Discretion

The Side-Along Apparition is difficult under normal circumstances. It is a complex maneuver that requires the most concentrated of the three D's: destination, determination, and deliberation – all the while avoiding not only the splinching of oneself, but also that of one's passenger. When one is in an intense emotional state, slightly drunk and drugged, clinging to an irate, struggling passenger hissing in pain and nearly a foot taller than oneself, as Hermione found herself in this present condition, some might say it would be impossible to Side-Along Apparate. Some might say the attempt alone would mean certain death for one, or both, of the travelers. Some might even wince and refuse to even entertain the idea. But these people had never met the very indomitable, extremely stubborn, and incredibly powerful Hermione Granger.

While many young (or even old) witches and wizards may not be able to overcome the flooding of emotion mixed with the physical and mental effects of wine and potions that pelted Hermione to sufficiently focus on their goal, or to overpower and physically manipulate a fully grown, enormously powerful, particularly incensed wizard (who was, at that moment, thrashing about wildly in both pain and rage) in order to safely and magically reach their destination, Hermione both could and did. Though it took much effort on her part, they both arrived securely, and wholly intact, at the gates of Hogwarts.

Snape swayed on his feet beside her, the expected nausea of the ride now overwhelming as it coupled with the queasiness he was already experiencing. His face was paler than she had ever seen it, completely devoid of color, a mask of white that surpassed even the ashen, pallid state of his near death those many months ago. Her eyes widened as she watched him double over and tilt dangerously in all directions before finally buckling and crashing to the ground, striking his head on the gates as he fell. When she prompted him – "Professor Snape?" – he did not answer. Not even a soft groan, growl, or hiss. Just a piercing, unbearable silence. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat.

He lay face down in the crisp snow, and Hermione felt herself swaying when she saw the trickle of blood that slowly crept from his scalp across the pure, white powder. Firmly instructing herself not to panic, she gathered her thoughts and, upon seeing no other person on the grounds to assist her, decided the next action for her to take would be to spin his motionless body around, face up. She did this with only slightly less effort than it took for the Side-Along Apparition – he was extremely thin, but both his height and dead weight countered her attempts at first.

Now that she had him on his back in the icy snow, she could see the blood originated from a cut on his forehead, which yawned open frighteningly, but, fortunately, was not very deep. She rubbed her freezing hands harshly against the wool of her cloak, trying to keep her mind grounded as she considered the next step. She stared at him, squinting slightly as the gears turned in her head. When unconscious and devoid of his usual scowl or sneer, his features were relaxed and softened, and he resembled his age, rather than ten years his senior. At least he's not retching anymore, her brain informed her, albeit humorlessly. She needed to get him into the castle, of course, but how? She knew, after attempting to shove him into his present position for the better part of five minutes, that she could not carry or support him across the grounds. The Mobilicorpus spell was more than likely out of the question as well, as the Side-Along Apparition had drained her of her already weakened energy. She worried, nibbled, and then bit her lower lip frantically. Panic had started to seep in, despite her best efforts to keep it at bay.

She fumbled for her wand as she collected the dregs of her exhausted power, held it aloft and called out, "Expecto Patronum!" A faint, dimly flickering, silver otter appeared and then dashed off in the direction of the castle, leaving Hermione crumpling to the ground with a barely audible plea, "Please work."

***

Remus Lupin was blindly stuffing various parchments into a battered leather bag in a rush. He was hoping to leave the castle in time to get home, change into more informal clothing, and give a goodbye kiss to his son before he and his wife departed together for the feast this evening. However, so far he was falling a bit behind. A young student had accosted him at his office door immediately following a class and asked a few random questions, one of which concerned the elements of something called "mystery meat" that had been served to him in his Muggle primary school in America. Finally accepting Remus' restating that he knew nothing of this substance, the boy wandered aimlessly back down the hall and left his professor in peace. Remus had to smile at the child; he strongly reminded Lupin of Luna Lovegood: equal parts highly intelligent and blissfully eccentric.

Remus glanced back up at the clock; it was already six. The meal didn't start until seven, but he wanted to be there early to greet his friends as they strolled in. Faintly, he could hear the distant, booming voice of the Headmistress for the children to return to their common rooms. The students would be given their usual access to the castle except for the Entrance and Great Halls, and they were to take their dinners in their rooms with their housemates. Several professors who were never actively involved with the Order reluctantly agreed to patrol the halls and ensure that the students stayed clear of the feast and out of mischief. Lupin felt very grateful and had gone out of his way to personally thank each one of them, but only received grunts and, in the case of Hooch, an icy cold shoulder in response. It was no matter, though, as he was too excited about his reunion with the Order to be brought down by anything today.

That is until he glimpsed the muted light encroaching on his peripheral vision. Turning slowly, he gazed at the fluttering, feeble form of an otter and recognized the Patronus at once as belonging to Hermione Granger. A feeling of fear for the young witch took residence at the pit of his stomach as he nodded empathically to urge the otter to divulge its message.

Its light fading slightly, the otter spoke in the voice of its creator, "Remus, please come to the gate at Hogwarts, we need your help. Prof...Professor Snape is hurt and I c...can't... Remus please hurry, don't tell anyone else, d...don't bring anyone else, just help me take Professor Snape to his rooms!" With that, the otter blinked out of existence, and Remus rushed out the door, wand in hand.

***

Hermione winced as she tried to stand; her knees had taken the brunt of her earlier fall and bled freely from several scuffs underneath her robes. It was growing darker and darker by the second, and with the night came a bitter wind that shook the trees and chilled her to the core. She glanced back down at her prostrate professor to check his status. Though he was still "out cold," she was more concerned with the threat of hypothermia, as his lips had already changed to a shade of dull blue. She realized with a start that this was the second time in a handful of years that she had stared at an unconscious Snape and faced the issue of getting him into the castle without too much fanfare. But then, in her third year, she had help. There was Harry, Ron, Sirius and even, momentarily, Lupin. And there was the use of the Mobilicorpus spell, the same spell that eluded her power presently. She feared his temper upon waking as much as she did then, knowing she had been one of the sources of his condition. Just as she was now.

When Remus finally reached them, out of breath and wheezing just a bit, she felt a glimmer of hope and a wave of relief. "What... happened?" he gasped out.

"It's really a long story, and it's...Oh! I didn't mean to scare you so much, we're not in any danger! Well... Maybe he is, I don't know. Oh, just help me get him into the castle without him being seen! I... I Side-Along Apparated him, so I'm too exhausted to use the..."

"Mobilicorpus!" cried out Remus. Snape's body drifted upwards between them. Lupin removed his scarf and placed it on Severus' forehead to staunch the bleeding.

"...Yes, that spell," continued Hermione.

"Hold this down on his head and apply pressure. We'll slip into the school using the side entrance closest to the dungeons. I don't want to try any disillusionment charms, not without knowing what's wrong with him... Are you hurt?" Remus had taken over the situation grandly, and she was more than happy to relinquish the responsibility.

"No. Well, I mean, I scuffed up my knees, but they're okay. He's... uhm..."

"Unconscious?"

Unwilling to reveal more, Hermione just smiled and nodded at her friend's ability to inject even this situation with a bit of humor. "Right then," he continued, "stay opposite me and keep that scarf on...more pressure, Hermione!" She had let her concentration and grip slip, and as a result, blood seeped through the makeshift bandage quickly. Chagrined, she pressed down on the scarf even harder.

"Okay, walk slowly and watch for others. Ready?" he asked. She nodded in agreement, and together they crossed the grounds and entered into the bowels of the castle without further incident.

***

"You do know that you are going to have to explain this to me," said Remus softly as they navigated Snape's motionless body into the empty Potions classroom before carefully setting him upon a cleaned student's worktable. Hermione made a noncommittal sound in reply, busying herself with the laceration on her employer's head. Lupin sighed and leaned back against the edge of the opposite worktable, observing Hermione with fascination. "Hermione," he tried again, "I need to know. Are you terribly hurt? Where were you? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Remus, really. I just..."

"Did he hurt you?" he sharply whispered, already glaring at his former classmate's body.

"No! No... No, I...I hurt him."

"What did he do?"

"I really don't want to get into it right now, Remus, if you don't mind... please."

He frowned, then stood and offered a calming embrace to her. "You don't have to tell me, Hermione. But if you want to, I'm always here. Just please tell me he wasn't violent or..."

Hermione gasped. "No! No, not like that at all, no."

A few moments of silence ticked by as he watched her clean Snape's wound. Remus grinned suddenly before asking, "He wasn't Expelliarmused by three young teenagers again, was he?"

In spite of herself, Hermione found herself giggling. "No, there was no magic, just me."

"Well, we all know how formidable you are, even wandless." He smiled at her kindly before asking, "Do you need me to get Madam Pomfrey? She might still be up in the hospital wing."

Hermione gasped as she hurriedly glanced at her watch. It was 6:30. "Oh, no, Remus, it's all right. You have to get home and get ready! Tonks'll be really upset if you are late, or worse, make her late!"

He frowned slightly and removed the scarf from the table, watching her cross the room again and again, searching the potions cabinets and returning each time with handfuls of vials.

"Hermione, I think my wife would be more than understanding given the situation. I can't leave you here with him in this state, and I cannot leave him with him in this state either."

"Remus, please. I know what I'm doing. If I need further help, I'll kindly ask Madam Pomfrey to come down here, or Floo her, or take him to her, if need be. Honest, Remus, I just need to clean him up and revive him, and I'll see you at dinner. You can go home and change and retrieve Tonks; it will be fine. Just please don't mention it to anyone; he'll be incredibly upset if he thinks the school's gossiping about him, whether good intentioned or not."

Remus squinted at her and cocked his head to the side. "You're sure?"

"When have I ever been unsure, Professor Lupin?" She smiled sweetly at him.

"Duly noted. If you aren't back by dinner, I'm coming down here, all right?"

"Of course. Remus, go home and get ready, you don't have much time! Tonks'll have my head! Go, go!" She ushered him out the door, quickly expelling his protests. She locked and warded the classroom to the best of her current ability, adding a few charms like Muffliato to soothe her worries.

Returning once again to the Potions master's unconscious form, Hermione cast a quick diagnostic charm she recently learned from a newly published book, Household Healing Charms. A bright red light flashed above his pelvic area, indicating intense pain and likely swelling and bruising. A green light flickered above his abdomen, signifying extreme nausea and possible vomiting. She sighed – it was only reiterating the problems she was already aware of. She looked for the color of purple hovering over his head, demonstrating a concussion, but nothing flashed in that direction, only a fluttering blue that meant he was unconscious. No signal of hypothermia either, which allowed Hermione to let out a deep breath of relief that she didn't know she held. There were signs of a fever, however, and obvious bruising on the side of his face.

Hermione now shifted her attention to the numerous beakers and vials of potions that were gathered and placed on the surface of another worktable. She meticulously studied the label, coloring, density, and volume of every container present. Setting aside the potions that were of no use or were otherwise rejected during her examination, she narrowed down her options to five: a cream to alleviate pain, a bruise-healing paste, Deflating Draught (used to combat swelling), a rejuvenation potion (to bring him back to consciousness), and the Draught of Peace (to soothe agitation and anxiety – and, Hermione noted, to administer before Snape was fully sentient). She quickly dismissed the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, however tempting it was, because the effects would eventually fade and leave him even more livid than she already expected him to be. The thought, however, entertained her as she rubbed in the thick, yellow bruise-healing paste into his cheek. A singing, nose-tweaking Professor Snape would likely be more of a punishment to herself than to him.

Putting down the jar of paste, Hermione chose the cream next and applied it carefully to the same area on his face, rubbing it deeply into the porcelain skin. After carefully setting the cream aside, she held his head up slightly and forced the Deflating Draught past his lips and compelled him to swallow by running her hands up and down his throat in smooth motions, urging the muscles within to reflexively obey. Once satisfied, she lightly laid his head down on the table before backing up and glancing at his body. She winced. She dreaded this upcoming part, but the paste and cream would have to be applied to all affected areas.

After another quick glance at the clock to remind her that time was not on her side, she removed her cloak and robes and set them on the back of a nearby chair, then pushed up the her sleeves, determined. I just have to dissociate myself like healers do. Compartmentalize my emotions and get through this. She hastily snatched the jars of the bruise-healing paste and the pain alleviating cream and set them down next to his torso. She paused. She fidgeted. She checked her wards. She checked to make sure he was still unconscious. She checked the cream and the paste, looking for reasons to delay or even cease the next course of action. She sighed.

Fixing her gaze on the wall to her immediate left, her hands fumbled around until they found purchase on his robes. Hermione unbuttoned them and pushed them to either side, revealing his white shirt underneath. Looking down at her progress only briefly, she pulled the shirt up and out of his trousers and then stopped. Exhaled. His cloak and robes were open, his shirt untucked. Leaving only the trousers next. Deciding instead that his shirt was far too long and would only get in the way, Hermione pushed the garment up to his chest and allowed her gaze to wander over his flat stomach. She gasped and bent down for a closer examination.

Across his abdomen was a ragged scar, starting at his left side, below the trousers, and traveling above his belly button to the far right. Upon closer inspection, the scar indicated a wound caused by tearing rather than a clean slice. It was pale, but seemed to sit atop his skin like a flat, frayed rope. Hermione found herself touching it, then running her fingers up the length of it. Magic cuts cleanly, she thought, this looks as though the skin was ripped open. Hermione shuddered. She couldn't imagine what type of wound could cause a scar like that, nor what type of weapon would create such a wound.

Moving her eyes upward, she noticed several smaller scars crisscrossing across his torso, most notably across a nearly hairless chest, where the most concentrated density of the healed-over wounds were gathered. Some she recognized as the healed lacerations of curses and hexes, others seemed more curious, and she was unable to reason their source. Still intrigued by the ragged line that stretched diagonally across his center, she carefully and with extreme effort lifted him slightly so that she could gaze at a portion of his back along the right side where the ghastly line abruptly ended. It didn't taper off, just stopped. And then, inches away, the most peculiar marking of all: she had to cock her head to the side to peer at it to be sure, but carved into his back, deeply imbedded within the skin, was a small, stretched, uppercase "T". Her eyebrows knitted together as she carefully set him back down, her curiosity now awake and hungry.

His arm stirred and caused her to leap back in terror, as though caught doing something naughty. Hermione held her breath as she waited for more signs of life, but Severus Snape was as still and quiet as ever. His breathing remained slow and steady. Just get on with it! her mind screamed at her. Hermione exhaled before taking another deep breath and awkwardly tugging his belt free from its buckle. Her entire body tensed, and her fingers shook as she unhooked the button and unzipped the surprisingly modern pair of trousers. Surprisingly Muggle.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she jerked the trousers down to his knees, then bravely allowed one eye to peek at what lay before her. Underwear. Black y-fronts. She growled, somehow hoping that this barrier wouldn't have been an issue. She certainly never thought about Severus Snape's underwear, but the unexpected thought of the alternative suddenly made her very glad that this thin shield of cotton and polyester was there. Not that it would matter now anyway, she berated herself. It still has to be removed.

Now beyond the need to cover her eyes as she began to feel the anxiety of her time limitations, she swiftly yanked the underwear down to join the rest of the trousers... And exhaled a long breath. Hermione never made it a mission in life to gather a strong basis for comparison, but the man that lay before her was certainly more well-endowed than Ron, yet not obscenely so. Hermione felt the rush of blood to her face as she fiercely blushed. Right, time to get down to business, she chastised herself, then winced at the words chosen.

Cupping a large amount of the bruise-healing paste in her fingers, she pressed his legs as far apart as the gathered up fabric at his knees would allow and generously applied it to his injured, extremely swollen (or so she assumed), painfully bruised testicles. Sudden guilt again attacked her as she examined the effects of her violent outburst. She rubbed even more vigorously and yet ever more gently, as though in an effort to erase the shame she felt. As she returned after gathering more of the yellow paste from its jar, she observed yet another effect her actions were causing, and she blushed anew. It's normal, she told herself, not personal, now get back to work!

But she found it rather difficult to apply the paste without being distracted by an erection. Even more so as it was an erection of a man, not a boy, and...Right, right, now the cream. Back on track, Hermione, she scolded herself. She reached for the cream and gingerly spread it over the affected area, all while watching with amusement the reactions of the rest of his body out of the corner of her eye...

...Then he moaned.

Hermione shrieked and flung herself away from him. Paste, cream, vials and breakers flew through the air as her flailing arms struck them, and yet... he was still. Her heart hammering in her chest, she waited for another sound, a movement, anything. Her brain screamed at her to leave, to get out, but she was frozen. The clock struck 7:00. She leaned over him cautiously and used one hand to gently lift his eyelid, and watched in silent horror as the pupil of an inky black eye contracted and shifted to stare at her. Before she could shriek again, he sat up and grabbed her wrist roughly, seemingly unaware of the state of arousal his body still exhibited. While in an upright position, his shirt fell down his abdomen and successfully covered his crotch, though the tented fabric could not effectively hide its condition.

His body tilted to the side precariously, his head tipping backwards momentarily before he was able to regain stability. "What do you think you..." His rant was abruptly silenced as he followed her intense gaze to its obvious source between his legs. Snape opened his mouth and then quickly closed it, unable to voice the undoubted flood of vitriol poised at the tip of his silver tongue. Hermione covered her own mouth with a trembling hand to veil her very unfortunate, very audible intake of breath as the tented fabric grew more strained. His eyes flicked from his crotch to her eyes, and she witnessed the pupils expand and shrink rapidly as he growled low and menacingly at her. He gripped her wrist painfully, his eyes narrowed, and yet still the fabric stretched slightly more.

His voice was dangerously soft as he snarled, "Don't look at..."

There was a sharp knock at the door, and both their heads whipped around to face it. "Hermione?" called out the unmistakable voice of Remus Lupin.

"Wotcher, Hermione, let us in!" cried out a female voice.

Black and brown eyes met once again. There was a long pause before Snape released her and vaulted off the table nimbly, pulling up his trousers and underwear in one smooth motion. Impressively, he swayed only slightly on his feet with an indistinct hiss of pain. With his back to Hermione, he quickly zipped, buttoned, tucked in the shirt extremely roughly (as though he solely blamed it for the compromising condition he found himself in), and latched his belt before sliding into his robes. It took only a matter of seconds, though Hermione glimpsed, with a wry (and utterly inappropriate) grin, that the evidence of his arousal was still visible, if one only focused on it, which she currently was.

Author's Note – Huge, huge gratitude and loads of hugs to my beta (a brave soul who voluntarily wades through my ocean of mistakes with nay a compliant), Angel Mischa, and to Amsev, who has provided invaluable assistance with various aspects of this chapter. Without these two, this story would not exist. And as aways, any mistakes remaining are mine, because I tend to not listen very well. ADD and all. (Yes, I know this is the same A/N as the last chapter, but I'm tapped of creativity, and I still mean every word of it.)

And while this isn't exactly lemony yet, hopefully it will sate the appetites of my dear readers for now. There will, of course, be more as the story unfolds.

Up Next: Awkward dinner conversation.