In Love and War

Minerva had done as she said she would, and a temporary infirmary had been pulled together on the first floor. One of the spare bedroom was opened up, the door unsealed, the sheets taken off the bed, and the windows flung open to allow fresh air. Two beds were prepared, one on either side of the room, though a screen had been hastily put up between them.

Snape watched the preparations dazedly, his attention all too focused on the hundred-odd pounds of adolescent female--or should he call her a young woman?--in his arms. She was not bleeding as much now, since he had had the presence of mind to use a clotting spell, but it appeared his pajamas were already ruined. No matter; clothing could always be replaced, but she...no. As soon as those thoughts began to take form, he intervened. Right now the best thing he could do was distance himself from the event. He would think of other things right now. He would force himself to list the twelve uses of dragon's blood, name the ingredients of every potion ever mentioned in the NEWTs, anything other than allowing himself to notice the feeling of fear that gripped his chest--

"Severus?"

He jumped slightly, and Hermione stirred against his chest.

Minerva was frowning at him. "Severus, I said we have the cot made up. Can you put her down now?"

Slowly, reluctantly, he carried Hermione over the bed and sat her down as gently as possible. He detached her hands from his shirt and, after a moment's pause, attempted to rest them on her stomach.

"Thank you. That will be all," Minerva said with a curt nod before turning back to the girl on the bed.

"Are you all right?" Tonks asked him. "You look a little woozy. You aren't one of those blokes who can't stand the sight of blood, are you? I mean, I wouldn't have pinned you for the type, but you never know now, do you? I mean..."

"I'm just fine, thank you," he snapped. "I'm most certainly not--woozy."

He left the room, his dignity smarting somewhat--the very idea, that he was the type of man who became faint-hearted around blood--and him being a former Death Eater. I could tell them I wouldn't have lasted long if I were the type to get the vapors at the sight of a little gore. Speaking of which, he noted as he looked down at this clothing, he really should change out of these bloodstained things.

A quick wash-up with the basin and pitcher in his room (Praise be to Merlin for warming spells in the middle of December), a fresh set of clothes, and a comb through his hair, and Snape was ready to face the world--or he would have been, if he had any intention of doing so. No, the first light of dawn was coming through the window, and he suddenly realized how tired he was. Morning had come and Lupin would be back in human form. The other Order members could deal with it.

Something was troubling him, however. Perhaps he should see about Hermione, just to make sure Minerva and Tonks weren't botching anything up out of sheer ignorance, or clumsiness. He weighed the merits of disturbing them--he had no excuse, no good reason, not even to justify this to himself. The argument continued in his head until he realized that he was standing outside the converted bedroom and knocking on the door. As he had expected, he did not get past Minerva's guard. He was shooed unceremoniously from the room and told to stay out while Minerva and Tonks attended to "certain business" only appropriate for females.

Snape knew he wasn't needed, and felt both grateful and resentful as he sat down on a chair someone had placed in the hallway outside the door. He didn't intend to fall asleep; he was meaning to get back to his room and start reading a series of articles on potions making that a rival of his had published (all theoretical, and likely nonsense or carefully rearranged plagiarism, or both), but Snape's eyes began to close against his will and his head nodded forward. He was still sitting there in the hall when a commotion came from inside the room. The door to the impromptu infirmary swung open and Minerva sailed out.

She waited for him to jerk out of his light sleep, though she said nothing about him dozing off in the middle of the corridor. "I think you'll want to have a look at this," she said, her voice saying clearly there would be No Messing About.

Various thoughts, none of them flattering, shot through his mind, though he truthfully didn't know what to expect. He walked into the room and went straight to Hermione Granger's bedside. She lay in bed, appearing to sleep peacefully. She seemed to be naked, but a blanket was tucked up to her shoulders to cover her. Snape could see angry scratches beginning above the blanket, but it was nothing that time and a few simple spells wouldn't see to.

"Well, what is it?" he asked irritably. "You didn't bring me here to tell you to give her a spoonful of Dreamless Sleep and use a few basic spells for some little nicks and cuts. I don't see anything serious."

"That was what we thought too," said McGonagall. "But look more carefully." She pointed to the base of Hermione's neck.

Snape looked closer, and frowned. "I don't see anything there. No, wait...is that?"

A row of red, swollen tooth marks lay along the ridge of her collarbone. Snape reached out and traced around them with his finger, feeling the heat in her skin centering around the bites. She stirred beneath his touch and moaned weakly, her eyes opening briefly before she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

"He bit her," was all he could say.

Minerva nodded. "I'm afraid so."

The silence stretched on. "I think I need to sit down," Snape said finally. He saw Tonks begin to open her mouth, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "I'm perfectly well, never fear. You won't be rid of me yet, it's just a bit more than I expected for the early morning hours."

It was the truth to a certain extent; he was tired. But more than that, he just wanted to say "No." Merlin, no. Not right now. He just wanted to say, "Enough!" and have everything stop. He was so tired right now... however, he knew better than to expect things to improve. "Things bad begun make strong themselves by worse," he thought, something he remembered reading from a Muggle play--no, written by that wizard that the Muggles loved so much--Shakespeare, it was. Well, no matter, but still...Snape couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something larger, though what that something was he didn't know.

Still, no reason to lose your head over the situation. Realizing how long he's been sitting there in silence, he glanced up and saw that the two witches were watching him. He turned to them, not knowing what reaction he expected. Tonks was frowning, but from Minerva there was only a look of intense sympathy on her face. No, no, no. This is not what you need, Severus. The day you start welcoming pity is the day you'll know you've lost it for good.

"I'll go get Professor Dumbledore," Tonks said, making a sudden move for the door. "You two can talk things over."

Minerva watched her go, then turned back to Snape, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Is there something I should know?"

"I don't take your meaning, Minerva. If you want to say something, speak plain."

"I can't precisely explain it. All I can say is that you seem...off."

"Well, nothing new there, or so I've heard. Allegedly I was born on the wrong side of the bed." He laughed humourlessly at this. He hadn't meant to even touch the subject of his childhood. It wasn't something that he discussed, particularly not with the Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmistress to boot.

Apparently, she was not in a professorial mood. Her eyes narrowed and she said, exasperated, "Severus, I know you're a bastard. You do a fine job of proving that every day, but that's not what I'm saying. If anything, you aren't being enough of a bastard right now."

He arched one eyebrow: "The Head of Gryffindor using such language? I'm shocked."

"Well, if you want to avoid the issue, so be it. I won't press further, though I must say," she paused, pressing her lips together, "I am concerned about you."

"Concerned? How must uncommonly kind of you."

She just shook her head. "I think it's time someone really was worried about you."

"What do you mean? As if Albus didn't breath down my neck enough, now I need the official Gryffindor Caring Committee to dispense benevolent concerns on my part?" he sneered at her.

She threw her hands up in the air. "No wonder no one ever gets close to you. You drive them away or you drive them mad, which ever one comes first."

I'd watch it if I were you, Minerva, he thought. In case you didn't notice, this is not the best time to cross me. "It's not really any of your concern, is it now?"

She sank down into a chair across from him and rubbed at her temples wearily. "Oh, Severus. Do you really want to spend the rest of you life in self-imposed isolation, bitter and miserable?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I prefer my own company, and would rather not waste my time with a bunch of bores, dunderheads, and people who oh-so-sincerely insist on expressing their concern when they really have no business doing so?"

"Yes, and I don't believe it."

"And why is my personal life suddenly an issue here?" Snape found that he was clutching rather too hard at the back of his chair--hard enough that his knuckles were turning white and splinters were digging into his hand. He was unprepared for the wave of pure anger that swept through him. If she knows what's good for her, she should stop. I'm not going to stay this calm much longer.

It seemed she did not hear his mental pleas. "The work you do for the Order--for the cause, it concerns all of us. You know very well that our lives are in your hands. If there's something wrong, we have a right to know. Any gap in your disguise, any chink in your armor, any minor slip-up and Voldemort could get through. Now, I know Albus trusts you implicitly, but any problems you have, even if they're personal, if they affect you mentally..." Minerva looked down at her hands. She had put it as delicately as she possibly could. What more could she do?

But at that particular moment it was too much for Severus. The barrier of coldness, of icy, indifferent disdain gave way. "You don't trust me, do you? All along, you've never trusted me. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. That's what you you'd like to think, isn't it? The only way you can stomach a former follower of the Dark Lord is to have them be some sort of martyr, who's constantly tormenting themself over what dark deeds they've done, and repays for them by being all selfless love and compassion towards humanity. That isn't me, but do you think I haven't suffered? Do you think I'm spared that torment? You do, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, Minerva. There are many forms of penitence."

She looked at him long and hard, but neither of them flinched. "Severus, I'm not saying you don't feel remorse, and I'm certainly not saying you haven't suffered. I just think I'd fear for you less if you seemed capable of having feelings...capable of loving something, anything."

"May I inquire as to why you chose this particular time to shed a light on my inner failings?"

She blinked. "I don't believe it's worth mentioning right now."

"If you're going to bother to say all that and than not..." He gave a little sigh, and looked at her with a combination of derision and frustration. "Women."

"Not interrupting an important conversation, I hope," said a cheerful voice from the door.

Albus, Snape thought. Flitting around in high spirits whilst the rest of us mortals are down in the muck, managing to bugger up our own lives quite well, and still doing a good job of interfering with other people's messes.

"Severus and I were just--"

"No, nothing important," Snape said smoothly. "Though our news is another matter. Most unfortunately, it appears that Miss Granger has lived up to her usual talent for getting herself into sticky situations. Let's just say this one is a bit worse than I thought she would be able to manage on her first day of the Christmas holidays."

"Well, out with it, man!" said Alastor Moody, who Snape hadn't even noticed appear in the doorway. No doubt about it, he was gathering quite the crowd. Harry and Ron had arrived and were now gazing at him expectantly--quite the unusual situation, as they weren't exactly models of concentration in the classroom.

He never did get around to providing an explanation--before he had formulated his sentence, Minerva had moved in and taken charge of the situation yet again, informing everyone else what had happened. After she finished, she cleared her throat and waited, the same mannerisms she used while teaching class. "Any questions?"

Ron spoke first. "What?"

"She's managed to get herself turned into a werewolf," Snape said. "A werewolf," he repeated very slowly, knowing exactly how much he was annoying the impatient Mr. Weasley, and getting a bitter sort of satisfaction from it. "It's not that difficult a concept and after all, I do seem to remember that you learned something pertaining to the subject in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class third year."

A silence filled the room, no one knowing how to break it. Finally there came a sigh and a scraping sound against the wood floor as Tonks dragged a chair from the corner to the center of the room and sat down with a loud sigh.

"Well, shit. This is bad."

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Snape said.

"Severus. Do we need to go through this again?"

"Terribly sorry, Minerva. Won't happen again." Amazing how much she sounds like my mother.

"What I'd like to know is who's going to have to tell her." said Mad-Eye Moody. "Whoever gets it, I don't envy you the job. She's not a bad sort of girl--I'd hate to have to spring the news on her," he admitted gruffly.

Well, it looks like you've managed to charm more than one hard soul, Hermione.

"I believe the best person to tell her would be Remus," said Minerva, "but since that's not possible, I'll do it myself. I'm her Head of House, and I've been her teacher for seven years. I think I should know her well enough that I can talk with her. I know she trusts me, and I hope...I only hope it will do. I suppose it will have to. For now, I think we should let her rest. That's the best thing we can do for her now--just let her "

There were nods and murmurs of agreement with not a few looks of relief--no one had wanted the task--and a few yawns mixed in.

"Since it seems none of us have had a good night's sleep, perhaps we should adjourn this little meeting, if there's no further business?" Dumbledore said. "There's enough to deal with when we're well-rested. Everything will still be here when we return."

"Of course, we need to see that Remus is settled in," said Minerva. "And I'll check on Miss Granger--she seems to be running a fever, and I wouldn't want to leave her alone too long."

"As you see fit, Minerva, though I'd like to have a word with you first in my rooms. I'm sure Miss Granger will be well cared for." Dumbledore clasped his hands behind him and nodded. "Now, if there are no further questions, I shall retire."

"I'll go check on Remus," Tonks said. "I think I have some salve left over...perhaps it's in the cupboard downstairs. If you'll excuse me..."

She hurried off down the hall, followed by the gradual trickling out of the crowd. Only Snape stayed behind. Dumbledore shot him an indecipherable look, but said nothing. Snape crossed the room and looked down at the figure on the bed, not knowing what he was doing.

She lay there before him on the bed, her hair spilling out around her in wild tendrils, her skin pale except for the cheeks flushed with fever. For the first time, Snape was able to look at Hermione uninterrupted, to notice the way her eyelashes curled on her cheeks, the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, the way her pink lips looked damp and far too... Before he knew what he was doing, he was touching her, running his fingers along the curve of her cheek, the outline of her jaw, brushing his thumb against the corner of her mouth. Oh God. What am I doing? He knew he had to stop before he wanted more. Regretfully, he took his hand away and made for the door.

You're losing it, Severus. Why are you doing this? Why are you letting her matter to you? He watched her as he closed the door, feeling a mixture of anger and self-disgust, and yet... if he could, would he have it any other way? He wasn't letting her matter--he had no choice. Somehow she had found her way into his heart, and he was powerless to stop it. That doesn't mean you have to act on it. She has no idea--no idea what she's doing to you. No idea what you think about her, what you want--because you do want it, you know you do... So be it, he couldn't control his emotions, but he could control his actions. And he was nothing if not a man of careful, tight control.

Hermione had drifted in and out of consciousness as Snape carried her down the hall. She came to partially, only to feel herself jouncing uncomfortably, an upside-down view of the world swimming in and out of focus, but never fitting together. Up was down, down was up, and all the while she felt helplessly out of control, struggling against a pair of arms that refused to release her. The floor was the ceiling and she wanted desperately to walk on it, but she couldn't escape. She had to, she must, but she couldn't. Couldn't. Get. Away. She continued to struggle, but then the arms were putting her down and she had nothing to push against, and she suddenly felt bereft. She wanted the arms back but now she was surrounded by starchy blankets and a rough pillow, and there was a cool hand on her forehead.

No matter how she blinked her vision refused to obey; she saw only a great blur of shadowy figures moving around her, their voices indistinct yet still drumming against her skill. Hermione heard herself crying out, and the cold hands returned and there was a soothing voice there pushing at the edge of her consciousness, but it couldn't get though, and everything remained fuzzy. Her body wasn't her own and she wasn't in control; she felt ill, running hot enough that she pushed the blankets from her, only to find her teeth chattering from the cold moments later. The sickness came and went; she found herself vomiting into a basin as a pair of capable hands smoothed her hair back and held her head as she wretched. The hands suddenly made her think of her mother and she remembered being a little girl sick in bed with one of her parents always constantly attentive, reading to her or bringing her soup or tea and toast in bed. Being the only she child, she had always been loved and fussed over, even when her parents didn't know quite what to do with her. Still, they had been there for her, and it wasn't until this moment that Hermione realized just how much she missed them right now. All those years she had spent distancing herself, trying to prove that she was independent and got along just fine on her own, and now she wanted them more than anything else in the world.

If she had been more alert, she might have been embarrassed at the sudden outpouring of tears, but in her current state the sobbing was only one more thing. Someone held her against their shoulder and rocked her gently, saying "There, there" as she wept and whimpered for mummy as if she were a little girl all over again. And like a little girl she felt nothing, no shame or hesitation as her nightgown was stripped from her body and hands brushed against her clammy skin. Then someone was whispering to her, telling her to sleep, and she lay back obediently, grateful, so grateful that she didn't have to think for herself right now when her will had abandoned her.

What brought her out of her sleep of oblivion was a simple touch, though the fact that it was Professor Snape who was touching her rendered the touch no longer simple. He was touching her with only a single figure, tracing a small circle on her skin. She didn't understand; he was touching her like she mattered, something which made no sense, even to her muddled brain. And yet...she saw the way he was looking down at her, the way their eyes met before exhaustion took over and she sank back into the fog again. He looked as if he were, well, concerned. Afraid, even.

A confused series of images flicked through Hermione's mind. The last thing she remembered clearly was collapsing like some vapor-struck hysterical ninny into Severus Snape's arms. In that case...it must have been him who carried her. That struck her as strange--Snape coming to look for her? Why? He certainly wasn't the type to play hero or savior, so why...why had he come for her? It wasn't as if she were his favorite person, if even had a favorite person in the first place, which Hermione rather doubted. This certainly would have been something to puzzle over, if she had had the energy. Instead she closed her eyes and let the world recede from her.

She could still hear the conversation going on around her, though it was as if she were listening to a bad connection on the radio. The words faded in and out, until something stood out above the rest.

"He bit her."

It echoed dully in her head. He bit her. Bit her...bitter...bit her.

And she remembered. Crawling on the floor, slivers poking into her hands and her stomach, her wand still out of reach. The sound of claws against the wood boards, the weight on top of her suddenly, hot breath against her neck and face, and sharp pain as claws tore past her clothing and raked against her skin. There was the sound of her scream, and then a far worse pain as the wolf-man's jaw clamped against her shoulder. She rolled away, trying to escape, but she felt teeth pierce the soft flesh on her chest even as she moved away. And then somehow she was scrambling, half crawling, half walking for the door, staggering as the world suddenly reeled around her. She steadied herself against the wall and kept going, gasping in pain as she walked forward unsteadily. Was she breathing? Was that her making those sharp, gasping sounds as the world spun and everything went dark and then light, so light it hurt her eyes, and it was as if she could smell someone coming and then Snape was looming over her. "What? What are you doing here?" she managed to say before her vision faded to pinpricks of light and her body simply refused to support itself any longer.

If she hadn't been in a heavily sedated state, Hermione would have begun to panic in earnest. Hmm...I wonder what Professor McGonagall gave me. It sure makes you drowsy. I feel so heavy..."

Before she completely gave in into the effects of whatever potion she had been given, she heard Snape and McGonagall's voices raise, obviously agitated. She couldn't make out all the words they were saying, but the emotion was obvious enough to make up for that.

"The only way you can stomach a former follower of the Dark Lord is to have them be some sort of martyr, who's constantly tormenting...by being all selfless love and compassion towards humanity...you think I haven't suffered? Do you think I'm spared that torment... You do, don't you?...tell you something....many forms of penitence."

"Severus, I'm not saying you don't feel remorse...certainly not saying you haven't suffered... I'd fear for you less if you seemed capable of having feelings...capable of loving something, anything."

Love. Love and Severus Snape. What a strange combination that is, thought Hermione foggily. I wonder if he's ever loved anyone, or if he even could if he wanted to. How sad, never to love someone. Sad...

There were more voices and then the sound of footsteps leaving and the door closing. Was she alone? No...someone was walking towards her. She could almost sense the air currents shifting, swirling about, and bringing the scent of this person to her nose. Hermione could almost feel the hand before it touched her, gently stroking her, and instinctively she turned into the caress. Calloused fingers slipped over her skin, a rough thumb slipped over the edge of her lips and she almost gasped aloud. She hadn't know how erotic a single touch could be, and she was gripped with an urge to turn further into the touch, to kiss the palms of this stranger's hand and bite at his (for she was certain he was male--he smelled male) fingers...or was it a stranger? Her nostrils twitched at his scent...so familiar.

Then his touch was gone, and she knew that he had left her. Fighting against the effects of the potion, Hermione forced her heavy eyelids open just in time to see a black-clad man closing the door behind him. She had no doubt who it was, but this answer brought a whole new flood of questions.

It was Professor Snape.