Black Heart

Disclaimer thingy again: do I really need to say I’m so not her, bla bla bla??

A/N: once again to my Beta girl, you are amazing. Thanks L.J. ;-D

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Chapter 2: Saturday; Part 1

“Oh my gods, my back.” Hermione complained, as she tried to sit up. I have got to stop falling asleep in the common ro–? Uh-oh, where am I , she thought, realizing she was sitting by a bed.

Hermione turned her head; which had a serious kink in it; to look at who’s leg her hand was touching. Even more surprising, was that person was now holding her hand. She sat up, wide awake now and wondering how to get herself out of this mess without waking the bear.

Slowly Hermione tried sliding her hand out from under Snape’s without much luck. She was now starting to panic. What if he woke up, what if he freaked, and blamed her? She really hated it when he yelled. Just then he rolled on to his side to face her, letting go of her hand as he did so.

Hermione was so relieved she quickly got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door slightly as she went. Not all the way, mind. She still wanted to be able to hear him if he needed her.

What Hermione didn’t know, was that Snape had been a wake for some time, listening to her breathing. He didn’t understand why she was still there after what he had said last night. But it was nice to wake up to someone; even if they didn’t know; and he planned on keeping it that way. He never wanted her to know the softer side of Snape, and certainly didn’t want some know-it-all Gryffindor getting in his way. He had taken care of himself in the past, so why on earth did Dumbledore feel he required help this time? And what was taking that infernal girl so long in the bathroom ? His agitation made him feel a little better. These were feelings he was accustom to.

Hermione was at the sink splashing cold water on her face. Funny, she thought, there are no mirrors, in any of the rooms. I wonder why. Maybe he can’t bear to look at himself anymore. How sad , she thought. She had read somewhere that people who had either done, or seen some horrific things in their life would sometimes go around the house removing objects with a reflective surface.

Though she really wanted a shower, she decided to just change her clothes. Snape, she surmised, would not thank her for using more of his things than she had already, so, looking quickly at the door, Hermione disrobed and slipped on her grey dress pants and white dress shirt. No point getting into full uniform , she thought silently to herself, I can’t move around in all that clothing .


She carefully folded up her robes, sweater, and night clothes and carried all of her items with her, intending to take them into the sitting room. However, when she entered the bedroom, Snape was sitting up, looking cross and getting crosser by the minute.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione attempted. Then ducking her head and not meeting his eyes, she asked, “Was there something you needed?” As he continued to glare icily at her, she started to babble, completely flustered. “If you required me, Professor, all you needed to do was call as I left the door ajar so that I could hear you call and . . .”

“Enough! For Merlin’s sake girl, can you not stop talking for two blessed minutes together?”

“Yes, Sir,” Hermione said, in a low voice.

“Well then, I’m glad to see you have come to your senses and are leaving.” Professor Snape replied, while looking at her pile of clothes.

“What?” Hermione looked slightly puzzled. Then, saw that Snape’s eyes were trained on the clothing in her hands. “Oh no, I’m not leaving. Just moving these things to the other room,” she replied, brightly, “don’t worry.” This said, she put her words in to action.

Snape threw back the covers from himself and made to follow her like a dark storm coming. His anger growing to a barely contained rage with each step, showing no concern for what he was or wasn’t wearing.

As Hermione lay her clothing on the chair, next to the book shelves, she saw Professor Snape enter the room, out of the corner of her eye. Uh-oh , she thought, he looks really mad . “Professor Snape,” Hermione put the shock she felt into her voice, “what are you doing out of bed?”

“Apparently you do not understand hints, Miss Granger,” he hissed. “I want you to leave NOW !” He strode over to the chair where Hermione’s clothing lay picked them up and thrust them at her.

“Look you . . . you . . . ” Hermione stammered.

“Be very careful, Miss Granger. I’m on my last thread of patients, where you are concerned,” he warned with a growl.

“I was not asked by you, to be here. I was asked by Professor Dumbledore. So if you ,” she poked her finger in his bare chest, “have a problem with that, then I suggest you take it up with him.”

By now Hermione’s eyes were blazing and her face was flushed. They stood staring at each other, both shocked at the others anger. Hermione couldn’t understand why he was behaving like this. It’s not like she wandered in on her own looking for trouble.

Snape had never seen Hermione so angry before. Embarrassed, outraged, yes, he had seen that on many occasions, but not this. The raw anger was new. She was shaking from it. So, obviously, it was something new to her as well. She hadn’t yet learned to use it as a weapon. “Well I think you should . . .”

Hermione never got to find out what the Professor thought because right then, another onslaught of the Cruciatus curse hit him.

“Sssshit,” he said, through clenched teeth, and grabbed for the back of the nearby chair. This one was bad but not quite as bad as the others. Still, Professor Snape started sinking to his knees.

Seeing the man on all fours on the floor, trying desperately not to give in completely, made Hermione close her eyes. She fought with herself over whether or not she should help him. Then, finally, opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling she murmured, “Merlin help me.” With that simple request Hermione went over to kneel down next to him.

She offered him her hand and he had just enough dignity left to slap her hand away. “I. . .” he tried, “d-don’t. . . ” he said, trying to pant through the pain.

“I know,” Hermione said, softly. “You need to try and work through this on your own.” Then she sat down on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.

As the potions teacher got closer and closer to the floor, his breathing became more labored.

“I wonder,” Hermione said, still speaking softly. “If that is a guy thing, or a Snape thing?” She never got her answer. Not that she really expected one.

Finally, after some time had passed, the Professor lay quietly next to Hermione, his hands near her, still breathing with some trouble.

Hermione let her legs go and she tucked them under her, letting one of her hands rest close to the Professor’s, on the floor. She looked into his eyes. They were so dark. Just like him, she thought. “It’s not so bad you know,” she said, still speaking in hushed tones. “Needing someone I mean. Everyone needs something or someone, sometimes. Honestly, it doesn’t make you weak. Just–human.”

Professor Snape closed his eyes. He didn’t want to listen to this girl prattle on about things she knew nothing about. Though his hand did; involuntarily of course; close the distance between them and lightly touch her fingers with his own, before he passed out.

Hermione sat there for a moment, looking at their hands. Her heart did a funny little skip in her chest. She gave the Professor’s fingers a little squeeze and turned to reach for her wand which was laying on top of her robes. “Nala,” she called quietly.

Suddenly Nala appeared next to the fireplace. “Yes, Miss? You call-oh dear what has happened?” Nala started forward, but Hermione held up a hand.

“Could you get us some food please. Some broth for the Professor, for now, in a warming cauldron.”

“Yes, Miss,” she replied, and quick as a flash Nala was gone.

Hermione pointed her wand at her Professor and said, softly, “Winguardum Leviosa .” She took the Professor back to bed.

After Hermione covered Professor Snape, she sat next to him on the bed, looking her patient over. All of the facial cuts had healed quickly. The deep wound under his ribs was only a pink scar and should be gone by nightfall. Hermione reached out her hand to touch the scar but stopped herself. She was amazed at how quickly he was healing. She looked down at his hands. They were healing more slowly, but he had broken them open when he griped the chair. She sighed and was just about to put more salve on, when Nala entered the room.

“I have set up your brunch in the other room, Miss. Would, Miss like me to leave the cauldron warmer in the other room as well or bring it in here?”

“Bring it in here and leave it on the dresser, please,” replied Hermione.

As Nala brought in the medium sized cauldron and placed it on the dresser, she looked at Hermione. “Please, Miss. Go and eat. I will do some tidying in here and if he wakes, Nala will tell you.”

Hermione smiled and nodded. She didn’t know why she was so reluctant to leave him. It’s not like this had never happened to him before. Frowning to herself, she walked through the door. The food smelled wonderful. Just as she was about to sit to eat, Nala had brought so much food, there was a noise at the door. Hermione’s heart jumped in her chest not knowing if she should hide.

The door swung open and Dumbledore entered the room.

“Ahh, Miss Granger. I had hoped we’d be in time to join you for your meal.” Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling like mad.

Wait, did he say we ? “Professor Dumbledore, how wonderful to see you,” Hermione said, trying to recover herself.

Just then, Harry and Ron clattered into the room.

Hermione’s face lit up when she saw them. “Harry! Ron!” She cried, running to them. The three friends embraced warmly. Dumbledore smiled at the small group.

“Both Masers Weasley and Potter, insisted on checking on you, Miss Granger. Wanting to make sure you were all right, and not turned to stone by a nasty glare, I suspect.” Dumbledore winked at Hermione.

Hermione smiled at the three of them. “Well,” she began, “he’s a pretty tough patient, but I think I can take it,” she replied to the worried look on her two friends faces. “Professor Snape has asked to speak with you, Professor Dumbledore . . . a couple of times.”

Dumbledore raised and eye brown in question. “Well, I’ll just go and look in on him then, shall I? I’m sure he’s resting again.”

“Yes,” said Hermione simply.

Dumbledore turned and walked to the doorway, leading to the bedroom.

Ron and Harry rounded on Hermione and started pelting her with questions.

“How are you really?” Asked Ron.

“Has he been nasty to you?” Asked Harry.

And then, simultaneously, “what the hell is going on, Hermione?”

Hermione gave the boys a brief rundown as to how she found herself in the rooms, of the most hated and feared Professor in the school. “And really,” she finished up, “I’m fine. Just learning a new lesson from Professor Snape.”

“And that would be?” Ron inquired.

“I’m learning how to develop a thicker skin, so his nasty words and icy glares won’t hurt as much,” she said, quietly, lest Dumbledore should hear.

“So, how is the lesson coming?” Asked Harry.

Hermione smiled, wryly. “Slowly.”

Dumbledore returned to the rooms. “Well he looks wonderful, Miss Granger. I’m sure under your excellent care, he will be up and about and in your hair, in no time. Let’s eat shall we?” That being said, Dumbledore spread open his arms and more chairs and place settings appeared. Dumbledore walked over to the foot of the table and held the chair for Hermione.

Wide eyed, she blushed and sat down.

Ron and Harry sat on either side of the table, and Dumbledore took the head.

As they dished up some food, the three friends talked about what the latest letter Ron had received from his older brother Charlie.

Looking up at the group, Dumbledore spoke, “I have informed the staff that you are doing some extra credit work, Miss Granger, with it being nearly the end of term. They were more then willing to allow you some extended time off to do your. . . project.” Here Dumbledore raised a white eye brow.

“Well,” said Ron. With his mouth slightly full, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “That will take some of the pressure off Harry and me. Trying to make excuses as to where you’ve been,” he explained.

“Yes, yes. Well if you three will excuse me,” Dumbledore wiped his whiskers, “I have some things I need to take care of.” Rising from the table, he headed to the door. Turning, the Headmaster fixed Harry and Ron with a gentle gaze. “Please remember not to stay to late, I sure you both have some studying that needs to get done? And, Miss Granger,” he included Hermione, noting that she was wanting to ask him something, “Please inform Professor Snape, that I will endeavor to see him again later.” Professor Dumbledore leveled his gaze over the half moon spectacles he always wore, and giving them a quick wink he left.

Hermione heard movement in the next room and didn’t know if it was Nala or the Professor. She paled, thinking of what Snape would say if he found the boys in his sitting room. “Well,” said Hermione, a little too brightly, “you two had better be on your way. It’s a long walk back to the towers. You really mustn’t neglect your studies on account of me.”

Harry had heard the noise too and knew why Hermione was eager to rid herself of them, however, Ron looked a little put out. “Come on Ron, she’s right, we have transfiguration homework to do, and with out our Hermione there to, umm, help us. . .” Harry let his voice trail off.

“Alright you convinced me,” Ron exclaimed. “Geez. Bye luv.” Ron gave her a hug. “Shout if you need anything.”

Harry hugged her too. “Hang in there, Hermione. If anyone can do this it’s you.”

“Wish I was as sure of me as you are,” she whispered to Harry, while hugging him back. Ron grabbed another leg of chicken, and the boys left.

Just as Hermione took a last grape, and popped it into her mouth, Snape entered the room.
“Oh, please, Miss Granger. Do make yourself at home and entertain visitors,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione’s face turned red, and forgetting herself for the moment turned on Professor Snape. “Can your voice hold nothing else but disdain and loathing? Can you never have anything pleasant to say, to anyone?”

“Miss Granger kindly hold your tongue in my chambers.” He glared, his temper rising quickly.

Hermione sighed. “I’m sorry Professor Snape you’re right.” She looked at the floor and rubbed her neck. “I guess I’m a little tired,” she said, in a lower voice. “Plus having you attack me every chance you get, since you’ve been awake, isn’t helping.” Suddenly Hermione’s hand flew tho her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that! I apologize again, Professor.” Hermione decided to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Snape said, trying to hold his anger in check. He turned and headed into the bedroom and from there, the bathroom.

Nala scurried over the table and with a quick wave of her hand, everything disappeared again.

Hermione walked into the bedroom preparing to change the dressings on Professor Snape.

In the bathroom, Snape was griping the small white sink. Why is Dumbledore doing this to me? He must know I’d much rather lick my wounds in private, without little-miss-know-it-all, book worm in the other room. And why did she refuse to leave? Why is she still here ready for more of my sarcasm ? Snape sighed. His head hurt, along with other things. Even though his bones were knit back together, they were still sore. It’s what comes of breaking them so often , he thought, lamely.

His head started swimming from lack of food. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Well I better eat something or I’ll be passing out again in front of that ninny , he thought, disdainfully. Slowly, Professor Snape made his way back to his room.

Hermione turned at the sound of the bathroom door. Taking in the sight of her Professor, still clad in his black night attire, her eyes were drawn magnetically to his broad shoulders and bare chest. But the look on his face said something was wrong.

“Professor,” Hermione began.

“Just help me back on to the bed,” Snape snapped, stiffly.

Hermione went round quickly to the right side of the bed. Snape put his arm around her shoulders and leaned on her. Hermione wrapped her right arm around his slim waist.

“You may touch my hand, Miss Granger. I promise not to bite.”

“It’s not that. . .” Oh never mind , she thought, wincing slightly as her hand still pained her from when he broke it.

Professor Snape noticed Hermione’s flinch, “well if it bothers you that much,” he said, cooly.

“No, Sir. It’s fine,” she said.

As he sat on the edge and Hermione made to pull away, Snape; for whatever reason; had to know why she was so hesitant with her hand. He was determined to have a look at it and as Hermione pulled away he grabbed her left wrist.

“Professor, please. Really it’s fine. . .”

But Snape wasn’t listening to her. He opened her palm wide, Hermione flinched again, as he continued looking closely at, it to see if there were any gashes or burns, but he could see nothing which would give her pain. Then he turned her hand over.

Hermione’s heart was beating wildly. She lowered her eyes slightly to the floor, so that she didn’t look at the man in front of her. Waiting for the proverbial ax to fall.

Snape looked at the back of Hermione’s hand, but his eyes weren’t making sense of what he was seeing. It was bruised, but how? “What have you done to yourself, you ridiculous girl?” He asked, with surprise in his voice.

“It’s nothing really.” She stammered and tried to pull away again. “I hurt myself is all,” she lied.

Snape’s eyes studied Hermione. “You’re lying,” he said, in a low growling voice.

She met his eyes then. How did he know , she wondered.

“Don’t lie to a Death Eater, girl. You’re no good at it.” Snape sat there, still on the edge of the bed, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. It was so fuzzy. “I was on the floor,” he said, not really speaking to her. “And you,” he was guessing it was Hermione. Snape suddenly looked up at her, surprise evident on his face. The potions master said, quietly, “you gave your hand to . . . to . . . ease my pain.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. “When you grasped my hand so tightly you. . .”

“What?” Snape asked.

“Broke it,” she finished so quietly, she thought maybe he wouldn’t hear her.

Snape slowly released her hand. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“I told you,” Hermione said, more strongly. “It’s fine,” she said, still standing in front of the Professor, looking into his eyes. Slowly Hermione took a step back. “I’m sure your hungry,” she said, as she moved over to the dresser, where the soup Nala brought, sat waiting.

Professor Snape said nothing. He hadn’t moved since Hermione helped him sit on the edge of the bed.

She turned to look at the potions master who was so still, about to suggest that they adjourn to the sitting room after he had eaten. “Professor?” Called Hermione, unsure of what to do. If it were one of the boys, she would go over and stroke their hair and ask them to tell her what was troubling them. But he was so not one of her friends. This was the man that scared Hermione to death. One glare from him and her insides turned liquid. He flustered her so badly, she could rarely put together a coherent thought in his presence. And yet there he sat, looking haunted, tortured. Was it because of her?

Hermione couldn’t stand it any longer. Even if the Professor cursed her into the middle of next month, she couldn’t just leave him like that. Her heart beating wildly, she walked to the opposite side of the bed from him and slowly sat down. It was quite wide, but if Hermione stretched her arm she could easily touch him. Was it a good idea? Probably not. But once she had made up her mind to do something, there was no turning back. The nervous girl reached out to touch the Professor’s arm, her left arm resting on the bed for support as Hermione’s upper body was stretched across the bed.

“Sir, are you all right?” Hermione asked, cautiously.

“I injured you, Miss Granger,” Snape said, lowering his head a little, and turned away from her.

“It was an accident, Professor. I know that.”

“You don’t understand, how could you?” Snape asked, his voice rising a little.

“Then help me to understand,” she replied, in turn.

Hermione was moving again, farther onto the bed so that she was closer to him, but the only thing she touched was his arm. She didn’t want to break that contact, lest it should shatter the magic that seemed to be showing her a different side to the Professor. She didn’t push him or try to pull out the information. If she did that, her Professor would; she was certain; shut down. She sat quietly, waiting. She didn’t rub his arm as she would have done to one of the boys. Professor Snape was accepting her touch, she didn’t want to push it. He would either speak or he wouldn’t. It had to be his choice and Hermione just had to be patient and wait for the outcome.

How could he tell someone so young, the thoughts that were swimming through his mind? She’s young, to be sure, but she’s intelligent too . Snape turned his gaze to look at the hand on his arm. He wanted to tell someone, but he was afraid to. She already thought him evil. What would she think after hearing some of the horrors he’d done in his life? Why did he care? Some of the things he had done, were to young girls the same age as she was. Seventeen to nineteen was Voldemorts favorite age.

Images started flooding his mind and Professor Snape pressed his fists to his closed eyes trying to stop it.

When his right arm flexed under Hermione’s hand, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, reassuring him she was still there.

This simple gesture brought him back to the here and now. He decided to jump in this once, giving her an edited version of some events. Snape turned his body to sit more on the bed facing Hermione.

With surprise, she realized he was going to tell her.

Snape looked at the bed and sometimes at the far wall, but never directly at her. “When I first joined with the Death Eaters, I was lead to believe certain things were truth. When I finally realized what Voldemort was up to, I was too far involved to back out. Back then I was part of the first level not a Death Eater yet. Just a peon, really. The initiation was several days long, of torture and branding us like cattle. If you lived, you moved up the ranks. The young are his favorite toys. You either joined and lived or were tortured, then after you were broken he threw you away. Young boys were a real challenge for him, to see how many he could turn. The girls were entertainment for the troops. Seventeen to nineteen is his favorite. Anything younger were just killed. They weren’t strong enough, hadn’t come into their own power, so that he could syphon from them. They were of no use to him.”

Professor Snape’s hands had balled into fists on either side of his body as he leaned back against the pillows, at the head of the bed. He didn’t want Hermione touching him anymore, though he could feel the heat of her body next to his legs as he stretched them out.

Hermione didn’t move. She let her hand fall away sensing there was more to come and she was reminding him of the horrible past. At least she hoped it was past.

“When I was lower in rank I had no choice but to participate in the rapes and killings. However now that I’m one of the Chosen . I get to pick what I do and how. I studied day and night, learning spells and tricks I could pull off so I could still seem ruthless without actually doing the deed. But every so often he tests our loyalty and the killing and torturing of the innocent starts again. I swore I would never hurt an innocent again. I couldn’t do that anymore, and yet here I sit . . . I’ve hurt you.” At this statement, Severus Snape took a breath. Inside he was shaking, though outwardly he seemed calm. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to all of this information. This had been the longest
Professor Snape had ever spoken to her, and she had been his assistant for almost two years. Yet he was telling her one of his nightmares that was his life. Slowly she gathered her thoughts and courage about her, praying for guidance. “Did you like hurting all of those people?” She asked, her voice calm, giving away nothing.

“No,” Snape said, flatly, “it was never my cup of tea.”

“Did you hurt me on purpose?” Hermione asked, looking into his eyes, letting hers tell him she was not angry with him.

“No, Miss Granger, contrary to popular belief I don’t run about the school inflicting physical pain on a student.” Snape was starting to sound annoyed, he crossed his arms in front of himself. I knew it , he thought, she was to young . He should nave never said anything.

Hermione could see him folding away inside himself. She placed her hand over top one of his fists that had he had re-clenched over his chest.

Snape jumped at her unexpected contact.

“I’m not angry with you, Professor. I never was. I accept your apology but there was never any need for it. It was an accident, nothing more.”

Severus looked down at their hands and nodded.

“Now,” said Hermione. “Some soup. You’ll never get rid of me, if you don’t keep your strength up.” She smiled at the man who was still looking so serious. Hermione slid off the side of the bed to get the soup spoon and cloth napkin. “Do you want me to help you with the soup, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“I think I am perfectly capable of feeding myself. I’m not quite that feeble yet.”

Ahh, there he was, the old Snape reappearing. Hermione didn’t know which scared her more. The old angry snapping Professor or the new sharing Professor. The first scared her because of his nasty cutting ways. This new side scared her because she liked it. A lot.

Hermione brought the soup to him. Then, pulling her wand out of her waistband, she transfigured one of the napkins in to a lap tray. She then placed the soup on it, along with the usual items to go with it. “I’ll go and get you some tea,” Hermione called, over her shoulder, as she headed for the door.

“Just call Nala to do it. She at least knows how I like it,” said Snape, with his usual gruffness.

“What’s the matter Professor? Afraid I can’t make a simple cup of decent tasting tea?” Hermione questioned, with some humor creeping into her voice.

“Yes,” he growled.

Hermione left, laughing quietly to herself. She fully intended to make the tea herself, in the fireplace, but at the mere mention of her name, Nala appeared, next to the chairs, in front of her. Smiling, Hermione shook her head. Fine, they were both out to get her. She knew when she was out numbered. “The Professor would like some tea, Nala, please.”

“Yes Miss,” and poof, Nala was gone again.

As Hermione was turning to go back into the bedroom, the fire place took on an eerie green glow, meaning someone; who had not announced themselves first; was about to come through.

Hermione gasped. She didn’t know whether to hide or stay, because, stepping out of the fireplace was none other than Lucius Malfoy. Hermione scowled. Crap , she thought. He was the last person who needed to see her here. And when did he escape from Azkaban?

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Malfoy oozed with condescension and slime.

“Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?”

“What is a dirty little mudblood like yourself, doing in a place like this?” He asked, taking a step towards Hermione as he spoke.

Hermione started walking backwards, about to answer Malfoy, her heart beating in her throat. A firm hand griped her shoulder and a warm presence was at her back. She knew by the feel of the fingers, long and slender, that it was the Professor.

“Severus, good afternoon. How are you feeling?” Malfoy’s voice was low and dripping with insincerity.

The Professor pulled Hermione closer to his side and slightly behind him, with fluid, casual grace. “I’m doing better, thank you.”

“He was very concerned for his favorite, you know. Sent me here to see. . if . . you needed . . anything? Perhaps?” Malfoy’s voice continued rising in tone, to the end.

Hermione glanced up at Severus’ face, watching the muscles in his jaw working overtime. His hand were fisted at his sides.

“How nice of you both to be so concerned. But as you can see, Lucius, I’m in good care.” Severus took a step back and his hand went to Hermione’s back she felt him grab her wand that was still in her waistband of her pants. “Dumbledore has seen fit to loan me, Miss Granger, to tend to me. She is taking some sort of training under Madame Pomfrey.” He waved away the comment as though it were of no importance.

She felt Severus’ arm start shaking. Another attack was coming on. Gods the timing.

“When did you get out of Azkaban Lucius? Last I heard, you had been locked away for a indeterminate amount of time.”

Lucius bowed a scowl on his face. “I was deemed to be of value in his service and. . . released as it were. I was saddened to learn you were not one of my. . . releasers Severus. I shall not forget this and ensure to return the favor someday.” He clucked his tongue. “And after all we’ve been through together too. Loyalties, Severus.” The tall, platinum haired man shook his head.

Hermione who had been watching till now didn’t want Lucius to see the Potions master reduced to a shaking heap on the floor. No telling what he might do next. So, gathering up her courage, Hermione waded into the conversation. Turning very slightly to Professor Snape Hermione spoke. “I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s time for your medication.”

Severus glared at her. “Well thanks for stopping by Lucius. Now if you don’t mind.”

“How do you stand letting a common looking mudblood tend you? Really Severus, I would have thought it beneath you. Alright, I’m off then. I’ll tell HIM you’re doing better then, shall I ?” Then Malfoy turned to the fireplace and disappeared with a dramatic BANG!

Severus started shaking more violently.

“Hurry, Professor,” she urged, grabbing her wand back and returning it to her waistband, so she could help him climb onto the bed.

He flopped down in the middle, and curled onto his side again, tucking his hands between his knees, and groaning with the pain.

Hermione took out her wand and pointed it to her left hand, casting the unbreakable charm on it, then dropped the wand at the foot of the bed. She quickly went to the bathroom to retrieve the face cloth on the sink, rinsed it out with cool water and returning to the room, wiped the Professor’s face gently. Speaking comfortingly and softly to him, as she wiped his hands with the cloth, which was hard to do, since they were in fists and his short nails were digging into his palms. Hermione tossed the cloth onto the white chair, which was still where she had left it.

Hermione sat fully on the bed, with one leg tucked under her knee, next to him and bent down closer to the Professor’s face. “Take my hand,” she whispered.

“No,” Severus hissed, through clenched teeth. “Not . . . again.”

He was in serious pain. Hermione placed her left hand on the Professor’s. “It’s all right,” she whispered again. “I’ve fixed the problem. You can’t hurt me this time.”

Severus opened his tightly closed eyes and searched out Hermione’s. She was close enough that he didn’t have to look far.

Finally, seeing confidence in her eyes, he opened one of his own hands and took hold of hers.

Hermione smiled, but it wasn’t happy or triumphant, it was sad.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” she said, quietly.

She took the hair that had fallen over his eyes and pushed it back, so softly. It was very comforting to him.

“I think you are very brave, Professor,” Hermione whispered. As the black started eating away his vision, he heard her say, “Don’t fight it, just let go. I will watch over you.” And then he passed out again.

Then there was nothing. But the blissful darkness.