lavender's (eighth) first day of school' ( LJ / DW )
They are deliberately non-chronological stand alone one shots that nevertheless tie in with one another if you'd care to read more. Or if you insist on reading them in order (which would be wrong, but who am I to argue... (so wrong. *nods* 😉), I dated them. Just pick and choose here. ( LJ / DW )
Also, some unrelated but similar in tone things... 'milestone' ( LJ / DW ) a one shot short story about Severus' last day at Hogwarts, and a bunch of Ginger!Drabbles (the ones that are way too long for Drabbles) ['the tea drabbles' LJ 1 / 2 / 3, DW 1 / 2 / 3] and honest to goodness actual!Drabbles (and they said it couldn't be done...) ['the visitor' ( LJ / DW ) , 'caught 'out'' ( LJ / DW ), 'bewizarding the senses' ( LJ / DW )] can all be found here: LJ / DW I need to go back and update the Index, but that's a task for another day...
And other very talented people's incredibly marvellous things:
The Hogwarts Last Drabble Writer Standing Contest took place on LJ. If you missed that and would care to read them in order, start here.
And the ss/hg giftfest is about to kick off on LJ. Go -> here <- to follow them so you don't miss out.
Oh! And while I was looking for some more productive, potentially mentally healthy things to do, I started playing Wizards Unite. (Which was probably a fail on both those counts... lol Sounds about right.) We now have a small board (harry potter: witches unite!) here if you're playing the game and interested in a supportive environment to exchange tips and experiences, or just lurk. (Whinging totally permitted (don't get me wrong, the game pretty much requires it for a lot of us), but you have to play nice with each other there. (Think of it as more squeeeeeeeing than chest thumping, if it helps... I'm all about a kinder, fluffier 'net.) Anyway, definitely a 'more the merrier' sort of a thing if you'd like to pop by.)
Right, and that's about it. I hope life's been lovely and treated you well. Thanks for reading (and any kind comments you're inclined to leave... *hint hint* 😉) and lots of hugs and squishes,
Ginger ❤️
Severus, Hermione, Crooks, Sunny
Originally Published: 2019-08-19 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 112 part 2 Characters:
Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)
Mentioned briefly: Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Sunny the House Elf
A/N: In light of the lengthy break between this and the last chapter, I'm making the Previouslies here a bit more robust. (And if you're reading this in one shot at a later date, sorry about that.)
Previously:
In the corridor, before Ancient Runes Wednesday afternoon... After they insult Hermione, Draco manages to trick some hex-happy Hufflepuffs into twitching their wands in response to his silent Protego. Justin tries to stop them, recognising their mistake, only to wind up with two heads for his bother. Typical. Equally typically, he's dispatched to Poppy for treatment. Say what you will, her job isn't boring. (100b)
When Molly's Howler to Severus in the Infirmary Tuesday morning mentions Hermione's 'absentee parents', Minerva tries to comfort Hermione by reaching out to her only to make her jump. (067) Any question Hermione might have as to whether or not she's grown more sensitive to physical contact is confirmed when Lavender's causal touch in the corridors also sends her leaping. (108)
Hermione returns home Tuesday night to find a drunk and shirtless Severus passed out on the couch. (081) Her judgment often nothing short of questionable of late, reasonably enough, she decides she needs to see to applying the Scar Salve to his chest (082) before retiring. Unable to sleep, Hermione decides to kip on the floor next to Severus, having pretty much gotten in the habit of doing so over the past few days, at least while he was in the Infirmary. (Neither are aware Sunny had relocated Severus from the privacy of his bed to the couch, nor that the presumptuous little house elf had removed Severus' pyjama top while about it.) (085)
After Hermione takes Severus by surprise - once again - with her sleepwear Wednesday morning, he feels... pressed to have a talk with her about appropriate attire for their common spaces. (090)
Hermione tries to make Severus feel more comfortable with having needed her assistance after he was tortured at the Manor Monday evening. (Because clearly that was the thing that should have upset him about the evening's events, needing her help, and not the fact he was tortured... Sadly, any other viewpoint wouldn't be conducive to coping with the life he's forced to lead.) Rather unusually, she elects to do this by teasing him about the state of his trousers at the time. 'Naturally, I had hoped the incontinence might come a little later...' It's not exactly an approach to which he's accustomed, and perhaps for that reason it's more successful than either would have predicted. (110) That success in turn has her feeling more confident about interacting with him, a confidence which may or may not be warranted.
They make a somewhat awkward attempt at conversation; the topic, for want of a neutral one, is the hexing that took place in the Gryffindor Tower Monday evening, during which Ron force-fed Seamus a Puking Pastille. Concerned his reaction to the story might make her see similarities between this act and the assault on herself Friday evening, Severus tries to cover by complimenting Weasley's tactic (of all things). He's so focused on that aspect of it - Weasley (of all people!) - he fails, utterly, to consider the advisability of using the Battle of DoM as an example, no matter how applicable. Hmm.
Fine, it wasn't one of his better moments.
In an effort to make amends, he enquires into her ongoing problems with the wound from that battle. (111)
Abruptly Severus rises and goes to his bedroom door. He silently Summons something and then returns to Hermione's side holding out a small glass pot.
He extends his hand towards her, and the contents of the pot shimmer, an irresistible honey gold, attracting her attention. Considering the hand upon which the Salve is resting, that's saying something she can't picture ever admitting out loud. When she's finally able to tear her eyes away, she gives him an enquiring look, and he silently gestures for her to take it. Cautiously, she does. Her raised eyebrow, seeking permission to open the pot, is met with nothing more than an amused smirk.
When he doesn't see fit to expand on it - No, why should he? That would be helpful - she asks, "Is it safe to open it?"
"You'll recall the Protection Vow I took? As it was elicited only this past Sunday, I had rather expected you should. It hasn't been all that long..." He sighs, over-dramatically to her mind. With a much put upon air he carries on, "When I agreed to bond someone, I was aware there might come a time when I would have to care for her. I had hoped the dementia might come a little later..." It gets him the laugh he'd been trying for, and already his gaffe, all mention of the DoM seems forgotten, replaced by amusement and curiosity. Both sensations are vastly preferable through the bond to the upset she'd projected before, which is probably the only reason he prefers to see her smile... "Proceed. Open it. Tell me what you can smell."
She unscrews the lid and takes a careful sniff. She's certain now that she needn't use great caution here, unconcerned about potentially corrosive or even lethal substances, but equally sure the Protection Vow wouldn't preclude some particularly nasty smell, for example. She's fairly confident that he could derive some pleasure from her reaction were that the case. As it is, her hesitancy amuses him too, and he can well guess her thoughts. His smirk tells her as much. She takes a deeper sniff, inhaling the delicate scent of the Salve and attempts to puzzle out its component parts.
"It's a Scar Scarcefying Salve, but... not?" She asks, uncertain. Given the topic that had sent him scurrying to fetch the Salve, he thinks it shouldn't have been that much of a stretch, but his nod encourages her to continue. "The usual base, but with some changes. Lavender, that's easy. I'd say Clandestine Calming Calendula..."
"You couldn't have smelt that." He's adamant. And correct.
"No, but with the advantage of knowing it is in fact some version of a Scar Scarcefier, and judging by it's appearance, it seemed a given." He quirks a brow in reply and she smiles. "Fine, it seemed probable." He nods once more and her smile broadens. "If the colour is anything to go by, Tumescent Turmeric?" Again he acknowledges her inference and she keeps going, eager to tease out the lot. "Leaping Lemongrass, or is that Languid Lemon Balm?
"Both, actually. Well recognised." She beams, innerly and outwardly, it's the best way to describe the sensation, and Severus is just thankful he doesn't have her in his class anymore. He can admit it, there's more than a little temptation to cause that reaction. Certainly in contrast to her anxiety before... This is... pleasant.
"Dandelion Roots... Comfrey?"
"A confit thereof, yes."
"Candied? Interesting. There's something else... Something... It reminds me of..." She pinks, and now he's curious. She's done very well. There are three ingredients she's missed, and for the life of him he can't imagine why any of them would make her blush.
"What? What does it remind you of?" If pressing the issue makes her blush some more, why not? It's a spot of harmless fun.
Her answer isn't what he expected, and only serves to highlight that he really doesn't understand her.
"My gran's Christmas biscuits," she admits softly. "From when I was little. But I can't quite tell what it is..."
"Apparently you weren't kidding about not baking."
"I really wasn't," she grins. "Much worse than Hagrid."
"Nurturing nutmeg and common cloves."
"Oh, that explains why I couldn't quite place it. I thought it was only one spice."
"Yes, I could see how one might conflate the two." She gets the idea that was mite sarcastic. "Anything else?" He prompts.
She inhales again, more deeply this time, and then ruefully shakes her head. "I'm afraid I haven't a clue." That appeals to him. He stands there, quite pleased with himself, feeling terribly clever, which is silly, because she has no hope of identifying an unknown. They haven't worked with it before. Still, she'd done well enough distinguishing the other elements, which he finds... satisfactory. Considering he's taught her most of what she knows, he could even frame it as a shared victory. That thought, once formed, appeals a great deal less, and he immediately decides to view the accomplishment solely as her own, if only for his peace of mind. "So what is it exactly?" She asks.
"It hasn't been named," he answers, not that it's entirely true. In his thoughts he often calls it Severus Snape's Stunningly Superior Scar Scarcefying Salve, the septuple S.
"There must be some way to refer to it," she objects.
"It hasn't been... published, so it isn't... referred to." Her brow furrows, the question plain. He explains, "It's still... experimental."
Her eyes narrow as she regards him. At first it's nearly comical, but as the moment stretches he begins to feel... exposed. And isn't that a thing? To feel more naked under her stare than he does in front of the Dark Lord...
"No," she replies slowly, still peering at him closely and shaking her head. "It's yours, isn't it?" She asks. Reluctantly he nods. She isn't surprised. He'd been far too proud for it not to be something of his own creation, and the very idea of it has her more eager than ever to try the Salve. "And it isn't experimental," she very nearly gloats. And that's when he realises just how much the blasted bond reveals. He hadn't even felt particularly guilty about that bit of deceit, and yet she'd sniffed it out, and quite easily at that. He's more than passing annoyed by that. Albus and his meddling... The man is a fool. Or has been reduced to one of late. That might be a fairer assessment. Not that Severus gives a rat's about fairness at present... It's merely... accurate.
His lips tighten and then purse, his displeasure apparent as he considers his options. It's too late now. Finally he shakes his head. "It is not. You are correct." She smiles at him, he supposes she believes it's encouraging. Were he to feel much of anything at the moment, he imagines he'd be nauseous. Perhaps he needs a Snape's Stomach Soother... "I expect this will be the first real test of your Loyalty Vow then. You can't tell anyone about this. No one, are we clear?"
She nods, but her confusion is plainly written on her face.
Perfect.
Well he has no one but himself to blame for this one. He revises that to include Albus. And then he includes Draco. And promptly adds Crabbe and the other seventh year boys... And while he's about it, he could include the Dark Lord and his entire Inner Circle, why doesn't he? The list could be nigh endless...
He should have been more careful with the Salve.
There's nothing for it now. "Why don't you try a patch?"
"Oh I will," she assures him, rather enthusiastically, and yet makes no move to do so.
"Now?" He prods. If he has to accept the risk of exposure evidently inherent in this noble gesture of his, he'd at least like to see how the Salve performs; that would be a small measure of compensation. It's not that he expects her to apply it here in the lounge - he'd be appalled if she did - but her perfectly serviceable bedroom is mere yards away, and still she makes no move to stand.
"It's an improvement on the regular Scar Scarcefier?" That earns her his raised brow, because he considered that a given at this point. "But it has the same characteristics? It is the same base? It's just a variant?" The 'just' has him adding a stern furrow to his raised brow resulting in an expression she's fairly certain she couldn't manage if she practised for a decade. Suitably chagrined, she tries again. "I meant it needs to be applied in the same manner?"
"It does." She could hardly mean to drink it... He endeavours to hold off on aspersions on her intelligence.
"Assuming Madam Pomfrey has the right of it, and she seems to, doesn't she? Usually?" Waffling. The woman waffles. "Get things right? She, um..." Hermione takes a deep breath, no more 'um's, and tries again. "She insists it's more effective if there's no... clothing over the Salve." Severus blinks at that, because of all the possible reasons for trying or not trying the Salve at present... This wouldn't have made his list.
"There is such a thing as an Impervius," he asserts, certain and beginning to become uncomfortable with some of the implications.
Hermione smiles, "That's exactly what I suggested, but the Matron was most firm, the air made all the difference. She was quite insistent there should be no cloth whatsoever placed over the Salve. All other considerations being equal that is. In the absence of any contraindications." Such as someone having bad dreams on the couch and requiring a magical blanket, say, not that she'd dream of saying as much.
Severus blinks again as it occurs to him just when Miss Granger may have learnt this little tidbit from Poppy, and that the intransigent Mediwitch had used the Salve rather generously on him this week, and that Miss Granger had also more or less taken up residence in his Infirmary room by all appearances. Those thoughts distract him rather thoroughly for a moment, and then he inevitably gets around to considering her applying the Salve... that night, say, and sleeping... He battles not to complete the thought, but some traitorous part of his brain supplies the ever so obvious missing word: 'topless'... Which he does not picture. Not at all. He's trying very hard, struggling valiantly not to put an image to those words. He seeks refuge in visions of the black bikini he then immediately also tries not to imagine.
He really has no idea why he seems to think a bikini would be much safer...
This young woman is proving... challenging.
Hermione can feel him starting to Occlude and has to fight not to laugh, which doesn't improve things much as he can feel it. He Occludes a little more fiercely, dissatisfied with the entire situation now. He's trying to hide bits and pieces and not others, and this is proving very different to what he usually does, which is focussed first and foremost on hiding thoughts, not feelings. He's not satisfied with that fact either. Or the potential repercussions if he's this transparent to her.
She thinks there must be some sort of Conservation Law in effect, because the more uncertain he becomes, the more sure she feels. Perversely she seems to derive confidence from his lack thereof, at least in this regard, possibly because it makes him seem safe in all the ways that presently matter, and matter far too much at that, if she were capable of being honest about it. Compounding the problem, there's a kind of need to know she hadn't been in the wrong when she'd treated him with such a Salve just last night, and there's really only one person who can provide absolution on that count... And then, so fortunately, she also has a long list of things she needs to prove to demonstrate how little last Friday has affected her (because it hasn't, not at all), and she isn't the least bit haunted by recollections of shrinking from Lavender's or Professor McGonagall's touches... Perfectly normal that. No, Friday hasn't left any sort of a mark in the least.
Has it?
It's hardly considered, more nearly instinctive; she finds she can't quite resist teasing him. "But we could try some now, if you'd like?" She pulls her collar suggestively to the side as she gestures to her shoulder. She leaves her hand toying with her buttons as the invitation hovers between them.
Severus strongly dislikes running from a challenge and that, that was one too many, particularly as intellectually, he's positive it means nothing more than applying a bit of medicinal Salve to a scar. Just that and nothing more, and he's being absurd. It's something that shouldn't present any sort of problem in the least, and the suggestion it does lends the whole thing an importance he'd far rather... not. It definitely doesn't help that he has a deep-seated need to prove himself, to demonstrate his courage when possible, if only for his own benefit. (It's generally for his own benefit. Spy and all that entails after all...) There've been far too many occasions when he's been forced to buckle thanks to the dual hats he wears... Accusations of cowardice, even in his own mind, particularly in his own mind, grate terribly on his sense of self, and it feels as though it's been framed that way. He's not in the least bit pleased with her amusement at his expense, and in fact, yes, he would like for her to test a bit now, ta. He knows, he's sure, that if she only tries it, she'll be convinced of the superiority of his Salve, but that depends on her actually using it at some point. Much as he had left the Scarcefier she'd provided him yesterday untouched on the end table, he fears she might be capable of doing the same.
There may also be a last niggling doubt that his behaviour last night was unacceptable, that he'd been... inappropriate, and he would like... No, that's stating it too strongly. It could be... opportune to gauge her reaction while he's in possession of his faculties to attempt to assess if he'd taken advantage of her somehow. Not that that test is his goal as such, or would have dictated his behaviour on its own, he'd never subject either of them to that, but clearly it's a serendipitous benefit to be had. Clarity.
He calls her bluff.
Or perhaps not.
He takes the pot from her, dips one of his elegant fingers into it and holds it up demonstratively before her, "Would you permit me to test a patch on your shoulder?" She's proud of herself, extremely. She thinks she's kept her blinking more or less to normal. "I haven't had another subject to test it."
And that's when she stops blinking quite so regularly. "It really is experimental?" She demands, eyes wide.
"In as much as the testing wasn't as thorough as it should be, couldn't be as thorough as it should be, absolutely. Men and women aren't physiologically the same, obviously. And of course there are always risks of potion interactions, although I believe they're negligible and easily discounted with a topical Salve such as this one." And while all of that is perfectly true, frankly he'd quite like to see her response. He's never had the opportunity to share this with anyone else before. If the offer to test it means he actually gets to see her response, not the delayed reaction but her expression the moment it's applied... Well, the stuff is good, and yes, actually, he'd like that. It would be nice to be associated with something positive for once. Beyond just having her try it, he would like to see her reaction. Of course, there is always the small chance of the interactions he'd mentioned, safety is an issue... And there is a possibility, considerably less likely, but a chance nevertheless, of a certain very specific reaction, which could prove... useful...
Or problematic.
It's frankly unclear. Potentially both.
"So you want to use me as your guinea pig?" She asks. There's a note of disbelief to her tone and he might have put a stop to things right there, but the bond makes it clear she's practically vibrating with excitement. It seems... positive, eager, and so he simply nods.
That's all it takes.
Crooks, scenting... something - other than the elf - and thoroughly convinced (as always) that he's demonstrating more sense than either of the humans, chooses this moment to jump from Hermione's lap. He makes a series of leaps to one of the ledges their wizard had made him where he can observe the proceedings from a safe distance. This time he keeps well away from the elf creature, once again resting in what is apparently its favourite spot, Disillusioned on the mantle. Crooks has the idea that any stalking of the elf he should like to do is best conducted when the humans are otherwise occupied. Well more otherwise than at present. Presumably elsewhere even. There's plenty of time to teach the elf its place, and he means to make full use of it.
Instead of calling her to her senses, Crooks' retreat only amuses Hermione further. She's smirking now as she undoes the next three buttons of her blouse, and it occurs to Severus he hasn't thought this through all that well. She peels the left side of her top back revealing a stretch of lightly tanned skin that he happens to know is incredibly soft, and the strap of her brassiere and a flash of beige lace, and he finds himself trying not to think of what she was wearing Friday evening, but she tears him roughly from those thoughts he's trying to avoid when she speaks, batting a glib, "And here I thought I was supposed to cover up," with a wide smirk his way.
It hits the wicket squarely.
He gives her a wry eyebrow. "I've seen you in less," he repeats her words from this morning back to her, pleased to see she's simply amused as if by a shared joke, and perhaps it is. Apparently they tease now. About perfectly black topics. In principle, that's rather to his liking. Briefly it almost suffices to take his mind off her state of undress. Almost. But as his hand nears her soft shoulder, he becomes increasingly discomfited with the arrangement.
Clearly when all is said and done, she won't have been the only one whose rational interests weren't considered last night. Further proof, although it's superfluous at this point, that he shouldn't drink to excess, and that he's no longer free to behave as he pleases in his home. That's just an additional uncomfortable truth, so welcome at present.
There's no hesitation, not in his movements, as his finger draws closer to her flesh, but she can sense his discomfort and simply smiles. He begins to Occlude more strongly, differently - evidently he's experimenting - and her smile widens. Something provocative, almost biting perches on her lips, so frightfully clever, about to tumble forth...
And then dies there.
The moment is so quick, she almost misses it, and then dearly wishes she had. One instant she's merrily teasing him, such a lark, and the next a whole bunch of realisations hit her like a lorry, and she's teasing. Professor. Snape.
Suddenly too many painful things are threatening to become crystal clear.
For one thing, she stops seeing any sort of amusement in his discomfort - what kind of harpy is she? - ceasing to feel remotely bolstered by it. It dawns on her that this isn't someone playing coy, he was genuinely uneasy at having to touch her. This is the man who had been utterly revolted at having to bond her.
Revolted.
That sits.
And if she accepts that thought, goodness knows she's been doing her level best to repress it, then it throws the events of the previous night under a whole different light.
And that lighting is very unflattering.
She'd been thankful, so, that he'd been willing to revisit his initial reaction, and sure, perhaps he'd needed Firewhiskey goggles to do so, but he had, and it had been... nice. Rather. A hint of what might be possible if they ever got over themselves, which, frankly, was so very necessary - Wasn't it? Someday? - because the idea of a lifetime bonded and simply, and oh so chastely, ignoring their respective partners? It sounded... sad. And stupid and wasteful and prudish and any of a hundred other things she's not and doesn't wish to be. And she'd been even more relieved when he hadn't felt the need to discuss it, thank goodness, not that she could imagine such a discussion, but then that was much the reason for her relief...
But now she's beginning to wonder how much he remembers from last night, because if he remembered absolutely nothing at all, would his behaviour towards her today have been any different? She has the horrible suspicion that it would far more accurately explain it.
Which means she assaulted an inebriated man last night.
She. Assaulted. An. Incapacitated. Person.
She has no words for herself, her actions, any of it. There's nothing but disgust and mortification welling up, or more accurately threatening to well up, and her thoughts would spiral out of control, so completely out of control, there's no way back from this, except just. then. his finger connects with her shoulder and puts an end to all thought for the present.
Oof.
Wow.
When she's able to think again, she'll have other thoughts to occupy her, and the moment had been so quick, so fleeting - and so thoroughly undesirable - that she isn't entirely certain it was real and not some sort of panic attack. That's the preferred explanation by far. Naturally that won't stop her from tormenting herself with her doubts later tonight, but right now, right now she's received a reprieve.
Severus hasn't a clue what's going through that pretty little head of hers, but he'd find it worrisome were he inclined to permit such thoughts and associated feelings. He declines, he has enough on his plate. (And that doesn't work nearly as well as he'd like to believe.) The fact remains, one moment she's laughing at him - too kind, ta muchly - the next she apparently comes to her senses and recoils from him, her mortification too reminiscent of their bonding for comfort.
Splendid.
And that answers any remaining questions he'd had about the previous night.
Marvellous.
He's just shifted his Occluding, trying to block his response - and yes, as far as that's concerned, he'd go with revulsion, just as he had then - and trying to block hers, and is contemplating simply Occluding for all he's worth and not subjecting himself to more of... this, when he touches her shoulder and everything... changes.
"Holy Cricket," she sighs, breathy and stunned - it's amazing - and the things lapping through the bond are a far sight different to just a moment ago.
'Holy Cricket' indeed, he thinks, and it's nearly a struggle to draw a lungful of air.
He knew his Salve was good, but he still hadn't anticipated... this.
All efforts to Occlude cease immediately. He's not an idiot. Well, not through and through. Later he'll admit to himself that he quite shamefully stood there soaking up every drop of her approval, even if it was only directed towards a Salve of his invention. He doesn't care. For the moment, he simply basks in it.
It's a... lovely feeling really. Like being parched and taking that first gulp of water, or perhaps more like providing a starving man with a gourmet meal. He isn't used to this feeling. He isn't sure he's ever been that grateful for the relief one of his potions provides, even when the need has been more dire. It's become too... commonplace for him, and he realises he most definitely doesn't appreciate things the way she quite evidently does. Or at least can. Perhaps he's too jaded, or possibly it's a side effect of years, decades of hiding his reactions, and not simply when he Occludes. Hiding them even from himself...
He's touched only the tip of her scar, applied the Salve to no more than an inch of it, possibly less, but it might be the absolute best thing she's ever felt. The first reaction is indescribably pleasant, it feels simply... amazing. It's as though every moment of discomfort, pain the scar has caused for the past year and a half had been condensed and counterbalanced in this moment and the thing feels... yes, simply amazing.
Mercy that's good.
And she doesn't care if he knows it.
No, he should know it.
She's trying to find words, to explain, to express her gratitude. Dimly she's aware her mouth is working like some kind of landed fish, so flattering, but she can't vocalise this. She turns to him, the wonder apparent in her expression. It's probably more eloquent than any words would have been.
All she manages is a whimper.
On reflection, she finds it conveys her feelings adequately. He couldn't truthfully say he minds that fact.
Still, Severus retreats a step to allow her to come to terms with the feelings. He remains close, just in case, but he worries his presence is too much of an intrusion, something she'll blame him for later.
He can remember when he first applied the Salve to older scars, the feeling was more intense. Like a reversal of the accumulated pain... But not like this, though. Never like this.
Hermione's momentarily thankful they'd tried just a small patch at first. It's probably the only thing keeping her from melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. She's trying to recall why that might be an undesirable thing... No, she's got nothing.
She collapses further back in her chair, reeling from the sensations.
As they begin to recede, diminishing in intensity, she tries to catch her breath. "Can we do the rest?" She pleads before her brain can catch up to her mouth.
He laughs.
"That may be a little over-ambitious." He smiles. It's not unkind. "Perhaps give it a day or two to see how you respond. If there are no adverse reactions..."
She's trying not to pant, too blissed out to imagine such a thing. "Such as?" She practically sighs.
"Should you sprout a second head, say..." His equanimity seems to have returned in light of her reaction. It's far too difficult to remain snubbed and aloof in the second hand, reflected glow of her pleasure. It's a bit of an uncomfortable surprise to realise this is the best he's felt in quite some time.
What does that say about his life?
"Don't even joke about that," she chides in jest, far too pleased to work up any real sense of disapproval. "That's an actual thing, you know." She can't help but picture Finch-Fletchley as he was sent away to the Infirmary...
"I'm well aware." He watches her sprawl, boneless in the wingback, and a sense of satisfaction he'd rather not interrogate overcomes him. "But I consider it unlikely with this Salve. And I believe if the reactions were anywhere near that extreme, I'd tend to notice." He strikes a more serious tone, "But I would ask you to inform me if there is anything more subtle. If there aren't any problems, then by all means, feel free to apply it to the rest of the scar." Her disappointment is instant, and he can't explain it beyond her wanting to rid herself of the scar's pain as soon as possible.
She wouldn't dream of admitting she liked his application, particularly if he found the process that... onerous. But he seems more at peace with it now, satisfied with the result if nothing else. It's like it somehow wiped the slate between them, and the awkwardness has vanished. But then it's nearly impossible to be awkward when one feels this good. It occurs to her that if she can keep from being uncomfortable, perhaps he'll feel better about things, too.
She's just considering that when the first stab of pain hits. It's so unexpected, sudden and brief initially, she has a hard time placing the sensation, as strange as that seems. Her body, by contrast, isn't that fortunate, and Severus, still watching her closely, recognises it right off the bat. She's just reaching for her shoulder when the second wave comes, longer, more intense.
Her whimper this time is of an entirely different nature.
Later she'll decide it was a bit like losing one of her milk teeth. There's a protracted moment of pain that will be followed by a much, much greater relief; but for now, it simply hurts. The Professor is at her side before she even notices him moving and, unthinking, with a moan she leans her head against his hip and, equally unthinking, he cradles her there. His right hand briefly captures hers, arresting its movement, his thumb and forefinger extend to hold the collar of her emerald green blouse well away from the small black trickle forming at the top of her scar, and his left carefully shifts her hair to her other shoulder. Instead of removing his hand when he's done, it remains there and begins absently stroking her hair. It's far more comforting a gesture than either of them would have anticipated, and her reaction spurs him to continue.
"Shh. Easy. It will be over soon," he seeks to quiet her, which is when she discovers she'd begun whimpering. "Just a moment longer. The Salve has almost completed its work."
She turns to follow his gaze and unhappily notes a vile and somewhat smelly viscous substance beading on her shoulder and whimpers again more loudly. "What is that?"
"Ichor Malus. Concentrated purulency. Figuratively, coalesced Dark Magic, leaching from the wound. It forms, occasionally, post suppuration, when the body has had to fight against it for some length of time, and then only when that magic is successfully purged."
"Magical pus?" She stares at it, appalled, as the trickle slowly grows thicker.
"If you prefer." It's scarcely the nomenclature he'd have chosen, but who is he to argue? Well. But perhaps not right at the moment...
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
"No. It's very rare." There had been a possibility of this, of course, but as it hadn't been remotely likely, he hasn't decided on the best way to deal with this without offending her... sensibilities. He could simply Banish it. With the speed with which he performs the Spell, she'd never know he hadn't Vanished it instead. Theoretically that could affect its potency, although he discounts that possibility, but most probably there will be more of this to form later, whenever she applies the Salve to the rest of the wound, and it's frankly too valuable to waste. Given she seems able to detect even hints of dishonesty thanks to the damnable bond... And regardless, due to the nature of it, he'd much prefer the direct approach here. And at least this comes without risk, after all. "Would you... object to my collecting it? It's exceedingly useful as an additive in certain potions."
She shakes her head slightly, her range of motion impeded by his sharp hip bone. "If it'll help..." She sounds sceptical about that, not because she doesn't believe him or doesn't know perfectly disgusting substances can be useful - that would be ridiculous for a N.E.W.T. Potions student, especially one of her calibre - but this stuff... On her shoulder no less... It's a purely reflexive response on her part. "Go right ahead. It's all yours."
She shivers slightly as his magic whisks it away to a phial he seems to have Summoned from nowhere. He's fast that way. As the last bit leaves her skin, she's overcome with a sense of relief and sags into him with a sigh. Mercy, that feels... That feels good.
No, that feels magnificent.
She can't remember when she last felt that good, and then blushes as she considers it, because of course she does; it's like a question posed and they demand answers, don't they, and the particular answer that had popped to mind was 'post-orgasmic bliss'. Which is about the time when she realises just where she's burying her now burning cheeks. She freezes; considering her company that's easily as noticeable as if she'd bolted, although far more polite. She finally pulls her dignity about her like a robe and sits up slowly, backing away from him and deeper into her chair in the process.
"Thank you," she says, looking up at him with a very sincere smile once she's sure the blush has faded. She owes him thanks for any of a number of things really, but she greatly prefers not to specify, and she's fairly certain that suits him as well.
"You're very welcome." He seems slightly amused. He stands there, still very close - almost too close, but not; it's comforting somehow, if only because it doesn't smack of revulsion, although it's definitely more than that - holding the open phial in his hand, rolling it idly between his long fingers as he weighs his next words. "Given the Ichor Malus formed, it's very likely there will be more when you apply the Salve to the rest of your scar. May I impose upon you... Would you be willing to collect it for me?"
And just like that, her blush is back. Her thoughts are exceedingly transparent, and now the both of them are trying not to picture her applying the Salve to her scar in light of her insistence on exposing it to the air. Once more, he's quick to picture her in the black bikini he has no idea if she owns, and again irked to find that isn't much of an... improvement. As if spurred to action by the thought, he gropes behind him with his free hand for that blanket of hers where he'd draped it on the couch and hands it to her. Hermione takes it from him with a murmured word of thanks, but she's momentarily too exhausted to do much more than lay it over her lap.
Quite obviously that doesn't do a thing to cover the gaping opening of her blouse which he studiously ignores...
She tries to address his request, without much success. She hums and haws a bit, clearly having difficulty phrasing her answer. "Ask," he finally commands, hoping its terseness will put an end to her shilly-shallying.
It does.
"Is it going to hurt proportionally?" Not what he was expecting, but a perfectly legitimate concern he'll allow.
"It doesn't usually hurt at all." He pauses. "I assume the pain came exclusively from the effusion of the Ichor. That could have been the extent of it or may be just the beginnings. Although the former is far less likely, I can't reliably say if it will happen again, and if it does, if it will hurt similarly, less or more so."
She raises her chin, almost with a hint of defiance, although that defiance, such as it is, is purely directed towards any of her own skittishness this engenders. Not that he has any way of knowing that, of course. Unsurprisingly, it provides no consolation for him. "Then I can't reliably say if I'd be able to collect it for you. If you want the... Ichor Malus? You'll need to be present to gather it yourself." She manages to state that as matter-of-factly as possible, and Severus doesn't care to flinch in the face of it.
He may not care to, but he does.
"That's highly irregular..." A faint echo of her notion that he could be genuinely averse to having to touch her keeps it from being even slightly amusing this time, but it does still make her feel safer in his company. She'd rather it didn't because of what that probably means, and she'd much rather he didn't feel that way, but safety is at a premium and worth so much these days... It's too hard not to accept it gratefully. But there's also something about the vaguely scandalised feel of him... It goes a way to making her feel less awkward. She still has hopes that might have knock on effects for him as well, and doesn't bother restraining herself.
She lets out a huff of dark humour, too soft for a bark, too short for a laugh. "There's been a rather lot of that, hasn't there?
"Assuming Madam Pomfrey's correct about letting air at it," she begins; he feels like a trapped animal and this time she doesn't smirk, "and of course you'd need... erm, access. If you aren't comfortable with a bra," and right there, that complete non-reaction on his face, she could swear that's his version of a blush from the feel of him. Isn't he lucky? So much more subtle. And surely that's better than revulsion? A witch can hope. "I could wear a bathing suit."
He endeavours not to mumble, with mixed success, as he objects automatically, "A bathing suit would cover precisely the area in need of the Salve." And precious little else, he manages not to add. Small mercies. He'll take his victories where he can.
The look she gives him says 'he's touched' quite clearly, and he's back to struggling not to picture that thrice damned bikini again. "I'm certain I can find one that wouldn't," she reassures him. Oddly, he doesn't find it remotely reassuring, but he'll readily believe it, for it's the only explanation for her tan. And no, he isn't standing there trying to explain the absence of visible tan lines.
Except he apparently is.
He's not pleased with his reaction... to her or her offer and worries it like a loose tooth. This would all be easier if she weren't a student. Or if this were medically necessary. Or if he wouldn't need to see her afterwards, and regularly at that, if she weren't ensconced in his home, sleeping only yards from his bed, and inclined to wander about in frankly skimpy frippery. Or if he had appealed to Albus for an Obliviate for a whole host of memories of her from Friday evening, if she hadn't propositioned him with a look of unbridled longing on her face. Or if she weren't his bondmate.
Or if she hadn't responded to that bonding with sheer... Mortification, was it?
Close enough.
Quite.
Well, if she's adult enough to deal with this, particularly in the face of that, he'd best see to it he is as well...
"We'll need to wait a few days to see if there are any other adverse effects first," he points out. It's true, but at this point it's also a defensive manoeuvre. He wants the Ichor. Merlin knows he's done worse for far less. Ultimately he's pragmatic. Give him a little time, he's certain he'll come around and shake off this ridiculously puerile reaction.
He stoppers the phial and places it in his pocket. Perhaps they'll revisit this again... If not... Well he has this much, and it was unanticipated. He wonders when he became this squeamish, and if that isn't a good deal of the reason Albus had insisted on this solution to begin with. He also wonders if the solution isn't making him even more so. Or perhaps it's simply concentrated all of his... qualms on this singular point...
It's not a question with a ready answer, and he isn't at all certain that thinking about it doesn't simply make matters worse. And they have enough other things to deal with. More pressing things.
After the fact Sunny is pleased to sum up the exchange as a resounding success. Unexpectedly, Master had proven surprisingly accommodating, willing to see to Mistress' injuries, more so than Mistress had last night even, when the roles had been reversed. He's rather proud of Master for that. It was a very good showing. No, this time Sunny hadn't needed to take any steps at all to get those two to properly behave. (Of course the elf attributes that largely to all the previous measures he's undertaken; he's modest that way.)
No, on balance, he's exceedingly pleased with the two of them just now. They may have finally gotten the right of things.
A/N:
Sorry about disappearing for a while there. I had some medical stuff that required thinking about. (Got nowhere with it, so I figured I may as well write instead. (Slightly cheeky (that's me), but also essentially true. It is what it is. *shrugs*)) Moving on...
Belated birthday greetings to Madameslytherin and Goldenbassets, and (so unexpectedly) fairly punctual 'happy birthday' wishes to chrispina. 🎈w00t! 🎉 All the best to the three of you. 🍰🎂🎉🥳
A cheery 'thanks' to Aldersprig for doing their level best to convince me DW is worth crossposting on. (You are an honest to goodness champ.) And likewise to the small handful on Twitter that had me trying to recall my password earlier tonight... lol (It transpires there are occasionally drawbacks to getting creative.)
Other than that... some things you may have missed:
Mine! I wrote a bunch of completed stuff back before the medical whatnot got a little wild:
Two more short stories in the 'christmas spirit' Universe ( LJ / DW ):
'lucius' zebras' ( LJ / DW )
'lavender's (eighth) first day of school' ( LJ / DW )
They are deliberately non-chronological stand alone one shots that nevertheless tie in with one another if you'd care to read more. Or if you insist on reading them in order (which would be wrong, but who am I to argue... (so wrong. *nods* 😉), I dated them. Just pick and choose here. ( LJ / DW )
Also, some unrelated but similar in tone things... 'milestone' ( LJ / DW ) a one shot short story about Severus' last day at Hogwarts, and a bunch of Ginger!Drabbles (the ones that are way too long for Drabbles) ['the tea drabbles' LJ 1 / 2 / 3, DW 1 / 2 / 3] and honest to goodness actual!Drabbles (and they said it couldn't be done...) ['the visitor' ( LJ / DW ) , 'caught 'out'' ( LJ / DW ), 'bewizarding the senses' ( LJ / DW )] can all be found here: LJ / DW I need to go back and update the Index, but that's a task for another day...
And other very talented people's incredibly marvellous things:
The Hogwarts Last Drabble Writer Standing Contest took place on LJ. If you missed that and would care to read them in order, start here.
And the ss/hg giftfest is about to kick off on LJ. Go -> here <- to follow them so you don't miss out.
Oh! And while I was looking for some more productive, potentially mentally healthy things to do, I started playing Wizards Unite. (Which was probably a fail on both those counts... lol Sounds about right.) We now have a small board (harry potter: witches unite!) here if you're playing the game and interested in a supportive environment to exchange tips and experiences, or just lurk. (Whinging totally permitted (don't get me wrong, the game pretty much requires it for a lot of us), but you have to play nice with each other there. (Think of it as more squeeeeeeeing than chest thumping, if it helps... I'm all about a kinder, fluffier 'net.) Anyway, definitely a 'more the merrier' sort of a thing if you'd like to pop by.)
Right, and that's about it. I hope life's been lovely and treated you well. Thanks for reading (and any kind comments you're inclined to leave... *hint hint* 😉) and lots of hugs and squishes,
Ginger ❤️