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Hermione woke the next morning to find
herself in the hospital wing with a pounding headache. She
felt a sudden rush of panic as she struggled to remember how
she’d gotten there, but the last thing she remembered was
dancing with the man she’d met at the club. She couldn’t
recall how she’d gotten back to Hogwarts, let alone whatever
had happened to land her in hospital. Hermione looked
around the room, relaxing a little at the sight of Severus,
who was asleep in a chair that had been placed a respectable
distance away from her bed. He must have fallen asleep
watching over her.
As she dragged herself up into a
sitting position, she looked down at the frock she was
wearing. It was black, like the dress she’d worn the
previous night, but was much looser and stretchy, like a
knit sundress. Severus must have transfigured her dress
when he brought her here rather than undress her
completely.
Feeling the call of nature, Hermione
climbed out of bed quietly so as not to wake Severus. But
either spy sense or exceptionally acute hearing must have
given her away, as his eyes shot open and his head snapped
up as soon as her feet hit the floor.
“How do you feel?” he asked
brusquely. “Are you in any pain?”
Hermione nodded. “My head feels like
it’s been hit by a steel bar. What happened to me? I can’t
remember a thing!”
“Sit back down, I will fetch you a
headache potion and then I shall explain.” Severus stood,
walking rapidly towards the door. Hermione had
instinctively followed Severus’ instruction, but then
resumed her course toward the lavatory after he left the
room. She still found herself unable to dredge up from her
memory an explanation for her present condition. She hadn’t
had much to drink last night, so she couldn’t be suffering
from a hangover. Besides, the Potions Master would hardly
have brought her to the infirmary to sleep off getting
pissed. But try as she might, she couldn’t remember
injuring herself either.
Another image entered her mind. Ron.
She’d had another dream, she realized; she must not have
taken her usual ration of Dreamless Sleep last night. But
curiously, Hermione didn’t feel the overwhelming sense of
guilt that usually washed over her after one of her ‘Ron’
dreams. Instead, she felt unusually calm. She thought
back; the dream was exceptionally vivid in her mind.
Instead of screaming at her in his normal way, the Ron of
this dream had comforted her. He’d held her, kissed her,
and told her it was all right. In this dream, Ron had
forgiven her.
Hermione completed her business and
walked slowly back into the infirmary, where she sat on the
edge of her hospital bed. If only the situation were
that simple, she thought. Ron may have forgiven me,
but can I forgive myself?
“Here. Drink this.” Severus had
returned and was handing her a small draught. She took it
from him and swallowed it, relaxing as her headache began to
subside almost immediately.
“Thank you, that really helps,” she
smiled, placing the empty vial on the table next to the
bed. “Now, could you please tell me what happened to me?
Why am I in hospital? Did I hit my head? I can’t remember
a thing past dancing with that man. How did I get back
here?”
“Try to remain calm so the potion can
do its job. I will explain everything in due time. To
answer your last question first, I apparated us back to the
edge of the grounds, and we walked from there. Or rather, I
walked, and you stumbled. As to what happened, to put it
plainly, you were poisoned.” Severus’ face grew cold
and angry as he nearly spat the final word.
“Poisoned?” repeated Hermione,
horrified, a dozen questions forming in her mind all at
once. “How? With what? Is there a cure? Was there a Death
Eater at the club? Did you recognize someone?”
“No, it was no Death Eater that
poisoned you, rather that jumped-up buffoon that latched
onto you when my back was turned,” snarled Severus. “John.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “John? Are
you certain? He seemed so, so, friendly!”
Hermione hadn’t really intended to find
herself an escort last night; the exuberance she’d displayed
had been entirely for Severus’ benefit. She’d surmised,
quite rightly, that if she put on an enthusiastic front,
Severus would be more inclined to venture out on his own.
She’d planned to watch him from the sidelines, but then John
had approached her, complimenting her as nice as could be
before asking her to dance. She’d been tempted to refuse,
but reconsidered, thinking that since it had probably taken
courage for John to approach her, it would be cruel for her
to decline. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Quite sure. The cad confessed, in
fact,” snapped Severus.
It still didn’t make sense to
Hermione. “But why? I’d never even met him before!”
“After John ‘confessed’ to
administering something called a “roofie”, Joanna’s friend
explained that it was a substance that mimics symptoms of
intoxication while inducing memory loss. The victim then
conveniently forgets the violations inflicted upon their
person whilst under its influence.”
“He didn’t…” Hermione gasped. Although
her head had been throbbing quite painfully, she hadn’t
noticed any other pain. Surely she would know if she
had been …
“No, I was able to intervene before he
could carry out his dastardly plan. He was, however,
exercising considerable liberties upon your bosom when I
discovered you.” Severus’ eyes glared with a furious,
almost territorial look. “If I hadn’t found you when I did,
you surely would have been raped.”
Hermione felt ill. Burying her face in
her hands, she berated herself for being so careless. “I
can’t believe it. I let him buy me a drink, he must have
slipped it in then. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
She heard Severus sigh. “Not stupid so
much as naďve and overly trusting. Given the opportunity,
most men would probably take advantage of an attractive
girl. You need to be more circumspect about the men you
choose to associate with. Perhaps a nightclub is not the
safest place for an unaccompanied young woman.”
“I was accompanied,” she argued,
looking back at him. “I was with you.”
“Might I remind you that you sent me
off to find a dance partner, assuring me most wholeheartedly
that you’d ‘be fine on your own’ despite my protests? I
should not have listened to you.”
“But if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have
met whats-her-name, and the point of the exercise was for
you to meet new people, not to babysit me all evening! You
could have done that from Hogwarts!” Hermione wasn’t
quite sure why she was arguing; the fact of the matter was
that if Severus had not been there, she would have been
raped. But then again, had he not been there, neither would
she! The circular logic and the realization that she was
nearly raped was making her head ache again.
She took a deep breath. “But we
shouldn’t argue about whose fault it was now, what’s done is
done. I’m very thankful that you were there and that you
saved me from John, and that is what matters.”
Severus looked uncomfortable with the
praise. “No thanks are necessary. I have become quite
accustomed over the past few years of pulling you and your
friends out of scrapes. One more hardly matters.”
“It matters to me.” Hermione took his
hand and squeezed it. “You saved me. Again.”
Severus looked as if he might say
something else, but then changed his mind. “Yes, well, I
must be going. Moira is in need of attention by now. You
should stay here and rest. I will return to check on you in
one hour.” He gently extricated his hand and turned to the
door. “Use the floo if you need me before then.”
Hermione lay down again, but could not
sleep. She was too horrified by what Severus had told her,
the thought of what she’d barely escaped made her stomach
queasy. She didn’t want to think about it. “Excessive
liberties with her bosom”. Merlin, the git must have been
pawing her, with her too drugged to resist. Her imagination
ran wild with the image before she pushed it away. She
almost would have preferred to remember, because her mind
had little difficulty imagining the worst.
But Severus had saved her, yet again.
He’d stopped her from taking the NullEmotion potion and had
helped keep her sane these past few months by giving her a
sense of purpose. Now, he’d rescued her from a would-be
rapist. She owed him a great deal.
She’d been trying to repay her debt by
helping him break free of the NullEmotion potion’s cage.
And she would swear she’d been at least somewhat
successful. He’d responded, albeit reluctantly, to many of
her treatments, and even in his general behavior she’d
noticed a marked change.
Whether it was specifically due to his
‘independent assignment’ Hermione did not know, but since
not long after she’d ‘assigned’ it, Severus had been showing
all the signs of a teenage boy discovering his sexuality.
He probably thought she hadn’t noticed all the times he’d
pulled his gaze away from her breasts, or the more relaxed
figure that he presented every morning when he joined her
for breakfast. He’d been without emotions for so long that
he was dreadfully out of practice at hiding them. Thus,
Hermione was fully aware that he found her attractive.
What she didn’t know was quite how she
felt about it. A very big part of her felt flattered; after
all, no one other that Ron or Viktor had ever shown any
interest in her as a woman. But Severus’ interest probably
didn’t mean much, as she and Madame Pomfrey were the only
women around right now anyway. That was part of the reason
she’d devised the nightclub outing: curiosity. She wanted to
see if Severus would be as attracted to other women as he
was to her.
It wasn’t as if she had been hoping for
a relationship with him though; Ron had barely been gone a
few months and she had still felt very guilty. So even
though she and Severus had developed a sort of friendship
over the summer (and she had to acknowledge that on some
level his desire for her turned her on), she would have felt
as if she were betraying Ron were she to explore those
feelings. Thus, she tried to divert his attention to other
women in order to avoid dealing with the complicated
feelings she had for Severus.
But something felt different now. The
memory of Ron seemed farther away and she now seemed to feel
guilt more out of duty and habit than honest emotion.
Perhaps it was this latest dream, where they’d shared the
most amazing kiss and then he’d forgiven her. Hermione knew
Ron wasn’t a ghost, but the dream had seemed almost real to
her. She closed her eyes, reliving that beautiful,
heart-wrenching kiss in her mind. It felt as if the ‘real’
Ron had forgiven her, even if it was just a dream.
In reality, it was most likely all in
her head; the guilt, the forgiveness, all of it. No good
could come of dwelling on the dead. Hermione sighed,
accepting at last that it might be time to let go.
Severus reluctantly pronounced her fit
to return to her own rooms later that afternoon provided she
return the next day to allow Madame Pomfrey to examine her.
Hermione tried to avoid thinking about
her near brush with rape by busying herself with plans to
continue Severus’ therapy. Even though she wasn’t certain he
actually needed it anymore, the activity served two
purposes. The task gave her something to do and provided an
excuse to lure Severus out of the dungeon and force him to
interact with people.
Hermione looked out her window to see
Severus and Moira taking a walk. The old dog cocked her
head up to watch her master as they walked along, his pace
slower than usual to allow her to keep up. Moira’s love for
her master shone in her adoring expression, and when he
stooped to scratch behind her ears, Hermione could tell he
was rather fond of the dog as well. Severus looked much
younger when he was with Moira, thinking not about “the
dunderheads he usually has to teach” but of things more
pleasant, or perhaps nothing at all. Despite not having
been blessed with good looks, Hermione definitely found him
appealing this way.
She thought back to the day the three
of them had sat together out by the lake. Severus had
looked at her then, his eyes fixing on her cleavage before
hastily turning away. She knew she should be offended by
such a blatant sexualizing of her body, but she wasn’t. Ron
had looked at her that way too, making her feel desirable
instead of bookish. She liked being appreciated for her
femininity, all the more for its novelty. In school, she
had been so accustomed to the prettier girls like Parvati
and Ginny receiving the majority of male attention. She’d
figured boys like Ron and Viktor, who looked beyond her
appearance, were rare and special. Hermione chuckled.
Severus certainly was unusual.
It did strike Hermione as a little
strange to be lusted after by a former teacher. But then
again, hadn’t she caused it by sending him the pornography?
If she hadn’t done that, he might still be trapped in his
shell of null emotion. One could argue that she was
responsible for the changes she unleashed in him. In some
African cultures Hermione had read about, if you save a
man’s life, he becomes your responsibility. She knew she
hadn’t literally saved the Potion Master’s life, but the
comparison still seemed to fit somehow. If Severus desired
her, it was because she’d enabled him to. Did she have a
responsibility toward him now? That aside, Hermione found
that if she were honest, she would have to admit that she
liked the way he looked at her. She felt powerful when he
gazed longingly at her. Like a role reversal, the former
teacher was reduced to the role of supplicant while she, the
former student, had the power to encourage him or crush him.
Where had that thought come
from, Hermione wondered. She had no desire to “crush”
Severus, even if he had done the same to her in her
childhood. She thought she had grown past all that as their
curious friendship developed. No, Hermione did not want to
hurt Severus. But the knowledge that she could do so
excited her.
She closed her eyes, allowing her
imagination to wander. He was on his knees, begging her to
love him, and she responded as a benevolent love goddess,
comforting him, making all his pain go away. It was an
interesting fantasy, dotted with language Severus would
never use and guided by her own limited sexual experience.
Would that not be the ultimate act of healing? He’d come so
far already, a real, live shagging couldn’t help but bring
him all the way back to emotional health!
Hermione giggled, shaking her head.
She was being silly with all these thoughts of seducing the
Potions Master. How could she possibly give herself to
Severus, who she liked but did not love, when she hadn’t
been able to give herself to the one whom she had loved?
Because you don’t want to make the
same mistake twice, echoed a little voice inside her
head. You let Ron die wanting you. What if
something similar happened to Severus?
It wasn’t the same, Hermione knew, but
the nauseated feeling of dread at the thought remained.
No, she chided herself. You may not
seduce Severus as a form of therapy. You will NOT!
“We’ll meet in the staff lounge for
your next treatment this afternoon,” Hermione informed
Severus at breakfast a couple mornings later.
“Are you certain you have regained your
strength?” asked Severus dubiously. “Perhaps you ought to
rest another day or two.”
“Nonsense.” Hermione shook her head.
“I feel perfectly recovered. And the summer is nearly
over. Once the students return neither of us will have
any time to proceed, so we’d best finish before they
arrive.”
Severus acquiesced and returned his
attention to the Daily Prophet. Hermione ate in silence,
mentally preparing a list of what she’d need for what would
likely be his last treatment. Seduction was, of course, out
of the question, but she had hit upon another idea which
would likely achieve the same result. Massage could be both
relaxing and invigorating (something she’d learned while
visiting a health spa with her Mum the previous summer).
Though it was a more physical than emotional experience,
Hermione felt that Severus would likely have a strong
emotional reaction to having someone touch him in such a
relatively intimately way. She’d considered hiring a
professional massage therapist, but realized that not only
did she not have sufficient savings to justify the expense,
but also that Severus was unlikely to permit a complete
stranger access to his partially unclothed body. Yes, it
was definitely for the best that she take on the task
herself.
How would he react? She wondered.
Whether he was attracted to her or not, he might find the
prospect of appearing before her disrobed rather daunting.
Perhaps if she, too, wore a bathrobe, he would feel as if
they were on common ground? Besides, it wasn’t as if he
would have to remove all of his clothing. She planned to
limit the massage to his neck and shoulders, so he could
keep his trousers safely on.
Yes, she thought again. This should
work nicely.
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