Discoveries

******

Hermione felt... warm. Comfortable. Safe. She did not want to wake up, and she tried desperately to sink back into sleep. The person next to her, however, trembled and groaned heavily, and Hermione tensed.

Someone was in her bed. With her. She tried to think back to last night, but she only received vague impressions of dancing, a drunken Apparition, and something about wine glasses.

Please, oh Merlin, don't let it be Henry, she thought apprehensively as she slowly turned to face her sleeping partner. In the half-light, she could see the unmistakable profile of Severus Snape, and she relaxed.

Seconds later, she gasped.

He was trembling, covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair was plastered to his head in large sweat-drenched clumps. And he was groaning pitifully.

"Severus?" she asked timidly. "What is going on with you?"

Hermione reached out and caressed his face, confused. At the feel of his skin beneath her roving fingertips, she panicked. He was burning. Placing her fingers on his neck, she realised that his pulse was thready and irregular. For a moment, Hermione wondered if he was perhaps suffering from alcohol poisoning, until the truth hit her like a Bludger to the stomach. It was that bloody spell--the Constrictus.

"Oh, Severus, you stupid, stupid man! Come on. You can be in here; I give you permission. Now, wake up, dammit!" Hermione was distantly aware that her voice was a keen wail and that her hands shook as she applied pressure to his forehead. At her spoken words of permission, Severus emitted another groan, and his face prickled in pain.

He still felt as if he were on fire. Desperately, Hermione struggled to remember the effects of the Constrictus binding if ignored.

Muscle spasms, burning sensation, raging fever, increased heart rate with declined output, loss of motor functions and eventual kidney failure due to muscle breakdown, unbearable pain, coma, death. All within several hours, if left uncorrected, her mind regurgitated obediently.

"How long has it been?!" she shrieked at him. "How could you be so bloody stupid?!" In response, Severus' entire body trembled.

He must be in so much pain, she thought.

Hermione reasoned that she couldn't have been asleep for long, otherwise she would have woken up next to the corpse of Severus Snape. The thought made tears prickle at her eyelids, and she grabbed her wand from her headboard.

"Mobilicorpus!" she yelled, and Severus' twitching, sweat-drenched body rose obediently from the bed.

Hermione knew that she had no time to get him to St. Mungo's. He could be dead in minutes. She Levitated him to her bathroom, Summoning several potions and salves from her medicine cabinet and filling the tub with lukewarm water. Hermione lowered him carefully into the tub before turning to investigate her medicinal supplies.

"Ground willow bark, some Muggle paracetamol and ibuprofen. Must get plenty of fluids," she muttered. "He should be glad I'm a bit obsessive...."

Hermione kneeled next to her bathtub, gently smoothing back Severus' hair and unconsciously making cooing noises in the back of her throat. She carefully leaned his head back against the white porcelain and opened his mouth. With a whispered spell, she liquefied the willow bark and directed the fluid down Severus' throat. He reflexively swallowed. After he had consumed enough medicine and fluids to Hermione's satisfaction, she placed her hand flat against his forehead.

Good. He wasn't burning anymore, but he was still trembling and displayed no signs of wakefulness.

"Severus," she whispered. "Wake up. Please."

With a small sob, Hermione lowered herself into the tub, mindless of the water that soaked her new dress. Sniffling, she gathered Severus to her, pulling his head against her chest and wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. She rested her head atop his, cradling him in the water as if he were a child.

"Please wake up. For me," she said quietly, and almost as if in response, he began trembling again, shaking in her arms uncontrollably.

"No!" she cried, and she tightened her hold on him, as if she could stop his movement simply by the pressure of her grip.

Hermione imagined him dying, here in her arms in her bathroom. It didn't seem right. It didn't seem fair that things should end like this, before they had really even begun for her and Severus.

"Please," she whispered in an anguished breath into his cheek, her lips moving over his face restlessly, searching for any type of response. "Please come back to me."

He groaned painfully, and Hermione felt a tear trailing down her cheek. She hated crying. She hated how it made her feel...weak, useless, helpless. Most of all, she hated that when she cried, it was undoubtedly because of something...or someone...outside her control. Other people had the power to hurt her; other people had that power over her, and Hermione, in all of her prideful, stubborn, and resolute strength of character, hated that.

But the tears were coming now, and he was the one responsible. Again. And all because of his stupid, stupid sense of chivalry--carrying her to bed as he must have done might cost him his life.

Hermione cried. She cried until she sobbed, hiccupping her sorrow into the bathtub stall. She cried for Severus. For herself. For her loneliness. For the simple fact that no matter what she did, no matter what path she choose, her choice would undoubtedly be wrong.

"This is not my life," she cried as she fingered the silky-wet strands of Severus' hair, unknowingly dripping trails of water down his face, across the sharp angles of his cheekbones, down his overlarge nose, to puddle in the hollow of his throat.

She moved in the water, shifting to pull Severus upwards, and the lukewarm liquid sloshed to dampen her hair.

"This is not my life," she repeated, and she closed her eyes and lowered her lips to the curve of Severus' ear. "This is not our life. We are far away, Severus. Far, far away. A house, maybe. By the sea. Harry and Ginny are still alive.... They visit sometimes. Maybe... maybe we would have children with..."

She paused. The cooling water left her shivering slightly.

"With simple names," she continued unsteadily. "Like Michael... Elizabeth, maybe."

"We are most certainly not naming our son Michael Elizabeth, you foolish woman," Severus mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Hermione gasped and looked down at his face against her chest. He was still shaking, and the heat of his skin against her own suggested his fever had not completely abated, but the wry smile upon his face marked his sure survival.

"Severus!" she cried, and she pressed her lips to his neck and her hands to his heart, relishing the feel of the regular beating of his heart and his strong pulse.

"Hermione," he grumbled as he weakly attempted to push her away. "Let's go back to bed. Oh, and grab some SoberUp if you have it."

She laughed, and he smiled in return. It was enough for now.

******

"Hermione?"

At the unexpected sound of her name, Hermione slowly opened her eyes and yawned. She glanced toward Severus. He was lying on his back, his hair fanned out on her pillow, his chest slowly rising and falling.

Hmmm. Odd.

An insistent knock on her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts.

"Hermione? You're wards were down, so I was worried. Can I come in?"

It was Henry. Impossibly, it was Henry.

"What time is it?" she asked as she quietly climbed out of bed, careful not to wake her sleeping partner.

He chuckled. "Almost ten. I thought you would be up by now, working. So can I come in?"

"No!" she said shrilly. "I... I'm changing!"

He laughed again. "Well, I wouldn't mind seeing that." His voice lowered seductively, and all Hermione could think was that Severus' voice was far better equipped for such seductive timbres.

And that Henry was being a royal pain in the arse.

Severus mumbled on her bed, and Hermione stared fearfully at him. His eyes opened slowly, and he looked around blearily.

"Hermione?" he said, his voice roughened with sleep.

She shook her head fiercely at him and pointed at the door. Henry knocked again.

"Hermione? Is... is someone in there with you?" He sounded worried. And upset.

Panic gripped Hermione. What would he say if he found Severus half-naked in her bed? What would he think? Would he tell Solomon?

"Um, no. No one's in here. I'll be out in just a minute. Go wait in the kitchen, Henry," she said angrily.

Severus smirked and rose unsteadily from the bed. She desperately motioned at him to be silent, but he chuckled and grinned at her. He placed a hand on her bare shoulder and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Come on, Hermione. Let him in." And he smirked again.

"No!" she whispered furiously back at him. "Now don't talk. You should still be asleep. For your health, Severus."

"Oh, I feel wonderful, Hermione. Healthy," he said with a grin.

Henry's voice continued uncertainly outside the door. "I... I just wanted to talk to you again about... about last night. What I told you."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "And what did he tell you, my dear?" he breathed into her ear. He slowly trailed his lips from her ear to her neck, nuzzling and biting gently.

"Severus, stop!" she ordered in the loudest whisper she dared.

"Mmmm, no. You taste too good." He ran his hands along her torso and backed her quietly against her bedroom wall.

"Hermione?" said Henry. "I just want you to know that I'm not pressuring you at all."

Severus' voice, low and rich, interrupted Henry. "I could fuck you right now, Hermione. Against this wall. While your partner stands just a door away."

She whimpered slightly, and Severus pressed himself against her.

"We can't. You certainly can't. You almost died last night," she said.

"... and I've wanted to tell you for, oh, about two years now. And I hope..."

Hermione was aware that Henry was talking to her, but she could not process what he was saying.

Severus' lips were at her ear again. "Oh, I think I could manage this, Hermione. Yes. I could lift up this dress..." His hands strayed to her legs. "Rip off your knickers..." He stroked the insides of her thighs. "I would take you hard and fast, fuck you until you wanted to scream my name." His fingers were at her knickers now, and slowly he pushed them down. "You would come with me buried deep inside you, Hermione, with your partner just outside the door." He lowered her panties to the floor. "Now tell me you don't want that."

"... and I've brought you something. I actually picked it out about a year ago..."

Severus reached for the buttons of his slacks, and Hermione watched as he loosened them. With a flush, she realized that he was serious, that he actually meant to fuck her, and that she actually wanted him to. A slight trembling of his hands and the shockingly white pallor of his face, however, betrayed the fact that Severus was not fully healed.

"Severus," she whispered, and she reached out to still his hands at his trousers. "Later. You're not well."

His eyes darkened, but he finally nodded his head. "Later," he agreed.

Henry knocked on her door again. "Hermione? Did... did you hear me?"

"Yes!" she cried, her annoyance with her partner causing her to shriek. "And I said that I would be out in a minute, Grayson!"

Grabbing her wand, she quickly Disillusioned Severus. "You stay quiet," she hissed.

She opened the door to find Henry pacing restlessly outside her door. He turned to her and smiled warmly.

"There you are! I was starting to fear something happened to you."

"You know, Henry," she said, feeling a strong flash of anger towards her partner. "You shouldn't be here. You should be working."

"I could say the same for you, Hermione. Sleeping until ten!" He playfully squeezed her arm, and Hermione batted his hand away.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I really just wanted to make sure you felt okay. After last night. You drank quite a bit." He smiled again, and for the first time in a while, Hermione was not charmed. She was furious.

"Henry, about last night, I..."

"Please don't say anything. Not so soon. Just give me a chance. That's all I'm asking for, Hermione. Just think about it. Please."

He looked so miserable that Hermione's annoyance abated. It wasn't his fault that her life was so fucked up. That she was completely in love with a man who'd twisted her heart into a miserable, empty facsimile of what it used to be. And that she was crazy enough to still eagerly accept his every advance.

Henry reached into his pocket and withdrew a sparkling silver bracelet. A charm, a miniature book, dangled delicately from the chain.

"This is for you," he said, extending his hand towards her. "Like I said, I bought this about a year ago, when I first... realized I loved you. I saw it and thought of you immediately."

She took the bracelet from his hand, feeling her annoyance abate with his unexpected, heartfelt gesture.

"Here. Let me put it on," he said. He circled the bracelet around her wrist and fastened it. "Perfect."

"Henry... I don't know what to say."

"I don't want you to say anything."

She smiled. "I love it," she said quietly.

He shifted. "It does suit you, you know.... Well, I should get back to the office. Oh, and Solomon wants you to report anything else you find out with Snape," he added, spitting the last word.

She walked him to the fireplace, thoughtfully fingering the tiny book hanging from her wrist. She whispered goodbye to him as he disappeared in a rush of flames. She sat down on her couch and rested her head in her hands.

Hermione had always been confident that she knew herself. She knew her dreams, her fears, her desires, her morals. But now, Hermione faced a moralistic conflict, and she couldn't figure it out. Would it be terribly wrong to take advantage of this last day with Severus? Would it be so wrong if they made love? Every cell in her body wanted him with an urgent desperation that bordered on insanity.

She shook her head. Today, they would work. Today, they would solve the Angel potion.

And tonight? Well, what would be, would be.

******

"I hope you know that I certainly would never give you such a gift. Ridiculous, really," Severus drawled. He was teasing her. He hoped that she knew he would give her anything. Anything at all.

Severus leaned casually over the counter, perusing a small green book intently.

"Really? And what sorts of gifts would you give me?" she asked.

He glanced up quickly from his book. Hermione's arms were crossed, and her lips quirked. He wondered if she knew how lovely she was.

He yawned and looked back down at the book. "You mean other than my witty sense of humour, my dashing good looks, and the most amazing sex you'll ever have?"

She laughed, and Severus found that he really loved it when she laughed.

"Well, I don't really know about that last one, now do I?" she asked coquettishly.

He raised an eyebrow. "That can easily be remedied, my dear." Severus was absurdly delighted with the way her face flushed and her breath hitched.

"Severus!" she chastised. "We agreed to wait until tonight. Besides, I am still worried about you. You still have a touch of a temperature."

He shook his head. "I swear, Hermione, I feel fine. Good gods, woman, you sound too much like Molly Weasley."

She laughed again, and he felt his chest tighten. He didn't want to leave her tomorrow. Idly, he wondered what she would say if he asked her to run away with him.

"So," she said as she leaned over his shoulder, her breath tickling his cheek. "What are you reading?"

"Hermione, if you keep teasing me like this, we won't make it until tonight," he growled. He had been consistently half-hard since this morning, and her innocent little movements and her breathy laughter was torturous to his libido.

She drew back, flushing, her teeth tugging at her lip. "Oh! I...I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask if you were making any progress."

He smiled. He found that it was ridiculously easy to do so when he was in her presence.

"I am reading. Here, listen to this. 'Of the darkest potions, the brewer's intent must be carefully infused within the potion itself. Death, torture, and pain may perhaps be the effects of the potion, but one must be sure to ascertain an elixir's true intent. Most often, this intent is reflected in the creator's choice of base.'"

Hermione furrowed her brow, and her eyes became slightly glazed and unfocused. He remembered that as a sign of her powers of concentration. Severus felt a burst of some strong emotion. She was so intelligent, his Hermione.

"So... it's saying that this potion wasn't created to take life? That death is just an 'effect'? But that doesn't make any sense. It kills, Severus."

He nodded, his thoughts whirling. "Yes... yes, it does. But how?"

"Well, we don't know."

He got up and walked to the petri dish filled with the black liquid.

"What are you?" he muttered. "What do you do?"

He looked up at Hermione, deep in thought. "It kills, yes, but how? What is its ultimate purpose? Why... why does this Angel kill?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, most people believe that he kills for... pleasure. But I never thought so."

"Really? And what do you believe, Hermione?"

She tapped her foot. "I... well, I was never really certain. Something tells me that there is something else... there. Something that he wants. Only... only nothing was missing from the victims."

"Hmmm," Severus said thoughtfully. Motives. What else, other than money, theft, vengeance, and pleasure?

Love, a voice reminded him inside his head. People murder for love.

"Love," he said quietly. "People kill for love."

Hermione blinked. "But... why would he kill women that he loved? That's really twisted."

"Not for love of them. For love of someone else." He stared at the potion intensely, refusing to look at her.

"Severus," she said. "Is that why you..."

"Hermione, I do not want to talk about me right now."

"Fine," she said gently as she touched his arm. "But I want to know, before you leave. I need to know."

She was staring at him with her wide, open eyes, her emotions playing openly on her face. Severus read pity, sorrow, guilt, and affection in her gaze. He swallowed heavily and looked away, cursing himself inwardly for his foolishness.

"So," he said, struggling to arrange his features into his patented impassive stare. "Shall we continue?"

Taking a sample of the potion, he added a sprinkling of lutlock dust, hoping that the fine powder would illuminate any other ingredient indicative of the base.

He considered his situation.

Despite seven years' worth of resolve, Severus had discovered that he was still very much in love with Hermione Granger. Each moment he spent with her, he discovered something new and utterly enchanting. Her laugh. Her tenacity. The way she smoothed her hair when she was anxious. The way she sought to punish herself with self-denial and restraint. He snorted. Only a Gryffindor would look at her own happiness and throw it away for imagined ideals of right and wrong.

And Slytherins? Well, Slytherins ultimately got what they wanted...through sneaky insinuations, lies, and charms, perhaps, but it was always freely theirs in the end. And what Severus wanted was most definitely Hermione Granger.

Again, he wondered if she would run away with him. She had certainly not rejected any of his lustful advances. He would be perpetually Bound to her, true, but for her, he would do it. He doubted that she would consent, however. Hermione still looked at the world rather naively, determined to see black and white. She had yet to discover that most of what she saw was varying shades of grey.

She had finally professed an interest in his past, finally wanted to know from him exactly what had happened. He wondered if his version of events would exonerate him in her eyes. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, it didn't matter. She would still have a choice to make. When he noticed her staring at him with a warm, affectionate expression, he wondered if she had already made her choice.

He smiled. It looked like Severus Snape was going to get the girl in the end. Until tomorrow, anyways.

"Severus?" Hermione's soft voice cut through his thoughts.

"What?"

"I was just wondering what you were thinking about, just then. You were smiling."

"Was I?"

She nodded shyly. "I like it when you smile."

He smiled again and looped an arm around her waist. "Then I shall endeavour to smile more often, if it makes you happy." He held her close and was content that just for now he could pretend that she belonged to him.

Loosening his grasp, Severus returned his attention to the bubbling cauldron, scowling. Despite his confident declarations of yesterday, he was beginning to fear that he would not discover what this potion was, or what it did. This frightened him. When had he last faced a challenge he could not overcome?

Seven years ago, the cynical voice in his head reminded him. Ah, yes. There was that.

This, however, did not concern the Dark Lord. This was a potion, and it annoyed him that this Angel had created something that he did not understand. He felt, however, that he was frustratingly close. Somehow, he was missing something. Something important.

The base was undoubtedly powerful. Potent. Deadly. He had read his Dark Arts texts repeatedly...he had ruled out all possible base ingredients on the previous day. Obviously, the Angel had created a new ingredient, one that could kill without leaving behind any trace evidence. What could do this?

Avada Kedavra, his mind supplied, but he dismissed the thought quickly. It would be impossible to capture the Killing Curse in a potion. He had read papers in monthly Potions journals theorizing this very possibility. Scholars had dismissed this idea as well, due to the fact that the power of the Avada Kedavra curse came from the intent behind the spoken words.

You have to mean it, he thought bitterly, and he shuddered at the implications behind that thought.

Frowning, he glanced over at Hermione. She was huddled over a large blue book, reading intently, her brow furrowed in thought. He studied her, entranced by her formidable powers of concentration. Her face was scrunched, and she was absentmindedly biting a nail ragged. He gulped. He hoped she looked at him tonight with similar intensity.

Tonight. He couldn't think about tonight right now. It would drive him mad.

******

Hermione was very aware that Severus was staring at her. She tried to ignore him and the tingling feeling his attention produced. This was getting ridiculous. They had work to do, and Hermione Granger was not one to forgo work. Not usually, at least. They needed a distraction, something to make them forget they were standing so alluringly close.

"Anything definitive yet, Severus?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No." His voice was short and clipped. For the first time, Hermione allowed herself to worry that they wouldn't finish by tomorrow.

"Talk to me, Hermione," he said quietly from across the counter.

She blinked in surprise. "Talk? Again? I always thought you valued your silence."

"I've had seven years of silence. And I want to hear your voice."

He didn't look at her, but she could sense the urgency behind his statement. Her heart ached. He would be going back to Azkaban in the morning.

"What would... what would you like me to talk about?"

"Tell me about the War. About what you did." He glanced at her quickly, smirking. "I must admit, I doubted your success, my dear. Though I should have known better," he mused.

"The War," she said quietly. What could she say about the War? She still had nightmares sometimes. She was still driven by thoughts of Harry, walking so solemnly into the Forbidden Forest. Tonks and Lupin, lying so still in the grass outside Hogwarts. Ron crying on Luna's shoulder, the Ravenclaw's silvery blue eyes misted with unshed tears.

"What I did? Somehow, I feel I did very little in the end."

"Don't be so modest, Hermione," he said as he sifted a sample of the potion. "Potter and Weasley would have been lost without you, I'm sure."

"Really, Severus, I would have been lost without them. The War was... it was terrible. Too many good people died at too young an age. You should be glad you missed it," she finished bitterly. He did not have to witness his closest friends and loved ones dying.

"Indeed," he said sarcastically. "I think I would have preferred to make that choice for myself."

"But you did make that choice, Severus," she said, her voice carefully devoid of emotion. Hermione did not want to start a fight. She didn't want to cry again. She didn't want to second-guess herself.

Severus regarded her impassively for a moment, and then he shrugged and went back to his cauldron.

"Perhaps I did," he muttered. "Perhaps."

They sat in silence for several minutes, and Hermione fiddled with the hem of her robes.

Severus abruptly interrupted the quiet. "You never did tell me, Hermione. What exactly did your Mr. Grayson confess to you last night?"

Hermione coloured. "That is not any of your business, Severus."

He snorted. "I believe it is."

"How so?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know about you, Miss Granger, but I attempt to avoid... consorting with those already involved in relationships."

She rolled her eyes. What a backhand way to find out what Henry told her! As if Severus would ever consider Henry before becoming involved with her.

"Fine," she said exasperatedly. "I'll tell you. Henry believes that he is... in love with me. Last night, he simply wanted me to give him the chance to court me."

Severus smirked. "And what, pray tell, did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything." Hermione watched with satisfaction as Severus' eyes darkened and his movements stilled.

"Do you... desire a relationship with him, then?"

"It would certainly be easier than a relationship between us." She gestured half-heartedly between the two of them.

He scowled darkly. "If you truly want that shallow, pitiful excuse for a man, then perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought."

Hermione felt a flash of anger. "Oh, shut it, Severus. Henry never did anything to you."

He glared at her. "He insulted me."

"And you insulted him! Just let it go."

He scowled again, muttering into his cauldron. "If I ever see him again..."

Hermione set her arms on the counter and leaned towards him. "You'll what? Believe me, Henry already wants to have you Kissed. Don't give him a legitimate reason."

Severus suddenly gasped, his face draining of colour. "What did you say?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. "I said that Henry wants to have you Kissed, and that..."

He silenced her. "Stop babbling, girl, and let me work."

He leaned over his cauldron intently and muttered an odd spell, one unfamiliar to Hermione. In response, a greyish-black steam curled up from the cauldron, and Severus let out a sound that Hermione could only categorize as a whoop. And yet, Severus Snape did not whoop.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"Wrong?" He turned to look at her, his eyes wide. "Nothing is wrong."

She hurried over to the cauldron and peered in it. "What did you find?"

Severus wiped an imaginary speck of dirt off his robes, smiling smugly. The man was positively preening.

He cleared his throat. "The base, Miss Granger, the base."

******

A/N: The use of willow bark to reduce fever and inflammation dates back to 400 BC, as I learned from my wonderful beta, reets67. However, as a disclaimer, please do not try this at home. Thank you, reets; this chapter would be supremely inferior without your help! Thanks also to my beta, mgm86, and to the lovely admins at TPP. And to readers, you start finding things out next chapter. I promise! A final word of thanks to all reviewers. The bathtub scene in this chapter is a nod to a scene in Tim Burton's movie, 'Big Fish.'