Patience and Patient

When Severus collapsed, Hermione was finally able to close her gaping mouth and take action. Kneeling beside the motionless form at her feet, she put a hand to his forehead. He was burning up with fever--and so chilled his teeth chattered, though he remained unconscious. She'd have to get him warm, then she could assess the damage. Though she couldn't bundle him up until his wounds were examined, she could get him off the cold ground. Quickly transfiguring her woolen cloak, she levitated his prone form onto what was now a thick pad. She next charmed up one of her merry blue fires, setting it nearby. The air around the pair warmed rapidly, and though the sleeping man still shivered, his teeth had finally stopped chattering. She critically eyed his still form. He was smeared with mud, blood, and...unicorn blood? Good gods! What had happened? Surely he didn't... the thought broke off. He'd never stoop to such an act to stay alive. He was far too honorable. Putting her curiosity aside until he was well enough to tell her about his trials, she began determining the extent of his injuries. A simple cleansing spell and the assorted muck melted away, leaving the pale form battered, but clean. As the grime disappeared, Hermione couldn't help but be distracted by his nudity. She'd never been face to face with a naked man before, and this particular man was dear to her heart. Dragging her traitorous mind from such thoughts--and her eyes away from the black, curly, thatch of hair at his crotch (and all it framed)--she set down to business.

Hermione was no mediwitch, but had taken an independent study course in basic healing with Madame Pomfrey last year. She'd thought it prudent to know the basics while the war against Voldemort was still raging. Calming her wildly beating heart, Hermione studied the figure laid out before her with a skilled eye. Most of the injuries were superficial, thus easily dealt with. His knees were beat to hell, requiring more effort. The parallel slashes raking down his right shoulder and back were, by far, the ugliest of his injuries. She looked them over carefully--four ragged-edged lacerations...probably some type of claw mark. The flesh had gone an ugly red, with thick, orange-tinged pus seeping from the slashes. The wound stank of rotten fruit--definitely poisoned. She'd have to neutralize the poison and thoroughly clean the wound before she could risk closing it.

Rummaging in her pack, Hermione removed the precious box of potions. Thank Nimue she had brought so many in her typically 'better to be over prepared than not prepared at all' fashion. There were two different potions that might counteract the poison. The rotten fruit smell suggested a neurotoxin, so she chose the antidote suitable for poisonous snake bites and the like. Whispering a prayer that her choice wasn't wrong, she began pouring the solution into the wounds.

The potion worked immediately, the orange pus disappearing and the redness around the slashes returning to normal, if pale, skin. The wounds began to bleed freely, but the blood was red, and apparently normal. The disgusting smell also had abated. Pouring an antiseptic potion into the wound to sterilize it, Hermione grasped her wand tightly, murmuring the flesh-knitting charm repeatedly as she traced the wounds, wand nearly touching his skin. The wounds closed, leaving softly red lines of new skin in their wake. Hermione rocked back on her heels to rest for a moment. One wound dealt with...only fifty thousand or so to go. Sighing, she got back to work.

It was well into the afternoon before she'd gone over every inch of Severus and healed the multitude of injuries covering him. The knees and the palms of his delicate hands gave her the most trouble. Apparently he'd been crawling at some point, for both were torn and bruised. From time to time she rested, gathering her strength and her wits before continuing. At last, she finished.

Severus had not stirred during her ministration. This worried her, but didn't surprise her--his outward injuries were only part of the problem. It shocked Hermione what havoc a few short days could cause in the man--normally lean, he was now pitifully thin...his hair was clean, but still a rat's nest of tangles. His ribs protruded baldly, and dark patches circled his eyes as if bruised. He was obviously exhausted and suffering from illness, hunger, and exposure. Selecting a basic restful sleep potion from her stores, as well as a Pepper-up, she lifted his head, pouring the liquid between his lips and into the back of his throat. Steam curled gently from his ears and his fever began falling in earnest.

Though Hermione was exhausted she could not rest quite yet. She carefully set defensive wards around them, made certain her magical fire wasn't in danger of setting the surrounding trees aflame, then transfigured her handkerchief into a warm blanket. Removing nothing but her hiking boots, she lay next to the sleeping man, covering them both with the blanket before gathering him into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder. When he woke he'd probably attempt to take every point possible from Gryffindor for "behavior unbecoming a student," but she didn't give a damn. She'd worried about him for days; now she felt compelled to hold him close, as if her arms could keep him safe. She thought briefly of transfiguring him a night shirt, but she was tired, and it did feel so lovely to wrap her arms 'round his naked chest. Sighing, Hermione fell into a light sleep.

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In Albus' sitting room, Minerva joined him in clock watching. As Hermione's hand spun to "Sleep" and Severus' turned to "Recovering," Albus swung Minerva into an impromptu waltz, eyes twinkling madly.

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Hermione woke in the dead of night to the soft, blue light of her magic fire--and an empty space beside her. She heard retching, and raising herself on her elbows, squinted in the semi-darkness. Severus had crawled from the pallet and, still on hands and knees, was heaving pitifully. Clambering up, Hermione grabbed her potion box. Choosing a serum for nausea, she hurried to his side.

Hermione fell to her knees and gathered his long, tangled hair away from his face. Unstopping the phial with her teeth, she spat out the cork and commanded him to drink. He complied, then rested, head hanging, until the nausea passed. With a quick spell she removed the traces of his illness and helped him back to bed.

"You shouldn't have gotten up, sir," she admonished softly.

"After all the trouble you've gone to on my behalf, it would have been unspeakably rude to vomit on you." Severus' voice was weak, but his snark intact. Hermione couldn't restrain a smile. She eased him back under the blanket, crawling in beside him. He gave her only token resistance when she pulled his head back down to her shoulder. He was still too weak to offer much struggle. Besides, if he ignored the glaring impropriety of lying naked next to a student, he was forced to admit that having Hermione's shoulder for a pillow, and her warm arms wrapped securely around him, was decidedly pleasant. Inhaling her spicy citrus scent, he allowed himself a tired (but smugly Slytherin) smile.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for behavior unbecoming a student," he mumbled softly into her shoulder, the smile not leaving his face.

Hermione snorted. If he was only taking off twenty points for the incredible cheek of her cuddling up to his naked body, he mustn't mind it as much as she'd have guessed.

"You are far too ill to know what you're saying, sir," she teased. "Besides, you can no longer deduct points on my account--Headmaster Dumbledore's expelled me."

"What?" he snarled, lifting his head for a moment to glare at her. He let it fall tiredly back to her shoulder and rumbled, "I'm going to kill Albus. But he'll have to wait his turn. My first priority is to insure Longbottom's demise." He drifted into sleep to the sound of her warm chuckle.

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Waking late the next morning, Severus knew where he was after only a moment's reflection. He could smell a faint, sweet, gingerness about him and he was warm, so blessedly warm! Sweet merciful Merlin, what uncalculated pleasure mere warmth was after the days of his ordeal. His earlier delirium had vanished, and though he still felt terribly weak, he knew the worst of his troubles were over. At least the worst of his physical troubles; what in Hades was he going to do about the owner of the soft arms which had held him so gently all night? Several highly inappropriate suggestions came to mind immediately. He wasn't a bloody Gryffindor, however--the situation required serious thought. Now, where had those arms gone to? Severus finally opened his eyes to mid-morning sun...and the sight of Hermione preparing to walk off down the trail.

"Miss Granger," he rumbled darkly, "exactly where is it that you think you are going?"

Startled, Hermione turned, a slow smile coming over her face as she noted how much better he looked this morning. "I have to get us some water, Professor," she explained, "I should be back shortly." Hermione's smile was easy and her words so warm that Severus dropped his eyes from her animated face, lest he give too much of himself away. As he did so, he noticed Hermione's wand lay next to him.

"Miss Granger," he said, his voice venturing briefly into his former disdain, "have you gone barking mad during the night? Kindly come collect your wand before you go traipsing off into the unknown."

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione blushed, but said coolly, "I didn't want to leave you alone and defenseless, sir." Severus was abashed at the sentiment. A wizard never voluntarily gave up his wand to another. The fact she'd done so warmed him in a way utterly different than her magical blue fire. Of course, he couldn't allow her to act so foolishly (no matter how charming the gesture).

"You will collect your wand immediately. You are far more likely to need it while blundering about in the forest than I will."

Hermione sighed, looking as if she wanted to argue the point for a moment, then obediently walked back to snatch her wand from the blanket. As she did so, black eyes never left her face. A niggling thought entered Severus' mind.

"Perhaps, Miss Granger," he said calmly, "when you return you might be kind enough to transfigure me some pajamas?" His eyes drank in the appealing flush spreading from her cheeks down her long neck.

"Oh, I'm sorry Professor," she replied, "I'm afraid--what with healing all your injuries--the need just slipped my mind. I'd be happy to do so when I return."

She gave him a clearly false look of innocence. Gryffindors were notoriously bad liars. What exactly was she lying about? Had she considered clothing him last night and decided not to? Why? He knew he was not a handsome man. Severus couldn't imagine what, if anything, a young witch could possibly find pleasing about his gangly form. In true Slytherin spirit, he decided to fish for clues.

"I am sorry to have caused you such trouble, Miss Granger." he purred.

"I'm surprised my sudden appearance yesterday did not give you nightmares. I must have looked quite hideous."

"Actually," Hermione replied with soft seriousness, "I do not think I have ever seen anything more beautiful in my life." She flushed again and turned, fleeing down the path.

A predatory smile crept over Severus' face.

"Interesting," he murmured.

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Hermione fairly bolted down the path until out of sight of the infinitely distracting Potions Master. Where in heaven had she found the will to say that? Godric Gryffindor would be proud of her today; she reeked of bravery and recklessness. At least her frank confession hadn't launched him into a tirade. The only visible reaction he'd given to her remark was a slight widening of his eyes. Insufferable man! How could she judge how to proceed if the man wouldn't give her one clue of what he was thinking? Well, that wasn't exactly true. Severus did give clues--they were just so small as to be almost inscrutable. This last year she'd perfected the art of Snape-watching while serving those fake detentions. Especially during those times when they'd remained in the lab beyond the time necessary for potion-making, simply to finish whatever discussion in which they were embroiled. He wasn't always nice during these debates; in fact, the discussion often turned very heated as two intelligent minds expressed differing opinions. Even when disparaging her conclusions, he seemed more open, more honest, and more accessible than she'd ever seen him. He neither treated her as a friend, nor treated her as a student. He spoke to her as a colleague, and she treasured it.

Always the epitome of propriety, he never referred to her as anything other than "Miss Granger," or simply "Granger," until the potion accident. She distinctly remembered him calling her "Hermione" as he flung her out of danger. Now, if Severus truly thought of her as nothing more than a student (or even colleague), she could very well imagine him attending on her deathbed and flatly refusing to call her anything but a very proper "Miss Granger." All professors insisted on proper forms of address--Professor Snape would most likely prefer death than do otherwise. Yet she'd heard him say, with her own ears, her given name.

"Interesting," she murmured.

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As pressing as the need was to puzzle out his "curvy young woman" problem, Severus had one need more urgent. If he didn't take a piss immediately he was going to be resting on a very wet pallet. He was glad she'd left; aside from the obvious, he didn't want her seeing how ridiculously weak he was. Nor did he want Miss Granger having to clean up after him like an errant puppy. He despised being sick; it was utterly humiliating (especially if one's only nurse was a curvy young woman about whom one was having deliciously inappropriate thoughts). Severus sighed--best get on with it. He refused to resort to crawling, and with great difficulty and disconcerting amount of effort, managed to find his legs and take a few trembling steps away from the pallet. Leaning heavily against the tree he chose to water, he managed the task without further injury to his pride. It took the rest of his waning strength to return to his rustic bed.

Damn! He'd hoped they could start back to Hogwarts today, but his insufferable weakness was not going to allow it. He knew Miss Granger had not applied for her Apparation license yet, she'd decided to wait until her schoolwork was completed. He'd never be able to manage it in his weakened state--and with an unfamiliar wand--without them both ending up splinched.

Unless she had brought his wand? She was an amazingly competent witch after all. He wouldn't mind a few days in the wilderness with Hermione, sorting out just exactly what he was feeling about her, but it was inadvisable. The longer he kept her out here the longer she was in danger. He had his own freshly tragic experience to remind him that while pain and torture last decades, joy is a fleeting, incredibly fragile thing.

He wished Bob could have met Hermione. Bob would have loved her, and it would have been most amusing to see what bit of Hermione's anatomy Bob would have tried to snuffle. He distracted himself from a sorrow too fresh to be borne by imagining the bits of anatomy in exquisite detail.

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It took Hermione longer than expected to reach water fit to drink. Finding a spring at last, she transfigured a rock into a large jug, filled it, and cast a sterilizing charm. The jug was heavy, and her progress slow, as she returned to where Severus waited.

While walking, she considered her professor's reaction to her forced company last night. No matter how ill, for an intensely private man to condone such behavior on her part, with only token resistance, was unfathomable. The stubborn man she knew would've taken himself from the bed to lie on the cold ground and die rather than permit an embrace he considered insufferable. Instead, the Slytherin had only teased before submitting gracefully to her embrace throughout the night.

"Miss Granger, my arse!" she said mockingly. "Such behavior from Professor Snape is practically a letter of intent. I believe I have a chance after all."

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What was he going to do about the cuddlesome girl? No, not a girl any longer. While it seemed a disconcertingly short time ago that Miss Granger had been a knobby-kneed child waving her hand in his classroom, he could no longer ignore her seemingly sudden burst into womanhood. Even in those dreadful Muggle clothes, her transformed figure was achingly apparent...and there was nothing girlish about it. Last night, with his head pillowed on her shoulder, he had fallen asleep with a charming view of round, full breasts that no mere jumper could conceal.

Severus may have been having a bit of trouble coming to grips with the fact that Hermione was no longer a child, but he had no problem at all with her age. Muggles would have been scandalized by a twenty year age difference. To Severus, it wasn't even a consideration. Barring accident, a wizard had an expected lifetime of 150 years, sometimes more. A twenty year age difference in wizards was very much similar to a five year difference amongst Muggles. What concerned Severus were his own intentions. There were few people of his acquaintance that he truly respected. Miss Granger was one of them. He was unwilling to risk ruination of that by trifling with her, no matter how seductive the idea. He resolved to allow himself ample time to decide exactly what he wanted before proceeding further.

Did he want a relationship with Hermione? The few relationships in his past had been as unfulfilling as they had been brief. Yet, he didn't feel it would be that way this time. It was certain that he was attracted to her, judging by his reaction last night. It was imperative she transfigure him some pants before that reaction became as obvious to Hermione as it had already become (rather painfully obvious) to him. Feeling himself begin to harden again from the memory of being curled against her, he thrust the thoughts aside.

He certainly would never become bored with a witch like Hermione. Her mind was a constant and welcome diversion. She was a loyal little thing, as well. If she indeed had any feelings for him, he realized he needn't worry that she would go traipsing off after some more handsome wizard. The true question needing an answer was: what exactly did Hermione feel about him? While he was beginning to sort out the reasons why he might decide to pursue her, he found it difficult indeed to understand what she might see in him. Had he been mistaken in regards to her actions? No matter. Slytherins were obnoxiously patient. He would wait, and watch, and then...perhaps...strike.

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When Hermione returned to their make-shift camp, Professor Snape had fallen asleep. For a long time she gazed at his face, relaxed in sleep, telling herself she was only looking for improvement. In truth, she simply enjoyed looking at him; she felt she could spend several eternities doing so. With a sigh, she left his bedside. After he was more rested, he should eat something. Thank the gods she'd thought to ask the house elves for some soup; she didn't believe he could manage more than that. Pulling one of the tiny crocks from the drawstring bag in her pack, she cast the reversal of the reduction charm, then placed the crock near the water jug. When her enigmatic professor woke, she would need only a quick warming charm and the meal would be ready.

Not wanting to wake the tired man, Hermione sat at a small distance from the pallet and pulled a book from her bag. She pretended to read...mostly she watched him sleep.