#2 ~ What Was I Thinking ~ Part 2 (Small Edit)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. The situations are mine.

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Chapter 12 ~ At His Bedside

Late Sunday Night

Well, maybe it wasn’t the oblivion that Severus longed for, but he was definitely in a better place than he was fourteen hours ago, when Hermione found his broken, convulsing body on the floor of his bedroom mid-afternoon, and screamed through the floo for Albus and Madame Pomfrey.

Hermione lowered her wand for what felt like the five hundredth time, and sank, exhausted, into the chair next to Severus’ bed. Pomfrey patted her shoulder in a motherly fashion.

“He’s sleeping now, Miss Granger,” the medi-witch said gently, “You should go back to your rooms and get some rest. You’ve been at it for hours.”

Hermione stretched, and rolled her neck several times. She was achy and tired, but not yet ready to leave him. What if he woke up sooner than she expected? She wanted to be there in case he needed yet another application of the spell.

“No, thank you,” said Hermione tiredly, “I’ll just set up a cot in here and catch a few winks…” Here she paused and appealed to a higher authority, “.. if it’s all right with you, Headmaster…”

Madame Pomfrey splayed her hands at Albus, in a silent plea to help get Hermione to see reason, but the Headmaster studied the young witch, and the thin, determined line of her mouth and said, “Certainly, Miss Granger. You may stay if you wish.”

Madame Pomfrey indignantly put her hands on her hips and said, “Really, Albus…Miss Granger needs to get her rest…”

“Which she won’t do, Poppy, if she is lying awake worrying about what is happening with Severus’ condition. She might as well stay here as there. At least she may get some sleep,” the Headmaster said, his blue eyes leveled coolly at the older witch, implying this was the end of the conversation.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, “Very well, Albus,” and walked away in search of a folding cot, muttering about interfering old codgers and stubborn little know-it-all witches who practiced healing without a license.

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Previous Saturday in the Lab

Saturday morning, after a few hours rest, Hermione found herself back in the lab with the rats, all of which had relapsed to the painful seizures caused by the Unforgivable. She applied the altered relaxo spell and the animals ceased their convulsions. She spent a few hours timing how long it took for the animals to relapse between applications, then something popped into place in her brain. She flooed Madam Pomfrey and asked her if she could come to her lab and help her with a project. Since the hospital wing was happily empty, except for one student whose bones were on the mend, Pomfrey agreed.

Together they worked on the stricken animals. Hermione waited until one went into convulsions, applied the relaxo spell and a body bind, at which point, Pomfrey applied healing spells on the animal’s internal injuries and fractured bones. Hermione observed carefully, and when the tremors became noticeable, she released the body bind, applied another relaxo spell, and Pomfrey examined and repaired any damage that ensued, then Hermione bound the animal again. Each recurring seizure and accompanying damage lessened in rate of recurrence and applications of the spells were applied less frequently, until finally all the affected animals were sleeping peacefully, with no visible effect of the Cruciatis recurring. After checking the animals with her wand, and finding them in good shape, Madame Pomfrey was thrilled and asked for the instructions for the Relaxo spell immediately.

“Miss Granger, Albus was right. You most certainly are the brightest witch of the age,” the medi-witch bubbled as she flooed back to the hospital wing to check on her charge, and practice with the new spell she clutched to her bosom like her first-born child.

Hermione gave the comment a weak smile, and set to re-writing her notes and findings in a more legible hand. She looked at the peacefully sleeping rats and gave a sigh of relief. She only had to calculate the ratio of spell applications necessary to treat a man, rather than a rat. Then she would wait for Severus.

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Earlier that Sunday

On Sunday, Hermione took up vigil in Severus’ private rooms. She left the bookcase open to monitor his office, in case he should apparate there. She spent the day browsing through his books, looking up anxiously at any slight noise that caught her ear and pacing back and forth nervously. The Headmaster had said that Voldemort sent him back before Monday morning classes, so if he were coming back…it would be soon. If he were coming back.

While sifting through Severus’ library, Hermione found a muggle book on psychology. She was surprised to find this in his library at first, but recalling conversations she had with Severus at Grimmauld Place, she remembered he was quite well-rounded and so, it wasn’t strange he would have such a book among his reading material. As she leafed through the book, she found it had a “sex glossary”. Curious, she read through the list of definitions. Upon reading a particular entry, she froze. Then slowly re-read the entry again.

Masochism - Masochism is a form of sexual gratification in which an individual is sexually aroused by either the threat or enactment of pain or humiliation and degradation. This might involve whipping, beating, bondage, submission to and by a more dominant sexual partner.

Hermione stared at the page with her mouth open. Severus had warned her from the first that he wasn’t a gentle man. And the idea of that had turned her on. In fact, a good part of her attraction to him was that she secretly did consider him dangerous, and had known or at least dreamed that he would be a dominating, powerful lover. And she had wanted every inch of that power when he gave it to her. It had hurt, but she had loved it.

“Gods…I’m a masochist,” she breathed.

But the idea of being whipped or beaten by Severus did not excite her in the least. Nor did the idea of being humiliated or degraded, though Merlin knows she had enough of that when she was his student. She had hated it verbally, so figured, in all probability, she would despise it physically. But the idea of maybe being spanked during sex, or being tied up in bed and at his questionable sexual mercy gave her a guilty little twinge. And she loved when he called her wanton, called her weak, and told her…oh Circe’s sweet pigs.

Why was she thinking like this? Severus wanted nothing more to do with her. All in all, she realized now, she would have been perfectly happy to have him as a secret lover, without strings. She really wasn’t chomping at the bit to settle down with anyone, she had a lot she wanted to do before becoming a wife and mother, if she ever did. Why did she react the way she had? Pride? Maybe. She couldn’t take the idea of someone trying to take care of her. Ron and Harry had practically smothered her during their days together. Her parents argued with her about every choice she tried to make, which led her to move out on her own. She wanted options. True, Severus had found a way to keep her close to him, to give himself easy access to her, but had done so in a way that allowed her to pursue the things that were important to her. He had given her freedom to grow, if under his watchful, lustful eye. Was that so horrible? And still, he gave her options. He wasn’t demanding to be her exclusive lover. He wanted her when she wanted him.

Then her mind went back to their last conversation. No, he wanted her. For his own. He didn’t say he loved her, but…that much was clear. What else was clear, was that he was afraid. Maybe afraid to say he loved her because of all the myriad implications that simple word possessed. It meant the possibility of more pain in his life. The pain that she’d reject him as the only man in her life. The pain of her accepting him, then leaving him for someone else. The pain of her being killed because of him. The pain of him being killed and leaving her alone. So many possibilities for pain.

Then she thought of his possession of her, the beautiful, intimate things he would say to her as he took her. Maybe that was the way all men talked when having sex, but she couldn’t picture Severus, even in the throes of passion, saying something he didn’t mean…

That was when she heard the thump. She dropped the book and ran to Severus’ bedroom. He was there, on the floor, convulsing, spittle foaming at his lips. His legs buckled, his body seizing up so severely that his shudders literally lifted him from the ground. His robes were caked with blood, filth and bodily fluids, his silky hair matted to his skull. And he was gray, so gray.

She ran to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder and screamed for Dumbledore and Pomfrey, before falling to her knees beside him.

“Severus! Severus, I’m here,” she said, pulling out her wand. “I’m here! I’m here, Severus. It will be all right.”

She cast the Relaxo spell.

Severus’ shuddering eased, and he lay there still as death. She gently placed his head on her lap, then tested his pulse. It was so faint. She caressed his dry brow, tears streaming down her face.

She whispered, “Severus don’t die. Please, don’t die. What would I do without you?”

Severus began to convulse again, and she re-cast the Relaxo spell.

“Dumbledore, where are you!” she screamed, as she did her best to cradle the man who meant her whole world.

“Here, Hermione! We’re here!” Dumbledore’s voice called through the floo.

She pressed her face to Severus’ cold cheek, her warm tears moistening his dry, grey skin.

“Rest. Rest now…my love.” she whispered, with only a slight hesitation in her declaration.


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And that is what brought her to this moment, lying on a cot in the hospital wing, next to a peacefully sleeping Severus, curtains drawn around the both of them for privacy. Earlier, Pomfrey had tried to make Hermione leave for a few moments, while she applied salve to his broken and bruised body, but Hermione stubbornly refused.

“But my dear,” Pomfrey said, “I will have to undress him. It isn’t seemly that a young woman of no relation…”

“I’ve seen him naked before,” Hermione said, meeting the medi-witch’s eyes firmly. Now was not the time to be coy, or embarrassed. “I’ll help you tend him.”

Pomfrey looked shocked at first, then appraising. No wonder the girl was so adamant about staying with the Potions Master. She should have suspected something more than just concern.

“Very well,” she said shortly. “Here, hold this.” She handed Hermione the jar of salve and unbuttoned the ward gown, opening it wide and revealing his taunt body, covered in cuts and bruises. The cuts were almost healed from earlier ministrations. Madame Pomfrey shook her head.

“More scars. The poor dear.”

The medi-witch released the body bind, and washed Severus gently, the muggle way. “I find that human contact can often speed up the healing process. The patient knows someone is there, providing care. It’s comforting.” She said as she patted him dry. Hermione was silent, looking at the man who’s body had given her so much pleasure, lying there, broken and bruised. Madame Pomfrey made to reach for the open jar of salve. Hermione slightly pulled it out of reach.

“May I do it?” she asked softly, not taking her eyes from Severus.

The medi-witch hesitated. She looked at the tenderness evident in Hermione’s eyes and capitulated.

“Certainly, my dear. Be gentle, and rub it into his skin in a circular motion until it disappears. He will need the entire jar. Call me when you need to turn him over.”

Hermione didn’t answer her, but moved her chair closer to the sleeping Potions Master, placed the jar on the bed and scooped out a bit of salve. She rubbed it between her palms to warm it, then applied it gently to his neck and shoulders. Pomfrey nodded her approval and left her to it.

Hermione worked tenderly over his body, tracing his musculature beneath her hands as she worked the cream into them. He was bruised everywhere it seemed, and she didn’t hesitate to apply the cream where it was needed. His cock was long, and flaccid. It was unconscious too, not reacting to the smooth motion of her hands over its length. She continued, working the cream into his legs and feet, even where there wasn’t heavy bruising, just to be sure.

She didn’t call Pomfrey when it came time to turn him over. She took her time, slowly working her hands under his hip and shoulder, and rolled him gently over, repositioning him to the center of the bed as carefully as she could. His back was horrible. He had been viciously whipped. It was a thick web of healing scar tissue, underscored by purple-black bruising that ran from the shoulders to his calves. She tenderly and meticulously applied the remaining salve, lingering over his back where the worst of the bruising was.

Finished, she again turned him so he was on his back. She wrestled his arms back into the gown, and buttoned it up again. Then, she pulled the sheet over him, and after looking around to be sure no one was observing her, kissed him gently on the mouth, before quietly settling into the cot Pomfrey left for her, her amber eyes focused intently on his face.

“Please be all right, Severus. There’s so much I need to tell you.” She whispered before closing her eyes, and falling into a light, troubled slumber.

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A/N: I hope the jumping around from the times of day didn’t confuse anyone too badly. I thought labeling them might help. Also I have changed the details of this story from PWP to Graphic Sex. If you have any other suggestions for the details describing this fic, please feel free to share them with me. Thanks