The Rapier: A Fine Tension

Dear Reader,

I’m… awestruck. The first chapter of The Rapier has gotten as many reviews as my each of my other pieces with their multiple chapters. And all your words, so far, are positive. I’m flattered that you’re enjoying the story.

Now, to set some minds at ease: I have no intentions of bringing a time turner into this story and I do plan to tell this all from Severus’ point of view in the future. However, telling his side right now could spoil Hermione’s view for everyone. Also, I have not abandoned Antigone or Force of Magic (Star Wars category-) but I cannot think of one story line when another is hammering around inside my brain. I know it makes me abysmally slow, but I will do my best to make up for it and get new chapters up soon.

A special thanks to those who have some knowledge of fencing. I would like to thank the people who manage the web site for the Arkansas Fencing Academy (http://arkansasfencingacademy.com) since it’s from their site I’m getting many of my terms and the information as to the weights of the blades. Those of you who have a familiarity of the sport, please feel free to email me with any corrections or interesting articles you think may help me.

Now, please remember, I only lay claim to the plot. The characters, the school and the universe are all the creation of J.K. Rowling, and I would never dream of taking away her thunder. Give credit where credit is due and please enjoy this humble offering. Also, give a thanks to my wonderful Beta Reader, Aly. She has graciously volunteered to play the lab rat before you see the following chapters.

Love,

ChelleyBean

~***~

She really had no overwhelming desire to move. Even taking deep breaths brought the soreness in her rib cage to her attention. The thought of actually moving limbs was terrifying. Perhaps she could just stay here for the rest of the day and no one would notice.

“Mya! Get up! Harry and Ron are waiting to walk us to breakfast!” The sudden weight that shook her bed could only be Ginny Weasley. Hermione gasped as shoulders, abdomen and thighs screamed in protest at the sudden movement. The younger girl froze instantly. “Mya? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She slowly moved to sit up, trying not to wince at the soreness. Something on the bedside table caught her eye and she turned to see a stoppered vial of something thick and crimson resting there. Ginny spotted it as well.

“What’s that?”

“Just… just a potion. For the soreness.” That would never do. Ginny would wonder how she got this way in the first place. She hated to lie to a friend, but she wasn’t ready to share her secret just yet. “I… fell, in the library. Couldn’t see over my books and tripped.” The girl seemed to believe it, because she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Hermione, only you could make studying into a full contact sport.” She reached out and picked up the vial, removed the stopper and thrust it out towards her. “Now, drink up like a good girl, or I’m telling Madame Pomfrey that you’re not following her orders.” She grinned as the older girl snarled at her before taking the vial and drinking it down. To her surprise, it didn’t taste foul, but rather like vanilla and ginger with a touch of lavender beneath it. As it hit her stomach relaxing warmth began to spread throughout her body and gradually the pain decreased.

I knew it. He doesn’t have to make them taste bad at all. He just does it to torment us. She turned the now empty vial upside down to demonstrate that it was, indeed, empty. “Happy, Mom?”

The redhead giggled, and then scrambled off the bed. “C’mon, we need to get cleaned up and dressed.” She grasped Hermione’s hand in both of her own and pulled. “Out of bed!”

“Y’know, they used to burn morning people at the stake.” She allowed herself to be pulled out of bed, though, and reached for her dresser. Saturday meant Muggle clothing, so she pulled out a pair of jeans, a comfortable sweater and her under things. Ginny was already gone, doubtless running back to the fifth year dorm for her own clothing before joining her in the bathroom. She stifled a yawn as she padded her way across the room to the large bathing chamber that connected the fifth, sixth and seventh year girls’ rooms. Ginny, as expected, came bursting through another door.

“What’s with you today? You’re usually as much of a morning person as I am. Did you hit your head when you fell or something?”

“Must have.” Setting her clothing aside on a cushioned bench to keep dry, she began to undo the tiny buttons of her pajamas. She was still having trouble keeping her eyes open as she shrugged off the soft cotton top. Ginny’s gasp brought her back to the world of the living.

“Hermione! What did you do to yourself?”

She looked down and blinked. All along her torso and chest little rosettes of black and blue had blossomed. She winced at the physical signs of the previous night’s practice. No wonder it had hurt to breathe. “It’s just a few bruises. They’ll fade in time.”

“A few? You look like someone’s beaten you with a club!”

Not as far off as you might think, Ginny Dear. “It looks worse than it really is, honestly. They’ll fade.” The other girl was still staring at her in horror, but thanks to Professor Snape’s excellent potion, she was able to move without pain. “Get over it, Ginny! I’m fine, I promise.” She reached inside one of the large, glass shower stalls and twisted the taps. Soon, steaming water touched with the light scent of cherries came pouring out of the showerhead, just one shade below being too hot. Stripping off the rest of her night clothes, she stepped in under the blast. She didn’t really need the shower, of course. She had gone directly into one of the deep bathtubs the moment she had returned to the dormitories and soaked in steaming bubbles for nearly an hour before retiring to bed. It hadn’t helped nearly as much as she had hoped it would.

Ginny chattered while they showered. Most of it was about schoolwork. Had Hermione been someone else, Ginny would have rattled on incessantly about boys. However, since everyone knew Hermione Granger had little time for boys, she stuck to the subjects you would speak about to Hogwarts’ finest mind. The words flowed over her like the water as she relished the ability to clean herself without wincing at every tender spot. Too bad the potion didn’t take care of bruising.

Thankfully, Ginny seemed to have dropped her earlier questions as they dried off and dressed. A quick charm that Professor McGonagall had taught her both dried and tamed her impossible hair in an instant. Not wishing to spend her entire day fighting with it (perhaps I should just chop it all off) she pulled it back in a low tail and wrapped an elastic around it. She ignored another bout of Ginny’s eye rolling at the fact she wasn’t going to do anything more in way of preparation and lead the way out.

Have two boys for your best friends could be irritating and liberating all at once. For one, they were such boys! Thankfully, they censored their more randy subjects when around the girls, mainly because Hermione was viewed as a modern-day version of a Puritan and Ginny was… well… Ginny, but that meant that they had to listen to hour after hour of Quidditch. As the girls entered the Great Hall, Harry and Ron caught sight of them. Though they were still too far away to hear what was being said, she could tell from their body language that they were changing the subject to as not to offend.

“Hello, Sleepy Head! Did you even remember to leave the library last night?” Emerald eyes flashed mischievously from behind a pair of round spectacles as Ron sniggered. Before she could answer, however, Ginny decided to put in her two bits.

“Oh, she had to. Seems that Miss Granger actually lost a battle with a book. She was probably nosing about in the restricted section.”

“Really? Hermione Granger? Breaking the rules? Tut, tut. What would Professor McGonagall say?” Ron grinned broadly at her. “I think you should get detention for that one, I really do. Don’t you agree, Harry?”

“Completely. Miss Granger,” Harry gave her what he probably thought was a good impression of Professor Snape, “you shall serve detention this afternoon by going to Honeydukes with your friends. While there you will completely ignore everything your dentist parents have ever taught you and buy things that will most likely do irreparable damage to your teeth.”

“And it serves you right!” Ginny was attempting to look like McGonagall, though the fact that she erupted into giggles ruined the overall effect. There was nothing to do but roll her eyes and tolerate the well-meaning intentions of her three friends. They ate their fill at breakfast, not knowing yet if they would return in time for lunch, and then headed out with the rest of the students who were going to the village for the day. Hermione was trying her best to look interested in Ron’s enthusiastic explanation of some particularly tricky Quidditch maneuver. Harry and Ginny were playing their usual game of trying to be a couple without actually admitting they were a couple, something Hermione feared they would continue to do until one or both of them finally confessed to themselves that they were in love. If it were possible to beat such a realization into someone’s skull, she would have already tried it.

~***~

She had hardly touched her dinner that night, thought it was only partly due to the needlessly large amount of sweets and warm butterbeer she had indulged in during the day. As ordered she had purchased a good many tooth-decaying sweets, including her favorites; peppermint toads and chocolate frogs. She had always thought amphibians had a certain… cuteness… about them. She also bought a good number of tooth flossing string mints (We said bad things, Hermione!). Somehow she had managed to convince the others to grant her enough time to purchase three new books (Don’t you have enough of those already, Hermione?) and Harry had treated them all to double sized sundaes. In the sunlight and crisp Autumn air, they had enjoyed a day of no classes, no demanding teachers and, since the trio had ended up with a detention after attempting to jinx the Gryffindor team brooms, no Draco, Crabbe and Goyle.

With her stomach still filled with sugar and cream, she had only nibbled a few vegetables and a bit of ham from her plate before returning to the common room to do some studying (But it’s Saturday Hermione!) before turning in. She found it difficult to concentrate on the many dates and facts of history, however, since her mind kept drifting to the planned activities the next morning. She knew it was only her imagination, but she thought she could almost hear the blades in The Rapier Room singing out to her, inviting her to come for a visit. In her mind’s eye she could picture them, still and beautiful, the firelight dancing along their gleaming edges. She longed for the controlled elegance and grace of them, so very different from the chaos that was the life of a sixteen-year-old girl. Eventually, she gave up on studying and opted to turn in early, mumbling some silly excuse about the healing potion she had taken that morning was making her tired.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy. She woke often in the night, and to her irritation, her sword hand tingled, an odd feeling of emptiness about it. In all her years of training, she had never been affected in this manner before. As she rolled over and snuggled more deeply within her covers, she pondered the differences between sparring with her grandfather and sparring with Professor Snape. Grandfather loved her, and in spite of his teaching her how to fence, he still considered her to be his princess, a delicate little flower. He had never put his full talent against her, always taking care not to bruise her pride. Professor Snape, on the other hand, held no such affection for her. He had tested her skills, and every time she had found a way through his defenses, he had upped the ante. Would he be even more ruthless in the morning? Shivering in anticipation of the coming session, she curled herself tightly into a ball underneath the thick comforter.

She caught a few more quick bouts of sleep before she her internal clock alerted her that it was time to get up. The house elves, the dear things, had been more than willing to do a rush job on cleaning her workout clothes. She had an order for more penned to send off with the Monday morning post. Slipping into the stretchy leggings and sports bra, she ignored the gooseflesh brought on by the chill in the room. Honestly! You’d think some clever wizard would have found a magical equivalent to central heat and air by now! She pulled her robes over her head and grabbed a pair of comfortable shoes. Walking across the frigid floor in bare feet so as not to wake Lavender or Pavarti, she crept out of her dormitory, made her way down the stairs, through the common room and out the portrait hole.

The halls were deadly quiet. Even Peeves had moved on to better pranking grounds by now. Still, she kept to the shadows, moving through the darkened halls and down empty staircases towards her goal. Her excitement continued to grow as she neared The Rapier Room, so much so that it was all she could do not to run the remainder of the way there. She had slipped her shoes on once she had exited the portrait hole to shield her feet from the stone floors, but once she was inside the room with its thick carpet, she kicked them off, bending over to place them neatly under the chair. Shucking off her robe and folding it before setting it down, she took advantage of her early arrival by stretching out. The potion had worn off, but it had served to speed the muscles in their healing so that she was only a little tender.

Pulling herself into that place in her mind where there was only body and breath, she began moving through the poses, challenging the muscles to bend in ways that most people would have thought impossible. It had all started as a game in her youth, watching her mother when she was practicing. Then she had still had the flexibility of childhood, when bones were still soft enough that you would twist yourself into a pretzel. Staring yoga then had allowed her to keep most of that flexibility, she surmised now that she had her legs in a full split, hands wrapped around her ankles and her chest pressed flat against the floor.

“I did not know that the human spine was capable of such a position.” She turned her head to the side, still in the same posture, and saw that Professor Snape had arrived. He was without his outer robes and was removing the severe black jacket he was wearing.

“Not without a lot of practice.” She sat up, brought her legs together, then rolled back, placing her feet on the floor and standing up, all in one smooth motion. Turning back to face her teacher, she tilted her head to one side at his arched brow.

“Do try not to be such a show off, Miss Granger.” He crossed the room to the case holding the foils they had used before. “Until you’ve built up greater strength, we shall stick to the lighter blades.” Removing them from the case, he turned towards her. “You have worked with heavier blades?”

“Yes, Sir.” She accepted her foil and stepped back a proper distance from him as he took up his own position. They exchanged salutes and then began.

As before, she moved first. She just didn’t have his patience. Not that it would have made a difference; he was far beyond her in skill level. Still, every time she managed to find a way through his defense was a victory. Of course, she doubted that she was going to leave him looking like a two legged Dalmatian when she was finished. His own movements were breathtaking. He moved like quick silver, quick and deadly with a grace that would make a prima ballerina seethe with jealousy. It reminded her of films she had seen of famous martial artists who had studied their art since the time they could walk, ever conscious of just how much damage, how much lethal force was at their disposal.

The blood pounded in her ears, her breathing ragged in spite of her attempts to keep it even. She watched his eyes for indications of every move, but still he surprised her. He just didn’t give anything away, not even a leading indication with his body. Her arms and shoulders were screaming at her in protest and he didn’t even show signs of growing weary. He was sweating, just as she was, but he looked as though he could continue this for the entire day. Still fearing that she would be subject to his cold ridicule should she beg off, she pressed onward. This was not Potions, and she would not be tormented as though it were.

Press forward, fall back, parry, attack, everything moved so quickly that she couldn’t help but become wrapped up inside it all. It was like a whirlwind of mental commands roaring inside her mind. She tried to shut out the weariness her arms and shoulders, forced herself to ignore the way her foil trembled as she grew weaker. She was desperate, but for something that she knew he would never give her. Five full years in his class, now in her sixth, he had never once uttered a word of praise for her, never once acknowledged her hard work and love for learning. An insufferable know-it-all. An annoying Gryffindor. That was what he thought of her, what he considered her. She was a fool if she believed that she could do anything, could know anything that would change that opinion.

The years of snide remarks and barely concealed insults burned within her. With a soft growl she launched a new attack that he countered effortlessly. Determined to leave at least one mark on him to match those he had give her, she made a desperate move… and was captured. Slender, iron strong fingers gripped her wrist fiercely as he pulled her forward until her shoulder was in line with his body. He held her there for a brief moment that seemed to stretch out for eternity, and then bent down to speak against her ear.

“Passion, anger and frustration are death to the duelist, Miss Granger.” His voice was a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the fire. She shivered as his breath caused the short hairs that had escaped from her braid to tickle the edge of her ear. “When you allow emotions to rage out of control, they cause you to make foolish moves. A true opponent could have easily ended your life just now.” His fingers began to tighten on her wrist until the bones began to grind together. She gasped and opened her hand, the foil landing onto the carpet with a soft thud. “I believe that will be all for today.”

He released her and she stepped back quickly, fighting the urge to rub her now aching wrist as he gave her a salute, then claimed the fallen blade. Again he summoned a cloth and wiped them clean before returning them to the case. He back was still to her when he spoke. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Misters Potter and Weasley?”

“Sir?” That came out of nowhere. “We’re friends, sir.”

He turned around to face her again, his expression unreadable. “Just friends? Nothing more?”

She frowned. “No sir, only friends.” He nodded, his eyes flicking downward. She followed his gaze to look at her exposed midriff and flinched as she recalled the bruises there, new ones already joining them.

“Is there an intimate who would be in the position to see you without your usual robes, then?” She flushed as she realized he was asking if there was a lover who might find the evidence of their sessions.

“No, Professor.” She felt as though her entire face were on fire. “Only… Ginny Weasley saw them yesterday morning, when we were…” She trailed off, not entirely comfortable about talking to a male teacher about showering. He seemed to understand, however. At least he didn’t seem to think that she and Ginny were more than friends.

“What did you tell her?”

“That I fell in the library.” She met his gaze again and was surprised that he seemed to be trying to fight a smile at this.

“Entirely plausible, coming from you.” He retrieved his jacket and tossed her robes to her. “Come with me. I think we may be able to remedy the problem.” He gave her enough time to fasten her robe and slip on her shoes before leading the way. Exiting the upper floors, he led her into the dungeons and to the room where Potions classes were held. He motioned for her to take one of the seats before his personal work space while he gathered ingredients from his store room and brought them over.

He handed her a shrivel fig vine. “Chop that finely, and try to make the pieces as even as possible.” With a softly uttered spell, he ignited the fire under his cauldron and poured in a liter of water from a heavy brown bottle. “Your technique is strong, the foundations are there, but you will need to gain more physical strength if you’re to be able to hold your own against a real opponent.”

The knife in her hand hovered over the vine. Had he just… had he just said something nice to her?

“Keep working. I’m sure you don’t wish to miss breakfast.” He added something from a crystal bottle, but all she could make of the label was ‘venom’.

“Sir, what is that?”

“Venom from a female fetuckur serpent. What do you know of them?”

“They live in the southern hemisphere. The females differ from the males because they have a neurotoxin for venom while the males are more like a standard pit viper. A bite from a female can paralyze a fully grown elephant, causing the animal to suffocate because the lungs no longer work, much like the curare poison from South America works.”

“Correct, Miss Granger. Now, what use would the venom be in medicinal potions?”

She pondered this, considering the properties of the venom carefully. “Topical uses only, to deaden muscle spasms and nerve endings. It lasts longer than curare, but it’s still only temporary.”

“Again, correct. Now, what of the shrivel fig vine you are supposed to be cutting?”

She blushed and lowered her head to continue cutting the vine as she spoke. “It can reduce swelling in the tissues when mixed with water from the Dead Sea. Is that what you put into the cauldron, then?”

“Gratifying to see that you extend your studies beyond the assigned books. None of that was in any of yours texts so far. Now, why would I be adding extract of ginger to this?” He was, indeed, adding ginger. The spicy, pungent aroma burned the membranes of her nose. Her brow furrowed as she went over the entries on the root in her mind.

“It… it increases blood flow. Taken internally it can raise the body temperature and in large enough doses can be used to bring on a late menstrual cycle if it is not due to pregnancy. Topically it encourages an increase in blood flow to the surface of the skin… breaking up blood clots.” She grinned as she put it all together. “It’s an ointment or rub. The venom will take away tenderness, the shrivel fig and Dead Sea water will reduce the swelling and the ginger will encourage the blood to break up and be reabsorbed by the body, making the bruises fade.”

“And the mandrake oil?” He unstoppered the vial in question and began to add it to the cauldron.

“Speeds the whole process up, reducing what could take a week to just a day or two.”

“I’ll likely never say this out loud again, Miss Granger, but ten points to Gryffindor.” His smile was slight and well contained as he waited for her to finish with the vine. She lowered her eyes, blushing again. If she had just earned a college level degree in all of her most favorite subjects, she would not have been happier than she was at that moment. She finished with the shrivel fig vine and set the knife down. Scooping up the carefully sliced sections, she added them to the cauldron as he stirred. “Why did you not tell Miss Weasley the truth?”

The truth? She pondered what he meant, then remembered her excuse for the bruises. “Oh, well… it’s private. I mean… she’s not likely to understand why I let the most feared teacher in the school come at me with a sword. And Harry and Ron, they’d likely drag me to St. Mungo’s kicking and screaming, and then come after you. Besides, none of them would ever understand… they couldn’t fathom…”

“The thrill of it all?” He nodded to himself as the potion turned an interesting shade of lavender, then picked up a tin of something thick and gloopy. She watched as he added to the cauldron and the potion began to solidify into a soft salve. “They couldn’t begin to understand the delicate demands of fencing on the body and the personal rewards at being excellent at something so graceful. It is more useful than ballet and far more beautiful than poisons and hexes. Modern man uses weapons that hurl projectiles and impossible speeds and splatter skulls into so much jelly, but there is an art to being able to kill with a blade.” He summoned several small tins from the open store room and began to transfer the salve into them. “Not that I believe you have ever claimed a life, Miss Granger. You are still far too young and innocent to have shed blood. I would wager you were even shocked at your actions the night you attacked me in the Shrieking Shack.”

She flushed a brilliant scarlet at the reminder. She had been mortified that she had attacked a teacher. “Well… that is… you weren’t listening to us. You were about to make a horrible mistake!”

“That is a matter of opinion, Miss Granger. I wouldn’t be at all sad to see Black reduced to a mindless vegetable. I have never liked the man.” He capped off all but the last tin. “Remove your robe.” She obeyed without question as he came around the work table, dipping his fingers into the salve. She froze in shock as she realized he intended to apply the salve himself. Those strong, elegant fingers that had been grinding the bones of her wrist together mercilessly less than an hour ago were now gently rubbing substance, now rendered sweet smelling by the thickening agent, into her skin. “I trust that is the only time you’ve attacked a teacher.”

She nodded mutely, and then recalled something else. “Oh… well… there was one other time that I…”

He looked up at her, dipping his fingers into the tin again. “Another time? I haven’t heard about that one, Miss Granger. Please, do enlighten me as to who the unlucky individual was.”

“Well… it was you, Professor. My first year… during the first Quidditch match. We… Ron and I that is… we thought you were the one jinxing Harry’s broom.” She bit down on her lip, lowering her eyes from his own. He was silent for a long moment before he began rubbing the salve into another bruise.

“The flames. My robes caught on fire.” He hit a ticklish area and she stifled a giggle as she squirmed. “I had wondered who was behind that. I so often write off first years as being next to useless that it never occurred to me that you were the culprit. However, after you so boldly lied to not only me but also Professor McGonagall on Halloween, that you would set me aflame shouldn’t come as surprise.”

“I never!” She stopped as he met her gaze again, one brow arched.

“Still sticking to that ridiculous tale that you thought you could take on a fully grown troll by yourself?” She remembered the rest of that night clearly and lowered her head again. “I thought not. I may not make it a habit to praise students of other houses, Miss Granger, but even I can admit you’re too intelligent to do anything that stupid. Minerva would have realized it as well except that she is too blinded by her adoration of you to consider the possibility that you have a troublesome streak in you.”

They fell silent as he finished tending to her bruises. The confessions had relaxed her and she no longer felt as awkward at the fact he was touching her. Her eyes watched his fingers as he smoothed the salve into her skin until it vanished, marveling at the heat of his fingers. There were no further sounds other than that of the last flames underneath his cauldron and their own breathing. His movements were slow and tender as he worked over every visible bruise, he didn’t ask her to remove the sports bra, ending with an especially ugly one just under her left breast. He started working the salve into the center of it, the tingling sensation caused by the venom numbing the soreness there. His fingers worked in slow circles, moving outward until he was treating the very edges of the bruise, slipping them just under the edge of the black elastic towards the end to catch where the darkened skin hid. Her breath caught at the motion, feeling an odd fluttering low in her belly, then feeling saddened as he removed his hand and capped the tin before handing it to her.

“I’ll keep the others here. Let me know when you have need of another.” He waited as she hurriedly put on her robe, then handed her the salve. “Use it before you go to bed and when you get up in the morning.” He moved to his store room and came back with another vial similar to the one that had been on her bedside table the previous morning. He handed it to her and she drank it unquestioningly. “Tuesday evening, then, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, sir.” She tucked a straying lock behind her ear and tried to meet his gaze bravely before turning about.

“Oh, and Miss Granger,” she stopped and turned to look back at him, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my awarding your house points to anyone else. It could cause… complications.”

And don’t expect things to change around others. He didn’t have to say it, the meaning was implied. He would be every bit the bastard around the other students, but somehow that suddenly seemed all right. “Not a word, Professor.”

He nodded, then turned away to clean up his work space. It was a silent and clear dismissal… and the signal for her stomach to remind her how empty it was. Thankfully, breakfast was served longer on weekends, and Harry and Ron wouldn’t drag themselves out of bed for at least another half an hour. She should have enough time to change clothes and tidy up a bit before it was time to eat.

And perhaps by then she would no longer feel the heat of Professor Snape’s fingers on her skin.