Into The Light

I own nothing you recognise. Three cheers to the amazing Jocelyn for making this so much more readable! Sya it with me now, hip hip hooray!

Severus was entertaining severe doubts that the girl would even make it to her rooms. She stood before him with her eyes half closed and swaying on the spot, exhausted. Poppy was thankfully nowhere in sight, or she’d order her back to bed, Headmaster’s orders be damned.

The wardrobe had been surprisingly conservative with its creations. A dark navy gypsy skirt, a pair of sky-blue knickers and a cerulean top had been reaped, with the only weirdness being the sleeves on said top. The wrist ends were huge, with dangling silver beading, which ensured the wearer could not possibly sit down to a meal or a desk without the ends trailing in either their food or their work.

To further the problems, everything was at least two sizes too big. Severus assumed it was the damnable thing trying to encourage the girl to eat more and fit into them, but right now they were falling off her. In an attempt to prevent her skirt from falling down, Potter had leant her his belt (retrieved by Severus to give to Hermione, as she whimpered and backed away yet again when he approached) which was now cinched tightly around her waist. It also meant that Potter had to stop and pull his trousers up every thirty seconds or so, in an attempt to stop them from revealing more of his underwear than he was willing to show, much to Severus’ amusement.

Potter was now watching her sway with eyes more panicked than concerned. “Sir?” He finally asked.

“I’m thinking Potter.” Severus snapped, although he wasn’t really, he’d already decided what to do, but the enjoyment of perversity was not a habit easily forgotten.

The girl did really look rather strange, he thought, surveying her. Three weeks in bed had allowed her hair to grow back slightly, so an inch of brown stiff stubble was present on her scalp, which, coupled with her emancipated figure, would have made her look extremely male were it not for her facial features – not even starvation had succeeded in ridding her of her pout, and had rather emphasised her cheekbones. Further more, even at its present length some of her hair was showing a tell-tale flick at the end. It appeared that her periods of enforced baldness had not rid her tresses of their tendency to curl like an over enthusiastic bramble bush. He couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed.

He sighed, giving the appearance of having reached a decision, although to anyone with half a brain, it would have been readily apparent that he was only faking – badly. Yet Potter remained blissfully ignorant, he noted with self-satisfaction.

“We shall floo to my classroom-” he started, when Potter butted in yet again.

“But sir, she can’t climb the stairs!”

He glared at the boy, who met his gaze with a self-righteous look, and Severus wished dearly for the authority to suspend him upside down as the Headmaster had done.

“From where I shall carry her if needs be,” he finished, in a growl that was obviously directed at the boy, but made Granger eye him warily, for all she didn’t back away. “It’s alright Hermione, I wasn’t talking to you,” he amended.

The boy huffed, but said nothing. “Meet us at the door to my classroom.” Severus informed him shortly, stepping forward to take the girl’s arm. She leant into him alarmingly, almost as if she relished being in his embrace. He couldn’t help but stiffen slightly as he escorted her over to the fireplace and took a handful of floo powder.

“Step forward when I say, Hermione,” he told her, as he saw Potter exit out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes Master,” she said, sounding half asleep. He started at her words.

“No Hermione, look at me.” She met his eyes with a gaze that told him that she was no more than a minute away from falling asleep, stood up or no. “My name is Severus, say it.”

“Severus,” she said immediately, apparently too sleepy to repeat her earlier stuttering performance.

“Good, now use it to reply to me; step forward when I say Hermione.” He felt like holding his breath as she replied.

“Yes Severus,” she breathed and her legs promptly gave way. Scooping her into his arms and stepping into the fireplace, he couldn’t believe that he felt absurdly like cheering.


Although Severus’ office, along with his laboratory, was indeed located in the dungeons, within five minutes of both his common room and his classroom, his rooms themselves were located in the tower above them – on the top most floor actually. The entire level was his sitting room, bathroom and bedroom combined in one large open space. He may have been suited to working in dark enclosed environments, but in order for him to relax he felt like he needed to have space to breathe.

It was really only during the summer he got to enjoy the room, but then it was also when it was at its best. The colour scheme comprised of pale greens with splashes of yellow, making it feel not unlike a spring morning, helped by the numerous leaded windows, which currently had been thrown open and were allowing in glorious amounts of summer sunshine. Had any student ever seen it, they would have immediately suspected him of being a polyjuiced impostor. He was therefore glad that the Granger girl would be staying in a guest room two floors below him, because, frankly, he would rather have gone several dozen rounds with Hagrid’s ‘little’ brother than allow either of his current companions entrance to his quarters.

He was approximately halfway to his destination, and he was still carrying the girl in his arms – the staircase was far too narrow for him to use mobilicorpus without banging her into the walls and giving her additional bruises or a concussion. Potter was giving him dark, envious glares, and as she was unconscious, Severus supposed it wouldn’t have been too risky to allow Potter to carry her, but frankly, he was enjoying needling him far too much.

It wasn’t as if she weighed that much anyway.

They reached her room, and entered. It was south facing, so a great deal of natural light made its way into the room. Furnishings included a desk and chair, and a standard issue student four-poster bed, and it had its own small bathroom. The décor was distinctly Slytherin with emerald-colour wall hangings and heavy silver ornaments, but then these were the Slytherin guest rooms, so if she wanted it changed she’d have to ask him. And she’d need to get up her courage first.

Depositing her on the bed, he motioned Potter out of the room again, and followed, shutting the door behind him.

“I,” he said in a hushed whisper to Potter, “will now order her clothing and all her other basics from Malkin’s. You, however, are to revisit every place she has ever stayed and retrieve any items of hers that you can find – familiar objects will certainly help our endeavour.”

“Her cat’s dead,” he replied, seemingly out of the blue. Severus did not hide his confusion. Potter seemed almost embarrassed.

“I looked after him the best I could when they went, but after she disappeared Crooks, he, he just stopped eating!” He looked quite distressed.

“Then we shall have to do without it. Just do your best on the rest.” Severus tried not to feel horrified that he’d just offered words of comfort to Potter, of all people.

The boy nodded and thankfully turned to go without a word of complaint. Severus retreated to his own room, and couldn’t help sighing in relief when he’d safely entered it and closed the door behind him.

Giving into temptation, he collapsed onto his bed, kicking off his shoes. The bed was the odd feature in his room – a huge four-poster made of age darkened ash and swathed in deep emerald velvet, its seriousness seemed to contradict the rest of his furniture.

It hadn’t been the bed he’d wanted – his miserable time as a student at the school had made him practically allergic to four-poster beds, and so, the first Saturday after he’d accepted the position and moved in, he’d gone bed shopping, never mind that at the tender age of 24 to buy a new bed would have nearly cleared out his vault – his savings were far from impressive. He’d ended up wondering around a showroom for about two hours before he’d spotted the one he wanted.

A headboard of curled brass, with ultimately fluffy blankets, all in white, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a summer cottage with roses around the door, and to 24 year old Severus, it was perfect. Gleefully, he lay down on it testing the mattress, and upon discovering it was as satisfactory as the rest of the bed, let loose a rare grin, and swung himself back up to go and pay.

It was at that moment he’d caught sight of himself in one of the numerous mirrors on the walls.

He looked like some kind of stain upon the sheets, an inky black mark that was obviously out of place and marring its pristine surface. For that matter, given his complexion, even he was surprised he hadn’t left a grease streak. He looked pathetic.

The grin had slid from his face as he slid from the bed, and walked out of the store, not looking back.

And so, nearly seventeen years on, he was still stuck with the whopping monstrosity that took up far more floor space then it deserved, and he frequently got up on the wrong side of it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, and then removed his socks before padding over to his desk to peruse his Madam Malkin’s catalogue.

It was obvious after fifteen minutes that ordering clothing was going to be far more complicated then he had initially thought. Robes, trousers, skirts and tops had all been selected with a minimum of fuss, and in an act of selflessness, he had ordered more things in either red or gold than in green or silver, although he made sure there was plenty of blue present as well. But now he was starring at a section that he would really have preferred to avoid altogether.

Bras.

Even knickers he could cope with, he thought, trying not to feel panicked. But bras? He had no idea how the sizing worked, and it seemed rather complicated, but more to the point there were so many. Straps or not, under-wiring or not, invisible, padded, push-up, t-shirt. He was beginning to feel like some kind of pervert for attempting to fathom one of his student’s undergarments in such depth.

In addition to which, there was the matter of her current figure to decide. Recovering as she was, she hardly had anything to worry about in that department at the moment, but would they grow back? How large would they grow? Would it be acceptable for him to order what she needed in solely the final size, and wait for her to fill them, or would she need constant support as they regained their fullness?

He was damned if he was going to ask Potter what he knew about Granger’s bra size. Not to mention it would be embarrassing as hell if an eighteen year old ex-student turned out to be more knowledgeable about bra varieties than he was.

He abandoned the order form for a minute to floo to his office and back to retrieve a headache banisher, downing it the second he had picked himself up from the floor in front of his fireplace. Then, crossing back to his desk, he stared at the form again.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, ticking a few boxes, and guessing approximate sizes. The stupid things were refundable for a reason.

Sealing the parchment, he summoned a house-elf, and gave it to it to be posted, and furthermore requested dinner. The elf had just disappeared in a puff of smoke when he heard screaming coming from downstairs.