The Thousand Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To

The next few months proved to be interesting for poor Severus. Before his fateful visit to Poppy, he and Hermione had mostly tried to stay out of each other's way, except for mealtimes and when they dealt with the records or when she helped with extra potions orders.

Now, however, in view of their long-term agreement to be roommates and employer/employee, they almost unconsciously began to develop a flow to their everyday interactions. When they worked together in the kitchen, they moved seamlessly around each other, sensing the other's rhythm. If Hermione dropped an egg, Severus caught it before it hit the floor. If Severus forgot the olive oil in a recipe, Hermione put it in.

Nothing like this had ever before been experienced by our man, Severus. While he found it fascinating from a clinical standpoint, from a personal view it alarmed him to no small degree. He had never shared any level of intimacy deeper than this. His experiences with his bastard father and weak mother had led him, extremely early on in his childhood, to the conclusion that love and intimacy were highly dangerous things. Unfortunately, he was too late in reaching that conclusion, for before he had had proper time to develop the necessary shields against such treacherous movements of the heart, Lily had swept into his life in a grand rushing of wind from which he had never been able to become entirely unruffled.

Though he had loved – still loved – Lily wildly, deeply, purely (some had said obsessively), the memory of his mother's weakness in her slavish love for his father kept him from letting Lily through the portals to the deepest parts of his soul. Sometimes, after she had forever closed herself to him on that bitter night outside the Gryffindor common room, he felt justified in his desperate measures for self-preservation. Other times, when he lay awake at night, recalling every moment in her presence, every breath taken near her and groaning under the weight of his pain, he cursed himself in every tongue he knew.

So for better or for worse, Severus, now at the brink of forty, had never experienced anything like intimacy, and while his relationship with Miss Granger had not yet caused him to reveal the deepest secrets of his soul to her, or vice versa, the rhythm they now had in sensing each other's movements made Severus believe that they were communicating, if not telepathically, then worse, on a preternatural, visceral level. With deep foreboding, Severus could not imagine that this would not lead to far worse things. Perhaps they would stay up late, swathed in tissues, relating their heartfelt experiences to the other. He sneered, then whitened and grimly resolved to keep such a blasphemy against the natural order of things from ever occurring.

He vaguely wondered if Miss Granger ever worried about such nebulous things as possible emotional intimacy in the very distant future.

In fact, Miss Granger, while she did spend an appropriate amount of time devoted to pondering such things, rarely worried about them. Emotional intimacy was something with which she was quite familiar and comfortable. She even desired such things, which if Severus had known anything about women, especially nineteen-year-old women, he would have already deduced.

No, Hermione did not worry about emotional intimacy. Hermione, in fact, was lately worrying about a somewhat different kind of closeness: just a few of the thousand natural shocks her flesh was heiress to.

She wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had gone through puberty with the rest of the girls her age, developed the extra little (or sometimes, not so little) bits here and there at a reasonably average time along with the rest of them, but while Lavender and Parvati were immensely concerned about boys, and who liked whom and other such trivialities, Hermione had been immensely concerned with school, knowledge and learning everything her greedy brain could possibly absorb.

She knew about sex, and the sex drive, and sex organs and where everything went, but she simply figured she was one of those women who didn't have a spectacular sex drive.

It turned out, however, she was just a late bloomer.

The bloom had started around the time when she and Harry and Ron had gone in search of the Horcruxes, but she hadn't had much time to think about what was going on inside her, and indeed, she had attributed many of the odd chemical surges in her body to stress and near-death experiences. The attributions were misplaced, however. In the following couple of years, Hermione realised resignedly that she was finally developing a libido. It was very uncomfortable. She wasn't at all sure that she liked it.

She was especially uncomfortable when she started randomly wondering what certain people looked like naked, wonderments which she immediately banished from her brain, but which left their mark on her in the form of brightly stained cheeks.

Hermione sighed. There was only one thing to do.

A few moments later she was in Severus' study, moving her eyes very carefully over every title on every shelf. She sighed exasperatedly. Severus did not appear to have any books regarding what a young girl should do when beset with an onslaught of hormones, surprisingly enough. Finally, she settled for a thick book, one of a set of encyclopedias of the human anatomy, which covered the reproductive system. Opening the book at the very first page, she sat in Severus' favourite armchair and swung her legs over the left arm.

"Interesting reading," said a deep voice, leaving a tingle at the base of Hermione's spine. She looked up.

"I suppose so," she replied. "I was curious."

"Yes, I see," Severus said, moving to his desk.

Hermione attempted to switch positions in the chair, but was foiled by a shot of pain tearing through her spine and traveling down her legs. She gasped, tears starting in her eyes.

Severus was by her in a moment. "What's wrong?" he rapped out.

Taking deep breaths and closing her eyes, she said slowly, "It's nothing... I just... leftover from the Cruciatus... My nervous system is somewhat damaged."

"Have you been to the Healer about it?"

She blinked. "Well... no. It's Dark Magic, isn't it? You can't heal Dark Magic."

He frowned severely. "Perhaps." He paused, appearing to be thinking very hard, then said, "Are you all right now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He nodded, then moved, still frowning, back to his desk, where he pulled a very old book out from a drawer at the bottom.

Hermione, shrugging off the incident, returned to her book. They co-existed thus quite peaceably for half an hour or so, until Hermione raised her eyes to study Severus from behind her book. Eventually, she broke the comfortable silence. "Professor?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"I'd been meaning to tell you... my parents' last owl said they would like us to visit them over Christmas."

"Us?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"I don't think they'll like to hear no."

"Of course not," he sneered.

"Don't be like that," she snapped. "They're my parents. Respect them."

There was a heavy silence, thick with unuttered thoughts. Finally, Severus quelled his raised eyebrow and said quietly, "Of course. I apologise."

Hermione relaxed. "Thank you. So, will you please come visit my parents with me over Christmas?"

He paused a moment, contemplating the possible purport of such a visit, then said urbanely, "Yes."

As Severus returned to perusing the volume so ancient Hermione could smell it from her chair, she started to go back to her own book, but was instead arrested by the almost ferocious intent with which he scrutinised his text. She canvassed his face, noting for the first time its contours. The angular cheekbones presided over the sharp jaw line, and the thick, straight, black brows jutted out over inky black, deep set eyes and the puissant, aquiline nose. As she watched, a long, strong, pale hand came up and rubbed the bridge of said promontory.

Hermione suddenly felt light-headed and realised it was because all the blood in her body was rushing to her pelvic region.

Sweet Merlin. This wasn't happening to her.

Sinking in her chair, she put her book over her face and whimpered. It seemed as though the world recently known by Hermione Granger was fast reaching its apocalypse.

0o0o0o0

Severus had been afraid of this.

A millisecond before Hermione had cried out, he had almost done so himself, though more from shock than from pain. A twinge had run down the entire length of his spine, through each vertebra, split at the tailbone and proceeded down both legs. It was a jarring experience, like nothing which had ever happened to him before, except...

And then Miss Granger had uttered a strange cross between a gasp and a whine, his legs had carried him to her side almost before he knew what he was about and she had explained, albeit unknowingly, what had just happened to him.

They were indeed communicating on a preternatural, visceral level: more so than he had dared to think possible.

Blood and soul magic be damned; he would find a way out of this. There may have been a thousand natural shocks that flesh was heir to, but he would lay his life there was nothing natural about this.

0o0o0o0

"Severus, are you coming?" Hermione called impatiently as she pulled on her mittens next to the fireplace in the library.

Tapping her foot and crossing her arms, she looked up as Severus came through the door, cloaked and booted, as though ready for a more extensive journey than that which they had planned to take through the Floo.

He swallowed noticeably. He had been thinking about this for the past month. Either he could forego his Christmas Eve tradition, or he could take Hermione along. Leaving her alone wasn't an option, as she would simply have pestered him about it anyway, and he could no longer lie to her without experiencing considerable pain or without her simply seeing through him as though he were a picture window.

"Miss Granger..." He swallowed again, then stiffened his resolve. "Miss Granger, I know we had planned to arrive earlier than your parents expected us, as a surprise... but there is something I would first like to show you."

Severus waited for her to go through the necessary idiosyncrasies: the biting of the lip, the wrinkling of the nose, the shifting of the weight. Before she could round it off with the capstone question, however, he cut her off and said, "I wouldn't suggest it if it wasn't... important. You won't regret it."

Hermione paused. She felt as though she ought to object, as though Hermione 15 months ago, or even 6 months ago would have objected. Instead, it seemed the most natural thing that ever natured to trustingly take his arm as he Side-Along Apparated them.

0o0o0o0

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, her quiet voice swallowed up in the huge open space, blanketed by sheets of snow.

"The Cliffs of Moher," Severus answered, his voice disappearing as well.

Hermione slowly stepped forward, not releasing his arm. It made Severus uncomfortable that this didn't make him uncomfortable.

Looking back at him suddenly, wonder and delicious excitement colouring her face, she opened her mouth, but looked as though she couldn't say anything.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had been worried about sharing this with her. It was something he had done every year on Christmas Eve for as long as he could remember. He hadn't been sure if sharing it with someone else would be too unbearably personal or not. Hermione's happiness, though, somehow created a safety net for him. Her evident delight filled him with confidence.

He strode forward, toward the edge of the annually disintegrating rock.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, tagging along just behind him, still holding the crook of his arm.

"I am striding manfully to the edge, Miss Granger, as should be obvious to you, considering our proximity."

"But what if you fall?" He knew the tone. She was going to start asking questions. Nagging questions.

"I won't fall."

"What if I fall?"

"I shall catch you."

To his surprise, that seemed to be enough for her. She happily skipped along to his strides until they reached the barrier. Severus lifted her onto it, then climbed over quickly. Taking her arm again, they trod softly to the edge.

"You do this often?"

"Every year," he uttered his words succinctly, hoping his tone would discourage further questions regarding the Potions Master's sentimental habits.

"Why?"

He pursed his lips, his sane self warring with his new, spill-everything-to-Hermione-Granger self.

"This was a mistake," he muttered under his breath. "Come, then," he said aloud, "your parents await."

As they turned, though, Hermione said, "Wait." She had stopped in her tracks; he pivoted forty-five degrees, utilising his bat of the dungeons, penetrating stare. He suddenly felt trapped and wanted only to get out as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, his bat of the dungeons, penetrating stare seemed to no longer have the desired effect on Miss Granger. Indeed, she barely seemed to notice it at all. Instead, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, in spite of the cold – wait. Pleasure?

He had pleased her?

He had pleased her? Nonsense...

Nonsense.

"Professor?" She still called him Professor. He wasn't her Professor, anymore, but still, that was what she had called him for six years; he supposed it seemed a shame to her to stop now. Unless, of course, she were annoyed with him or taking him to task; in which cases she used his first name.

Shaking himself, he answered her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She blushed. "I would like to show you something, too."

He groaned inwardly, but not knowing how to refuse (and as much as he hated to admit it, he desired to avoid hurting her feelings), he merely inclined his head almost imperceptibly and said, "Very well, Miss Granger."

No doubt swaths of tissues are forthcoming, he thought sourly.

0o0o0o0

Hermione couldn't believe she wanted to show Severus Snape where some of her happiest, most joyful memories had taken place. She thought she might be going insane, but it was only just. He had shared something with her which was clearly personal, and though she had some misgivings, it was only right that she reciprocate.

She sighed inwardly. Sometimes she cursed her Gryffindor spirit.

0o0o0o0

Curse the Gryffindor spirit, Severus thought, as they Apparated onto a curvy black road, striped by slush and snow. There was a bright building ahead of them, people toasting each other on the porches outside, cheery music emanating from the inside.

He looked at Miss Granger sharply. "This is a Muggle place," he stated.

"Yes," she said, quietly. "We're in Bunratty. That's Durty Nellie's."

He sneered.

Checking to make sure no one was watching, Miss Granger discomfited Severus greatly by wordlessly Transfiguring his robe into an overcoat.

"Come on," she said softly. "It's beautiful. My parents used to take me here every Christmas when I was a little girl. Before Hogwarts. We would go to church and then here. In a way, this was almost like second church for me."

Following this cryptic statement, he trod reluctantly after her.

Once inside, Severus quickly ordered a Guinness, partly to have something in his hand that wasn't his wand, partly to take the edge off. Miss Granger, much to his surprise, ordered a Smithwick's.

"Come here," she instructed him. "The music sessions are always over here."

He followed her to the right of the bar, where an eclectic assortment of musicians sat, engaged in a lively session.

Miss Granger fearlessly wove through the bodies standing around and sat next to a middle aged woman playing a flute, sipping her Smithwick's contentedly.

Suddenly Severus felt acutely uncomfortable. He had got rid of Spinner's End and removed to Ireland for the solitude of the lonely, untamed hills, not so he could hobnob with the friendly Irish folk. Cursing the forethought which had prompted him to develop an antidote to deadly snake venom, he downed half of his thick foamy beer in ten seconds. Glancing around, he made his way around the corner, ten feet away from the musicians and Miss Granger. Feeling more or less comfortable in his relative seclusion, he proceeded to drink the rest of his beer in peace.

Or so was his intention until an old gentleman sat down beside him, groaning slightly under the weight of the massive accordion he held.

"I trust I'm not disturbin' ye," the old man said, laying to rest by his feet the creakily ancient accordion. "'Tis always like this on t'eve before Christmas. All t'e folk in Bunratty like a pint and a song..." the old man, sighed happily, then started. "Oh! Where are me manners at? Sean Hamish," he said, extending a hand.

Severus was certain that he had been exuding as unfriendly a vibe as he could muster in his depressed state and was about to tell the blighter to take himself off when he realised this expulsory urge rose out of habit – he didn't actually want to bark at the man to leave. The vitriolic words died in his mouth.

"Severus," he responded neutrally, shaking the man's hand.

Such a small gesture... now Severus felt as though his world had been turned on its end once more. When was the last time he had shaken someone's hand? When was the last time he had merely shaken someone's hand in cordial, respectful, casual greeting? Ordinary men enjoyed this small contact, this small exchange of pleasantries, daily without pause. For Severus, it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Hermione Granger could be the best thing to happen to you since...

"Not from 'round here, are ye?"

"I hail from England, yes."

"Ah, t'at explains t'e sour expression on your face."

Severus smirked.

"Ah, truly, I'm sorry," Sean Hamish said ruefully. "Me wife has tried to cure me o' my wayward tongue, but me tongue wants none of it. Come, let me buy y'a pint."

"Thank you," Severus said, blinking as the old gentleman handed him a dripping pint of beer a few minutes later.

"My pleasure. So, what brings ye to Durty Nellie's? Ye're not a regular, I take it?"

Severus was about to answer him, when the instruments stopped and the ensuing applause died, distracting him.

"Who's got a song to share?" shouted a man playing a bohdron.

A voice then rose, acapella. Severus realised it was Hermione. He kept his face carefully passive as he suddenly found himself listening intently.

Her voice was not precisely beautiful, nor trained. Yet it held a rich, sweet, wistful quality that reminded him of someone he had known... Suddenly, he felt a lump in his chest.

"That girl you hear over there. A former pupil," Severus finally responded, sneering bitterly at himself.

The old man paused, giving Severus a calculating glance. "Ye know," he began, rolling up the sleeves of his knit, kelly green shirt, "it's nights like t'ese t'hat remind me of a trut' me wife taught me." Relaxing against the back of his chair, he took a long draught of his Guinness.

Finally, Severus decided to take the bait. "And that is?'

"It's t'e people in yer life t'at count."

"Indeed." Severus knit his brows, the corners of his mouth turning down.

"It doesn't even matter how much you like 'em. Each person has a soul wort' respectin' and lovin'. Each person you meet can bring ye closer to yer understandin' of God, and in so doing, enriches, builds up, fills yer own soul, makin' ye a proper human being.

"A wise woman is me Mary."

0o0o0o0

"Professor," Hermione said softly as she brought a large glass of brandy to him in his favourite library chair, his legs stretched out before the fire. After handing it to him, she curled up by the foot of the chair and continued, "I wanted to thank you for being so kind to my parents. They feel so much better about my – our – situation."

"I was hardly kind," he said stiffly.

"You were for you," she said with an amused smile, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the cushion.

Severus regarded the lion's mane beside his knee and felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to lay his hand on her head, as one would do a faithful golden retriever. Overcoming, as he always overcame his compulsions, he tuned in to what Hermione was saying.

"My parents are very perceptive. They could tell you were being kind."

At a loss for anything to say, Severus swallowed his brandy.

"Anyway... I just wanted to thank you for a lovely Christmas."

"No thanks are necessary."

She suddenly twisted around to balance on her knees and face him. "Just say 'you're welcome'. I dare you."

A reprimand was on the tip of his tongue... but he was caught by her steadfast gaze... the warmth of the expression in her sweet, honeyed brown eyes...

0o0o0o0

Hermione thought she might drown in the blackness of his gaze... She suddenly felt the increasingly familiar flip flop in her stomach and the heat that flowed in all directions from it. Tearing herself away, a severe blush mounting in her cheeks, she murmured a hasty "Good night" and half ran to her rooms.

An hour later, ensconced in her huge, soft bed with a book, there was a knock at the door. Sinking down into the bedclothes, as if they would protect her, she called warily, "Come in."

Severus entered. After a strained pause, he said, "I have been working on a potion."

"Yes?" Hermione prompted him. "And?" This is new for you?

He pulled a small phial from the pocket of his robe and came slowly forward, saying, "When I discovered you were suffering from Cruciatus residue in your nervous system, I began researching ancient homeopathic medicines and tried combining them with variations of Dark Magic repellants."

Towering over her, he handed her the phial. She smoothed her thumb over it, reading the handwritten label: "HGCR: #33".

Dumbstruck, it was a few moments before she found her voice. "You've made 32 trials before this one?"

"Number 33 is also a trial; however, I believe it will prove to be beneficial. We won't know until you try it. Inform me of the effects after a week or so, and if needed, we will try again."

Much to her astonishment, she felt tears burgeoning; she blinked them back desperately. "Thank you," she said shakily.

"For Merlin's sake, Miss Granger, compose yourself. There is nothing to be thankful for."

"Will you just say, 'you're welcome'?" she snapped, causing one tear to fall over the edge.

He turned and, pausing by her door, added, "I have also deemed it wise to begin research on a remedy to our situation. We will start the day after tomorrow at the regular time."

"But... I..." she trailed off, her remarks falling uselessly on a closing door.