Seven

A/N: With thanks to my beta, JunoMagic.

In unspoken agreement to not mention the events of the morning, Hermione and Severus both pretended that they hadn't seen each other before he emerged from the bathroom to partake of her burnt toast and jam. Not wanting to crowd him, Hermione made no objection to Severus taking one of her books to read, though actually, she would have much preferred to talk to him.

It had occurred to her, somewhere between making her second cup of coffee and burning the toast, that for as long as this quarantine lasted, she had one of Wizarding Britain's finest minds at her disposal. Difficult and surly as he might be, Hermione was excited at the thought that so long as he wasn't too sick, she might actually be able to have the conversation she'd been dying to have about Russian Potions master Nikolai Vasilyev's latest articles about magical mass production in Ars Alchemica. That, and all the other conversations for which she ordinarily didn't have the time, or a suitable partner.

In truth, Hermione had not spoken to, or even really seen anyone outside St Mungo's for a few months. Of course, she kept up a few correspondences and made sure to meet with Harry, Ginny and Ron whenever possible, but they were all so caught up in their own lives, Harry and Ginny as newlyweds, Ron with George and the shop, and she with the busy life of a trainee Healer that such small pockets of free time were few and far between. She hadn't even been on a date this year. Going through the men at the hospital had never been her style, and there just wasn't any time to go out and meet new people.

Of course, there were people at work who could more than meet Hermione in their own fields of expertise, but the hospital was often like its own little world. Whenever she managed to meet with friends for lunch, they would invariably talk over the latest hospital gossip. The few times that they did discuss the latest advances in healing, they never had enough time to really go into detail.

The result of all this was that while Severus buried his nose in a book about Amazonian tribal magics, Hermione forced herself to be patient by meticulously going through the information she had been given on the French research into the P-virus. As she did so, she often peeked up over her paper to see if he looked at all amenable to being drawn into conversation.

When he made to pick the book straight back up after lunch and settle in for the afternoon, Hermione decided that she could stand the silence no longer. Just as he was reaching for the piece of parchment he had been using as a bookmark, she blurted out, 'Would you say the pain moves in waves or more sudden spikes?'

'Is that the question you've been dying to ask me for the last three hours?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at her in maddening superiority, smirk in place.

Hermione blushed at being so obvious in her earlier observations, but nevertheless grabbed the gift of his attention with both hands. Without examining the feelings too deeply, she was nevertheless aware of a strong desire for his approval at the edges of her conscience, warring with an urge not to feel like a nuisance.

I don't need his approval. I'm an adult now, for Merlin's sake!

But it would be nice to have it.

Even though he had given her permission to call him 'Severus' the day before, it still didn't sit well. Resolving to get to know 'Severus' before their enforced time together was over, Hermione decided that, yes, she did mean to pursue that topic.

'Not exactly, but I wouldn't mind talking to you if you can tear yourself from the Amazonians for a little while. I've been familiarising myself with the latest research into your condition.'

He smoothly put his book down and gave her his attention.

'There is constant, dull, aching pain,' he answered slowly, 'and every now and then, it builds up into a wave of a somewhat sharper pain, then subsides again.'

Hermione nodded slowly. That more or less fit what she had been reading. Having somewhat more interest in Muggle medicine than some of her peers, she had also done some reading on priapism in the Muggle world near the beginning of the P-virus outbreak. All the symptoms of this magical virus more or less matched the Muggle theories which stated that raised levels of a certain biochemical, adenosine, were responsible for the condition.

But, and there was a very big 'but' after that, magical diseases by their nature always worked somewhat differently to their more straightforward Muggle counterparts. That was one of the reasons she had never chosen Magical Bugs as a speciality. Mixing Muggle medicine in that field was almost certain to lead to failure. Magic simply didn't work on the same rules as the scientific world of bacteria, cells and antibodies. As frustrating as it was for Hermione, even the most basic knowledge of Muggle medicine was more likely to be more misleading than helpful in that field of study.

The French research, which really did identify sex as possibly the best course of 'treatment' for this disease, was one such huge point of divergence. Although she knew that Severus was a half-blood, Hermione wondered whether he might know a bit more about it than she did. He had, after all, spent much longer living in the Wizarding world than she had, and he was a Slytherin. Steadfastly holding onto old traditions and thoughts was occasionally useful.

'How much do you know about sex magic?'

To her relief, he neither smirked nor balked, but looked thoughtful as he replied, 'More than you, I imagine. I haven't seen any books on the subject in your collection, and your comments yesterday about impotence potions would suggest that you know little of that particular branch of magic.'

Though the words themselves were not particularly flattering, Hermione couldn't argue with his deductions. She also couldn't see what possible relation impotence potions had to the particular topic she wanted to discuss, and she told him so.

His voice took on a lecturing tone as he replied, 'I trust you are familiar with the idea that love can constitute a magic of its own?' He barely paused for her nod before continuing. 'Sex magic operates on similarly abstract principles, and of course the two often overlap. The fundamental idea is that something in the exchange, both physical and psychological, necessarily involved in ordinary intercourse can create not only life but also other benefits. Unquantifiable and imprecise, but nevertheless present.'

Hermione soaked up the information before interrupting with, 'But what about rape and other such situations where the emotional or psychological is altered or negated? Surely that would lead to different results?'

She almost felt him tense, and the air crackled with a sort of energy.

'And why would you imagine I am an expert on such a topic?' His voice was deadly quiet.

Hermione sensed that she was treading on very thin ice. She didn't want to know what made him so touchy on this particular subject; she didn't even want to hazard a guess.

Screwing up her courage, she let her own mental shields drop a fraction and looked him squarely in the eye as she replied, 'I wish to rely on your expertise of the Dark Arts, Professor.' This time, she put emphasis on the title. As much as she might wish to appear as a knowledgeable professional, she did still look up to him as an intellectual authority figure.

Apparently, he was satisfied with her reply. He started again, though she noticed that he didn't directly answer her question.

'You alluded yesterday to the less desirable side effects of suppressing natural desires and reactions. However, stimulating and suppressing sexual urges are linked. In fact, the active ingredients in fertility and impotence potions are similar, but combined with different ingredients, the compounds formed produce opposite results. In ancient times, manipulation of any of the natural cycles was quite heavily frowned upon. Modern improvements and social standards are such that this only remains true for certain suppressants. Namely, impotence potions and even female contraception in some circles.'

Here, he frowned, as if deliberating whether to continue.

'Of course,' he added more slowly, 'sex magic does have an identifiably darker side, but that is true of all branches of magic, is it not?'

Hermione could not refute that last remark. She was still halfway through digesting the information when she blurted out, 'So what does all this mean in relation to the potions you were using?'

He shrugged. The slightest shift of his shoulders.

'It means that it is more than likely that I overdosed a little on the impotence potion, causing the, shall we say, episode that caused me to be taken to St Mungo's. It also means that contrary to what you might have been told about the limits of magical medicine in this area, when properly brewed and used judiciously, those potions are not harmful.'

Raising her eyebrow at his comment on the 'judicious' use of impotence potions, Hermione was inwardly seething with irritation that he hadn't shared this information earlier. Actually, it may have been more correct to say that her anger was in not being aware of it herself. It irritated her that she hadn't even realised that she had been buying into a social norm rather than proven science. Moments like this depressed her; she felt unnecessary. Nothing she had done so far could honestly be considered helping.

When all this is over, I will petition the St Mungo's Board for much more thorough instruction in sex magic for all Healers!

She had only just finished that thought when his first real attack started.

'Excuse me,' Severus heard himself mutter stiffly. So concerned was he on getting out of her view, he knocked over his chair on the way to barricade himself in the bathroom. It was inexplicable, but it seemed of utmost importance not to appear weak in front of her. He didn't want her to see that he was in pain.

Blood pounding in his ears, he slumped to the floor as he struggled to clear his mind and regain control, but already distracted, the sudden onslaught of blinding pain crept through all his defences as wave after wave of agony racked his body.

It's all that bloody girl's fault. Asking me about bloody rape rituals then turning those cursed trusting eyes on me. Little wonder I'm confused!

Sure enough, a mere second or two later, the 'bloody girl' was hammering on the bathroom door, squalling for him to come out.

'Go away,' he called, thoroughly embarrassed that it came out sounding more like a moan.

'Stop being ridiculous, Severus. I need to see it. This is the most sensitive stage of the virus. The stage where things can go wrong.'

Arguing was good. It focused his mind in a way that dwelling on Hermione Granger's inexplicable propensity to be friendly never could.

'You can't give me anything anyway,' he retorted. 'Resistant to pain potions, remember?'

'I never got time to explain them to you, but there are a few Muggle remedies we can try, as well as that French research.'

'You will not get your hands, or any other part of your body anywhere near my person,' he snarled, the morning's humiliation still fresh.

'I wasn't suggesting that as our first course of action,' she replied. 'Now get out before I blast down the door to get in to you.'

Damn her, she sounded amused.

'You wouldn't.' He immediately felt like hexing himself.

Never dare a Gryffindor! Now she'll have to do it just to prove me wrong.

As it turned out, he was actually right when he assumed that she wouldn't break down the door. Always one for slightly more finesse than her peers, Hermione's next action was to noiselessly Vanish the whole thing, hinges and all, after which she waltzed right in and crouched down next to him.

'I'm not paying for that door to be replaced,' he muttered, closing his eyes so that he wouldn't have to watch her reach for his pants. He shouldn't have worried. She seemed to be trying, and failing, to get him on his feet.

'Where do you want me to go?'

'The bed,' she replied. 'You'll be more comfortable there.'

'More comfortable for what?' he asked, suspicious of her as yet unnamed alternative Muggle remedy.

'Oh, I'm just going to drain some of the blood down there,' she said airily, grip on his arm tightening even as she said it.

Jerking out of her ineffectually strong grip, Severus immediately put as much distance between them as he could without turning around to check where the door to the living room actually was.

'You have got to be joking.'

The determined look on her face said that, no, she wasn't.

'There must be another way.'

'I thought you said you didn't want my hands or body anywhere near your person?'

'I'll do it myself.'

She shook her head.

'You know that won't work. Just let me do this once. If it doesn't cause a marked improvement, you can do it your way next time.'

Edging towards him all the while she was talking, Hermione took a gentle grip on his arm and steered him back to the bed.

'Lie down and try to relax.'

Muttering profanities under his breath about bossy witches interfering where they weren't wanted, Severus grudgingly did as she asked, more than a little worried about what this procedure would entail.

As he tried his hardest to block out all errant thoughts and retreat to the blank space inside his head, he was totally unprepared for a very sharp prick on his, well, prick.

So violent was his reaction, Hermione almost dropped whatever it was she was doing as he sat up and grabbed her arm.

'What the bloody hell are you doing?' he hissed, eyes slowly and inexorably being drawn downwards to whatever it was that she had done.

He felt nauseous.

No.

He felt absolutely, wretchedly, disgustingly sick at the sight that greeted him.

A bloody huge needle was poking into it, and she had just started to draw blood out. Gritting his teeth and ignoring it for a moment, Severus turned his most intimidating glare on his errant ex-student.

'What is this?'

'I told you,' she defended stubbornly, 'I am attempting to drain some of the blood out. We could be finished by now if you hadn't stopped me.'

'Couldn't you have used some sort of freezing charm?' he queried scathingly. 'Not even a salve to make it a bit numb before sticking me in my privates with a bloody fucking needle the size of my arm? Did it never occur to you that I might need some sort of warning before you attempted such a thing? Use your brains, Miss Granger. You've been trying to convince me you have them for the last ten years at least.'

Intending to be spiteful and hurtful, Severus was rewarded for his troubles when Hermione frowned more deeply and replied, 'Please remove your hand from my arm. The sooner this is finished, the better.'

Severus had other ideas.

'Remove your hand from the needle, Granger.'

As they glared at each other, Severus ever so slowly started to draw her hand (and the accompanying needle) away and out.

Although she realised what he was doing, Hermione didn't fight him, but her glare intensified, and Severus saw real fury in her eyes.

'I am trying to help you.'

'Your help is not welcome,' Severus hissed through very tightly clenched teeth as the needle finally pulled free.

Somehow managing to look both hurt and furious, Hermione gave him one more look before flouncing out into the living room and slamming the door behind her.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Severus curled up on the bed to ride the pain out and be miserable.

He wished he'd thought to bring that book on the Amazonians with him.