Above All Things

Above All Things
Chapter Five
by Nom de Plume



Severus had sat in her decidedly uncomfortable chair for three hours, making sure the little chit was still breathing and hadn’t somehow choked to death while in her inebriated state, before he’d felt comfortable leaving her bedroom the night before. As he’d stood on the other side of her doorway he’d debated leaving. He knew he should, but his conscience bothered him. What if she had another convulsion? What if tomorrow morning she wakes up and tries to do something drastic?

He’d sighed with irritation and walked further into her living room. The soft glow from the moon shone in through a large window casting an eerily serene light about her flat. A cursory examination had revealed dozens of boxes stacked haphazardly around the floor and shoved away in corners. Come to think of it, her entire flat was rather sparsely decorated. And there was a distinct, unsettling feeling of “unlived in” space; she’d obviously moved in recently.

His curiosity getting the better of him he decided to quietly poke about and eventually wandered over to several boxes of books lying against a barren bookshelf. The image almost hurt him. Understanding the emotional connection to the printed word that only other bibliophiles possess, he gained a greater understanding of her distress as he looked down on the boxes of books packed away on the floor. They belonged on a proper bookshelf to be proudly displayed and easily found and she hadn’t even the strength, or perhaps the willpower, to at least tend to her collection.

Further exploration revealed yet another unnerving surprise. She had converted a small sitting room near the front door into a makeshift potions lab. He grimaced in horror at how impractical and, to be quite honest, how irresponsibly set up the work space was. Granted, it was a sitting room and not a proper lab, but everything about the area was screaming ‘catastrophe.’ He would have to severely reprimand her when she awoke.

He flipped the electric switch on the wall — why she lived in a Muggle apartment building and had created a potions lab in her flat was beyond his comprehension — and quickly set about improving the workspace. He enlarged and transformed every ill-used surface and object into something more functional and practical. When he’d decided that he’d done as good a job as possible and removed the majority of the threat that had been posed on not only her but her neighbours, he stood back and focused his attentions on the phials of potions and bundles of parchments before him.

He uncorked several phials, read their dosage instructions, and attempted to determine their contents. He wafted their scents under his nose and wrinkled his brow in concentration, and sitting down at her desk, reached for a quill and a bottle of ink and began writing. When he’d identified all he could from scent alone, he then reached for her personal notes and began methodically pouring over them.

The more he read the more horrified he became at her complete clinical detachment regarding her condition. She’d left out hardly any detail as she’d catalogued her symptoms and results of what she would go through, and quickly, as the poison’s effects progressed. Several times he had to look away at her explicitness and felt increasingly uncomfortable.

A very painful death would be her fate if a cure could not be found or created.

He sat back miserably in the stiff wooden chair at her desk. He had two options and both were unpleasant, but he needed to make a decision quickly.

The first involved him walking away from this whole ordeal and trying to ignore the fact that he knew she was dying, thus allowing himself not to get involved. The second option involved him staying and helping his former student, which was the noble thing to do as he was most likely the reason for her affliction’s existence in the first place. Each idea had its pros and cons. He simply needed to fully rationalize each one.

The first option, while cowardly, seemed the most attractive. He could, at the very least, give his assistance to her Healer when asked, and then continue with his life as he had before he’d found out, unwittingly, about Miss Granger. If she were going to die, and many different signs pointed to that being the affirmative, it was better to cut and run and distance himself from this admitted tragedy while he could. He had already suffered more than enough grief to last one person two lifetimes. He could say he would remain detached until he was blue in the face, but the fact was, he was human; and he could no more help feeling compassion for her plight than the next person if he stayed.

Which led to option number two. If he did stay, he could at least assuage the guilt he felt by helping as best he could to relieve some of her symptoms if not find a cure. And he did like the challenge. It, he groaned, is the right thing to do. No matter that he’d given every last bit of himself to the “right” thing for the last twenty or so years already.

He frowned and twirled her quill distractedly in his hand as he reasoned with himself. He had, effectively, re-entered society for the express reason of gaining back at least a little of his humanity. His so-called status as a supposed hero helped ease his transition into accepted society and had kept the jeering and hatred to a minimum. He may have indulged a bit more than what was considered proprietary —he snickered — but he was owed the chance to enjoy life for once.

Also, he thought while on the subject of proprietary, if he stayed to help her he could enjoy her company while she was still around to give it. He idly brushed the tip of the quill against his jaw and wondered what she would be like as an adult. Knowing the kind of person she’d been as a student, he supposed that, as an adult, she could potentially be a very interesting person. She was intelligent and he wouldn’t lie — he found her more than a little attractive. And earlier she’d certainly seemed willing to accommodate those baser needs. Even though she was drunk, he reminded himself.

Still, a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, he doubted even had she not been influenced by alcohol he could’ve aroused her interests. And, to be fair, didn’t she deserve a little fun too? It could be a simple give and take situation. He could offer his services on multiple levels, he thought devilishly, and each could take of the other what they wanted in return.

His mind wandered as he thought of exactly the kind of pleasures he could take of her until the practical part of his psyche reminded him of the problems that would eventually arise. The longer he stayed around her, the worse it could be in the end. He would have to stick around to watch a former student, someone he’d seen grow up, a valiant veteran, a clever and bright witch deteriorate into a pitiful wretch until her eventual death.

Well, potential death, he corrected himself. He stared back at her notes and swallowed. As he had started to convince himself that the trouble wasn’t worth it, he began adding thoughts to her margins until he’d worked himself into a near frenzy of ideas.

Hours had passed before he realized he’d nearly fallen asleep at her desk when he rose up wearily, his sleepy body at odds with his busy mind.

He’d almost made it to her front door to leave when he’d heard muffled sounds issuing from her bedroom. He’d quickly rushed through the moonlit apartment to find her easing out of what he had assumed had been yet another convulsion. He gazed at her, frustrated and irritated, and turned from her bedroom back to the living room and resolutely flopped down on her sofa.

He might as well get a few hours of sleep before he questioned her in the morning.

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A splitting headache and a near dire need for liquid roused Hermione from an unpleasant sleep early the next morning. She jammed her palms into her closed and gritty feeling eyes and groaned.

“No more whiskey, ever,” she croaked hoarsely.

Cracking one eye open very slightly, she hesitantly glanced about the room and sighed with relief. At least she was in her bedroom. She then tentatively rolled her head to the side, and oh, thank Merlin, she was alone in her bedroom. She distinctly remembered her half-cocked idea to bring someone home last night and was ever so thankful it hadn’t come to fruition. She lay in her warm, soft bed trying to gather her wits about her in the far-too-bright bedroom, and as spotty images from the previous night slowly came back to her, she winced and groaned again, even more loudly.

“Oh gods, I propositioned Snape!”

The only way she could think to respond to such a humiliating event was to throw her arms over her face and thrash her legs about in a tantrum that would have made a four year old proud.

What was I thinking?! You have got to be the most ridiculous person, Hermione Granger! she chastised.

She meant to continue berating herself but the sound of a male voice from somewhere in her flat stopped her cold.

She slowly lifted her arms from her head and struggled to sit up; blinking against the dizzy sensation that suddenly assailed her. Slight panic setting in, she closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Oh, please, she silently prayed.

Hearing nothing further, she carefully swung her feet over the bed – she was still in her clothes from last night, which was a good sign right? – and staggered, on tip-toe no less, to the door leading out of her bedroom. Taking a reassuring breath and thinking surely that sound had just been her imagination, she slowly, timidly poked her head around the doorjamb. And then her stomach dropped to the floor.

Oh gods. He never left.


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Severus woke a mere four hours after he’d fallen asleep on her couch, thanks to a combination of the annoying beams of sunlight streaming in through her windows, and an old cat batting at the hand that had been dangling over the side of the couch.

He turned his head to look down at his would-be assailant and met the curious yellow gaze of a rather squash-faced, orange cat.

“Aren’t you a handsome beast,” he whispered sarcastically. The cat narrowed its eyes and flicked up a very bushy tail in protest before leaping onto the strange man on his mistress’s couch and shedding his orange fur all over his clothes.

Severus hissed in protest and flung the offending animal onto the floor. He could almost swear the feline chortled as it pranced away happily.

He stretched and grunted, wincing against the pain in his protesting neck; he glared down at the uncomfortable couch he’d used as a bed. Sitting up, awkwardly on the slippery couch cushions, he blinked around at her flat and spied Hermione’s door still ajar. Thinking he should perhaps check to see if she were alive, he rolled his eyes, he quietly slipped over to her bedroom. He poked his dark head inside and nodded approvingly at her quiet slumber and snuck back out. Then, looking around her flat, he quickly located her toilet and made use of the facilities before making his way to her tiny kitchen.

Thinking he might as well make himself comfortable while he waited for her to wake up, he set about brewing a pot of coffee. And then, when his customary two cups had been consumed he settled himself back at her desk in the potions lab née sitting room and picked up where he’d left off the night before.

When the sound of a groan filtered in through the quiet space, he bolted out of his chair and rushed to her room. He just stopped from actually entering the bedroom and going to her when he realized that her thrashing about was due to a fit not brought on by her illness. She was throwing a tantrum!

He watched her for only half a moment before quietly backing out of the room, shaking his head. Honestly, she has to be at least, he paused, twenty four or twenty five by now…. He sighed and listened for her to stop.

“It awakes,” he called smoothly and smirked at the sound of her immediate stillness.

He set about getting her a mug for her coffee and dropping two slices of bread into her Muggle toaster (which he knew how to operate due to one extensively long and tedious conversation with Arthur Weasley on the subject, ending with a total demonstration). He tried not to grin as he heard her floorboard creak slowly across her room.

Leaning his hip against her counter, he relaxed and waited for her to poke her head around the corner. When her sleep-bushy, haloed visage finally did emerge slowly around the doorjamb, he fought against another grin that threatened to mar his calm expression at her look of surprise.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” he purred seductively, delighting in the blush he saw creep up her cheeks. She looked intensely nervous. This could be fun, he thought wickedly and picked up her mug of coffee.

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes and then to the steaming mug of coffee he held in his hands for her. “What um,” she closed her eyes briefly, “what are you still doing here?” she asked nervously, as if she were a guilty child.

Severus set the mug back down and calmly, purposefully, stepped over to where she was huddling at her doorway.

He watched as her eyes widened even further and looked up at him doubtfully. He held her gaze and sliding his hands around her waist, pulled her up against him and pressed her against the door frame with his body. Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets and darted in several different directions. He bent his head so that his mouth was close to her ear; he felt her stiffen in response.

Smiling devilishly, he summoned his most seductive voice and breathed in her ear. “Why, Hermione, have you already forgotten?”

He felt her shiver against him and was pleased with her reaction. His left hand kept her pressed against him while his right hand slid up and down her waist, very slowly. She appeared to be fumbling to find the means to speak.

He continued. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how you all but begged me to take you to bed last night?” Hermione inhaled sharply. “How you promised to make me scream your name?” His hand found its way to her throat and lightly caressed. He was surprised to feel how rapidly her pulse was beating at the side of her neck and almost felt sorry for teasing her like this. Almost.

The feel of warm breath against his cheek instantly drew Severus’ attention and he gazed at her parted lips.

“But…but we,” she swallowed a gasp as his hand slid up from her throat to tangle in her mussed-up curls.

“Mmm?” he hummed, still gazing at her parted, pink lips.

She licked them instinctively and despite himself, this time Severus was the one to inhale.

“We d-didn’t do anything though. Right?” she squeaked, bringing him back to attention.

He cocked his head and leaned forward very slightly. “Didn’t we?” his voice rumbled against her as he pressed further into her. This time Hermione gasped aloud, and when she started trembling, Severus finally took pity on her. With a final glance at her lips, he smirked and pushed off of her, leaving her literally dazed and confused. She blinked after him, bewildered.

“We did nothing,” he said blandly and sauntered back to the coffee cup he’d abandoned on the counter. “Or rather, I hauled your decidedly drunken arse to bed, whilst dodging your rather gropey little fingers.” He forced the mug into her shaking hands—pointedly looking at them for emphasis.

She glared at him but took the coffee. “I did no such thing.” She looked away in embarrassment and leaned into the wall, raising the warm liquid to her lips.

“You most certainly did,” he replied, buttering the forgotten toast now cold inside the toaster. “You’re fortunate I don’t lack the self-control necessary to restrain myself in moments of weakness,” he teased, still looking down and setting the toast on a plate.

When he finally turned to hand it to her he noticed her posture. She was still shaking, gripping the mug so tightly her knuckles were white with effort. Her eyes were closed as she leaned heavily against the wall and there was a thin sheen of perspiration across her forehead; her chest was heaving.

Dropping the plate on the counter, he quickly crossed to her. He lifted the mug out of her hands, set it aside and bent down to peer into her eyes.

“Miss Granger?” he asked warily. “What is it?”

She kept her eyes closed, face pinched, lips thinned. He gently gripped her upper arms, lest she collapse, and waited tensely for her to come back to her senses.

A long minute later, she inhaled a cleansing breath and shakily let it out. Severus relaxed as he felt her muscles ease beneath his hands. He stared down at her. She stared down at the floor.

He sighed and decided to dive right in. “I know.”

She frowned and snapped her head up, looking at him in surprise. “Know what?” she tried to ask innocently, as she controlled her breathing.

He arched an eyebrow. “I know about your condition.” Hermione’s eyes widened.

She was silent for a moment as she contemplated how that could be. “It’s supposed to be a secret,” she whispered. “How did you know?”

His expression softened and he gazed awkwardly at the floor. “I overheard your former fiancé telling Miss Parkinson at the award ceremony that night.”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and blinked.

“Also,” he continued, “you’ve had no fewer than six tremors, or convulsions, since I’ve seen you at the Ministry. Had I not heard Witherly, I would have known something was wrong with you regardless of how well you keep it hidden.” He turned away from her and retrieved her breakfast from the counter.

“You should probably eat,” he continued and placed the plate in her hands. “Merlin knows you could use something to soak up the alcohol from last night.” He stepped away from her again and poured himself another coffee.

Hermione ate mechanically and sat down in a chair at the bar of her kitchen counter and considered what he’d said. “So you’ve known this whole time?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked him quietly. She looked up at him.

He toyed with his coffee mug, changing the subject. “I’ve been in contact with your Healer.”

She sat up. “That information is confidential,” she snipped, now agitated with her medi-wizard.

“He sought me out as a professional; he’s broken no law,” he reassured her. Gryffindors; so quick to react.

She relaxed a bit at his words, but continued to pout. “Well, I wish he’d consulted me first.” She paused. “And I would appreciate your discretion.”

He nodded again and drank from his mug. “It was a bit spur of the moment, but at any rate I’ve been apprised of your condition and am in the process of cross referencing the attributes of your poison against others I’m familiar with,” he said evasively. “Which reminds me, I need some of your blood.”

Hermione looked up, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

He smirked. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t intend to drink it.” She blushed. “But I would like to run a few tests on the contaminants to see if I can narrow it down any further.”

She nodded and watched as he drank his coffee and pointedly did not look at her. "Is that why you were waiting for me last night?"

They sat in silence as Severus thought about how best to answer her question. “I had hoped to catch you before you left for your holiday,” he said lightly and carefully watched for her reaction.

Her face took on a stony expression as she said politely. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

He snorted. “I don’t do ‘thoughtful.’ Has it occurred to you that should I develop the antidote to your poison it would benefit me? Academically speaking, of course.”

Hermione pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Of course.”

He arched an eyebrow at her derision, and flicked a glance to her kitchen table. During his exploration of her flat last night he’d noticed a distinct absence of anything suggesting she was planning on an extensive holiday.

“However,” he said smoothly, “I wonder at the truthfulness of your announcement to Minerva. I see no travel documentation or any thing else announcing said holiday.” His suspicion was confirmed when he saw the colour drain from her cheeks.

She stammered a bit, “Everything is already packed. I’m just waiting to pick up my portkey in a couple of days.” She raised her chin defiantly.

“Efficient as ever,” he remarked. He studied his impeccably groomed hands. “Where was it you were going? Turkey, you said?”

Hermione nodded quickly and nervously gulped another mouthful of coffee. Severus frowned minutely.

“Well, then I shouldn’t keep you.” He set his mug in her sink and walked around the counter. “Fortunately, I brought my own clean phials, as I doubt I could have found anything of use in that sorry excuse for a lab you maintain,” he sneered and gestured towards her former sitting room.

Hermione looked surprised. “You were in my lab?”

“Yes. I took it upon myself to go over any information you had regarding your condition seeing as how you were incapacitated,” he rattled off, “and you should know, were you still a student I would have taken no less than 100 points from your House. Have you any idea how dangerous your ‘set up’ was? And in a Muggle dwelling at that?” he snapped, overriding her indignation at his rummaging around her flat without permission.

She flushed and looked down guiltily. “I know,” she began, chastened. He began rolling up his sleeves and shook his head. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied and a little frantic. But it’s no excuse for my lack of judgement.”

He nodded and produced the phials he’d shrunk from his pocket. Hermione started when he grabbed her arm and yanked her sleeve back, exposing the delicate, pale flesh of her inner arm.

“Please hold still,” he said. He pressed three phials against the warm skin near the vein in the crook of her elbow. He steadied them between the fingers of one hand, and with his other, tapped her vein with his wand. Hermione winced at the slight pinching feeling and watched disinterestedly as yet more blood was collected from her.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she murmured.

“Did you or did you not ask for my assistance?” He removed his wand, stowing it carefully in his sleeve, and began corking the phials containing her blood, and finally cast a Stasis Charm on them.

She nodded, “Yes but I asked for your advice should I have any questions in the future.”

Severus sighed and turned away from her, looking for his travelling cloak. “If I were you in your condition, I would take help from wherever it is offered, however it is offered.” He looked up, having located his belongings and found her staring at him thoughtfully.

“Is that so?” she said.

He narrowed his eyes. “You were drunk, end of story.” He fastened his cloak and took pleasure in her blush. “However,” he purred, walking to her entryway, “should you require any other services while sober,” he smirked at her surprised façade, “do let me know.”

Hermione swallowed nervously, and stared at him.

“When do you leave?” he asked, abruptly changing tone.

She thought for a moment, “A couple of days.”

“Could you be more specific?” he clipped.

She bristled. “Why does it matter to you?”

He flashed his best confounded, exasperated expression usually reserved for the truly special, such as Longbottom had been, and waved the phials containing her blood in front of him. “If you’d like to know the outcome of my results I will need to know where to contact you.”

“Oh,” she paused. “How long will it take before you know?”

He eyed her carefully. “No more than two days at the most; most likely less.”

She slid off her seat and walked towards him. “Well then I can still be here in my apartment. I’ll wait for your results.”

“That’s very kind of you to delay your vacation,” he said sardonically.

She blinked, reaching him in the vestibule. “Not at all. I’m not on any set schedule.”

He looked down at her quietly, wondering. She looked anxious. “I will contact you with the results as soon as I can,” he murmured. “Do you Apparate from here or is there a safe zone nearby?”

Hermione nodded. “Here is fine,” she whispered. Her eyes looked suddenly a bit glazed as she looked up at him. He held her gaze, intently. Her eyes were quite attractive. They were larger than average, had a nice shape were a very pleasant shade of brown.

She leaned towards him but seemed to catch herself and took a step back, blushing once more. He smirked and nodded his goodbye. “I will be in touch, then. Good day, Miss Granger.” He turned and Disapparated with a faint pop.

Hermione, a bit dizzy from her encounter with Snape, grinned at the spot he’d just vacated. “Please do.”


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A/N: I’m sorry! This update was a bit later than what I’ve been managing. I got a little hung up on this chapter. I hope it doesn’t show too badly. I’m considering putting a call out for an alpha reader to help keep me on track. I probably should have already had one. :(

The reviews have been so lovely, thank you! Special thanks to those who continue reviewing each chapter; it means a lot to me. :) I wish there was an option to reply to each individually in the reviews section, but alas. (I would like to say thanks to mia madwyn for the review though. I nearly wet myself with glee — such a fan, madam.)

Now, shall we turn things up a bit?