Gentle Rain

Chapter 4 - Way to go

"So it's you again." Severus Snape tried to sit up on his couch, but it was obviously very difficult.

I'm not so happy to see you either, Hermione thought bitterly. "Madam Pomfrey was feeling sick, intestinal flu is very contagious as you know, and she didn't want to risk you getting it too, especially now, that you are... in that condition."

For a few unnaturally long moments there was very awkward silence between them.

Eventually Snape opened his meanly twisted mouth: "If I wasn't in such a terrible pain, I would absolutely refuse to be taken care by... by you!" he said stretching the word you scornfully.

You make it sound as if there were something totally awful in me, she thought, but instead of saying it aloud, she burst out with a little bit louder voice that she had meant to. "If I wasn't such a terribly good-hearted person, I would have absolutely refused to take care of YOU!"

Silence again.

"As unpleasant as this is, for both of us, I assume we should get it done as quickly as possible," Snape noted and tried to walk to his bed as gracefully as possible.

Even though he had just insulted her few moments ago, she couldn't stop herself for feeling sorry for his condition. He must have been through hell. How a powerful spell could it have been, that still, after a year from the exact incidence, he suffered so enormously. Hermione looked away when Snape crawled onto his bed, and she tried to act as if she hadn't noticed anything deviant in his normally smooth motion. After a while Snape had undressed and was laying on his front with only pair of dark grey shorts on. Hermione couldn't have cared less if he had been there wearing nothing. It was merely an obligation, a task she had promised to do in order to help Madam Pomfrey. She had always been very kind and supportive to her, so why wouldn't she want to express her gratitude by being there for her when needed. She twisted the vial open and poured the shining green liquid onto her palm.

Hermione's soft hands made alleviating circles on his skin. Sweet relief. Her touch had a warming and cooling effect at the same time. Snape was struggling with an inner battle. Oh how he needed this, how he wanted to let go, to forget, to just forget everything and drown in the ocean of heavenly sensations made by her hands. No, not her hand, just the magnificent ointment. This had nothing to do with her! Again an intoxicating wave of pleasure swept over him.

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How long had he been there? Had he really let himself be so vulnerable and needy, like a baby? He was wondering terrified if the girl had heard his sighs of enjoyment. Had she felt his body shivering under her touch? What an absolutely nauseatingly, embarrassing thought. This had to end immediately! I'm not going to lose the remnants of my superiority and authority by starting to moan in front of her like a lovesick teenager. I have to so something about this before she gets some silly misconceptions in that pretty head of hers.

What did I... oh shit!

"So, what are you planning for the next time?" he asked matter of factly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione couldn't understand what the man was talking about.

"I was just wondering what you are going to make up the next time I'm in a need of... of a helping hand." Thank god, no Freudian slips with this one.

"Wha...?!"

"First you say Madam Pomfrey is busy, then sick, I just want to know what you were planning to tell me the next time you feel like coming here to torture me."

First Hermione thought he was joking, this was so totally absurd claim, but it didn't really sound like he's natural style of humour. She looked at his face, but that stone mask of his didn't reveal even the slightest hint of amusement. Only despise and discontentment, as usual.

Oh no, he couldn't have meant... no. She could hardly believe her ears.

"What?! Are you suggesting that I somehow organised this? That I would have wanted to come here, to touch you? Oh no, no sir... you have lost your marbles professor. You have totally lost it!" Hermione mumbled in an astonished disbelief.

"Well, you seemed to be quite eager..."

That was enough. Hermione took a long deep breath in, like an otter that's about to dive to the bottom of the sea, and let her voice, trembling with fury, to fill the room.

"You arrogant, self-centred, complacent BASTARD! Don't you dare try to flatter yourself at my expense. I was enjoying my free Saturday evening with my best friend's good company over a tasty glass of hot butterbeer, and was involuntarily forced to come here, just because you needed to, and you DARE to insult me by suggesting that there would be some other reason, than blind madness, behind that I came here to help you! Oh holy Merlin on a pogo stick, I don't know should I laugh or cry, but if that's all, then good night sir!"

"That's not all, I'm afraid," he said with a cold and monotonous voice, where wasn't even the hint left of the surprise and amusement he felt inside.

"Oh my, what else?" she said with her most sarcastic and uptight voice.

"I am not a bastard."

The collection of small glass vials clinked on the table as she slammed the door shut, leaving the curtains of his bed to wave for a long while, after she was gone.

Way to go. That girl has style, after all.