Chapter 7

A/N: Beta reading thanks and unending love to Sshg316, Machshefa, and MagicAlly. Any errors are mine alone.

Thank you for all your lovely comments. Please accept my apologies for not answering them all with any regularity. Time is a factor, and when I have it, I try to spend it writing. I do want you to know, however, that I read every comment you make with great eagerness.

Some readers asked me what Snape's credentials stand for, and I meant to answer that before now. He has what amounts to an undergraduate degree (BSc), a master's degree obtained not by classwork but by research (MRes), and a doctorate, though in the wizarding world, that is equivalent to attaining the status of Warlock (War.D)...at least, in this universe, it is!

Banner by Savine Snape

Chapter Seven

She slept long, boundless hours, dead to the world, waking to pee, to nibble crackers, drink tap water from her cupped hand and stumble back to bed, where another quaff from the bottle of the purple potion sent her away again. She lost track of time, even forgetting on some level why she was pursuing this course of action. Had she at one time feared dependency on the potions the Healers gave? What a silly notion that had been; this twilight half-life was, in its way, so much easier than her previous, painful existence, feeling everything, enduring endless days of misery.

The attempted breach of her wards one shroud-dark night stirred her faintly from sleep; she rolled onto her back, her eyes half-opening, but she could not be bothered to rouse completely. The intruder went away, and she rolled to her side, consciousness passing conveniently away, as it so often did now.

The second such occurrence brought her awake and bolt upright in her bed. Snape! It was Snape. The sensation of his passage through the magical barrier at her door was not unlike the sensation of the ice blue evening gown sliding down her otherwise naked body, all the way to her feet. Snape was here, finally here. Dear God, now what? The flat was a mess, but it was no more than an approximation of her own condition. Why hadn't she thought this out better? True, waiting had been intolerable, but she had hoped...known her mind whispered...that he would come on the night of the Order meeting. She ought to have spent the day tidying the flat...and herself...for his arrival.

And then he was gone, slithered through the barrier she had set to allow none but him to enter, and she was bereft of him.

'No!' she cried, throwing the blankets from her and erupting from her bed, swaying on her unsteady legs when she tried to stand. Lack of nourishment had weakened her, but mad determination fuelled her enfeebled state, and she ran for the door.

Severus returned the stare of the grimy gryphon door knocker eyeball for eyeball. What if he knocked and she didn't let him in? Did he want that humiliation witnessed by any chance passer-by or casual curtain-twitcher? The fog might protect him from prying eyes, but he was far too vigilant to depend on it. He ought to have thought this out more thoroughly. He should be Disillusioned for this operation, and he ought to have cast a strong Silencing Spell to disguise his potentially unsuccessful entry attempts. He neither wanted nor needed some Muggle do-gooder calling a copper on the madman trying to break into a flat.

On the other hand, neither could he cast the Dillusionment Charm now. What if a nosey neighbour had already spied him...was watching him even now? It would be a flagrant violation of the Statute of Secrecy. No, it would be best for him to go into a dark alley, Disillusion himself, then come back and enter the flat, by hook or crook.

He turned from the door, feeling the shimmer of magic as he passed down the steps to the pavement, then he stepped into the street and began to cross, probing his memory for a likely nearby hiding place for safe spell casting.

'Snape!'

The screeching echo of his name fell into the fog-wet night, the cloud of mist dampening sound as effectively as it impeded sight. Still, it seemed preternaturally loud to his over-cautious ears.

'Well, the neighbours heard that,' he muttered sardonically.

He turned, seeing a wraith-like figure standing in the doorway to the girl's flat, and he felt a curious mixture of relief at her opening of the door and horror at her appearance. Allowing neither emotion to show, he swiftly mounted the steps and continued forward, guessing that she would fall back to permit him entrance. His confidence paid off, for she did just that, retreating in response to his advance, until he stood inside the cramped, malodorous space with her and snapped the door closed behind him against the inhospitable night.

He withdrew his wand for illumination, but the girl reached past him and flipped a switch on the wall, suddenly flooding the room with electric light. Each of them narrowed their eyes against the unforgiving white glare, and Severus had an opportunity to wonder if the interior of the flat was any more hospitable than the foggy night had been.

He was taken aback by what the light revealed to him. The two-room flat was a mess, the air redolent of dirty cat box and mouldering rubbish. But the truly frightful sight was the girl, nearly skeletal in appearance, a slight whiff of unwashed body making itself known even in this place of unpleasant odours. Her unwashed hair was matted to her head, and she wore mismatched, tatty clothing which hung upon her bony frame like over-large garments on a mannequin. She stared at him with enormous brown eyes set deep in purplish sockets, and overall his well-accustomed olfactory senses detected a medicinal smell...valerian and kratom, his brain supplied...that seemed to come from her very pores: She had been dosing herself with a strong sleep potion.

'Wh-why are you here?' the girl asked, her voice hoarse and cracked, as if from lack of use.

Severus drew himself to his full height, looking down his nose at her as he tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time.

'I am here for tea, of course.'

He raised an eyebrow, hoping for some sign of amusement from her, but she simply stared at him, equal parts trepidation and expectation leaking from her like wine from a pierced skin.

'I will put together the tea whilst you go make yourself ... presentable.' He flicked a glance from her dirty hair down to her mismatched socks. 'Begin with a shower and fresh clothing...have you anything clean to wear?'

She nodded once, having the grace to appear a bit ashamed of herself. Good.

'Then off with you,' he said, looking away from her into the kitchen area.

'I haven't got much on hand for tea ...' she began, but he stopped her with a lifted hand.

'I'm sure I'll manage,' he promised. 'Go now.'

She walked from him towards the small bathroom, and when the door closed behind her, he cast his Patronus. 'The girl is ill but unharmed. I will tend to her and send word if further assistance is required. For now, she needs quiet.' The silvery shape paced before him, nodding as if memorising his words. 'Go to Shacklebolt at Grimmauld Place!' he commanded, and it was gone.

That done, he stalked determinedly to the electric refrigerator and pulled it open, his expectations low. The girl looked as if she hadn't eaten since he'd last seen her, though there were drifts of crisps packets littering the table top and spilling onto the floor...what the devil was a Hula Hoop?

The refrigerator contained a shrivelled apple, jars of condiments, and a carton of semi-skimmed milk. Without much hope, he opened the carton and wrinkled his nose in disgust...the milk had definitely gone off.

A mewling sound distracted him, and he saw the girl's fluffy ginger familiar sitting at his feet, looking at him with accusing yellow eyes.

'How was I supposed to know?' he demanded crossly. 'I came as soon as I suspected ...'

The cat stood and walked to a corner, where laid two empty bowls...had she not even put water out for him?...and an untidy jumble of empty tins which had once contained fish or fowl and had now been scoured clean of every morsel by the beast's undoubtedly sandpaper-rough tongue. Discarded nearby was a flattened Go-Cat bag.

'Poor old moggy,' he said, feeling a sharp twinge of sympathy. 'You've been having a rough time of it too, eh?'

The cat meowed loudly as if in agreement, butting its head against Severus' trouser leg and threading figure-eights between his ankles, talking all the while.

'Yes, yes, you too,' Severus assured the cat, stepping carefully over it to the cupboards and searching to make sure the girl at least had tea. He found a tin of tea leaves, a box of teabags, and a variety of coffee grinds for the coffee machine on a lower shelf. Did she live on caffeine?

In the next cupboard he found in solitary state, on their very own shelf, four unopened jars of gourmet jam.

'Bloody hell,' he muttered, and turning away he bellowed, 'Turn-Up!'

A house-elf popped into the flat, bright-eyed and eager in his smart white tea towel embroidered with the company logo, Terence's Turn-Ups: We turn up when you need us!

'Turn-Up is happy to serve sir!' the house-elf proclaimed enthusiastically.

Severus scowled at the inappropriately cheerful elf. 'Pipe down!' he snapped irritably. 'Make a list.'

The house-elf whipped out a tidy notepad and a pencil, both emblazoned with Terence's Turn-Ups, and scribbled down Severus' shopping list.

'And I need it yesterday,' he added at the end.

The elf looked pensive. 'Sir has a Time-Turner?' he asked nervously.

'Move it!' Severus bellowed, and the elf obediently Disapparated.

Then Severus turned back to the kitchen, his wand flicking madly as he sacked up rubbish, scoured surfaces, and laid out the tea service things. Turn-Up popped in with milk and bread, pumpkin juice and eggs, sausages and fresh herbs, bags of cat food and cat litter...and a handful of Muggle coins for the blasted meter. Severus paid him, wishing it were possible to tip the blasted creature for good service. But that wasn't the type of compensation that interested a house-elf.

'You've done a good job,' he bit out, the unfamiliar phrase awkward on his tongue.

Turn-Up turned up his enormous eyes, suddenly tearful. 'Sir is ... pleased?'

Severus nodded curtly and turned away, thankful to hear the pop of Disapparition behind him. He fed the electric meter, cranked up the heat, and busied himself with the comforting ritual of preparing tea.

Thus when the girl emerged from her shower wearing a clean jumper and jeans, he had tea and toast on the table, and holding her questioning gaze, he deliberately popped the lids off four jars of gourmet jam, one after the other.

Hermione averted her eyes and slipped into a chair at the table. He had certainly made himself at home...and who could have blamed him, really?...but she really hadn't meant for him to know she hadn't touched his jams.

'You went to the shops?' she asked hesitantly, noticing the toast and knowing she'd had no bread for weeks. Hadn't she heard him shouting something about turnips?

'I sent out for it,' he said vaguely, stirring up a cup of tea for her, including fresh milk.

She drank it down greedily, her taste buds caring nothing for the provenance of the sustenance provided. As she drank, Snape cut a piece of toast into four quarters and spread a tiny bit of jam on each one, using a different flavour for each square. He slid the plate before her and took her teacup to replenish it.

Hermione bit into the toast, and the sweetness of the wild strawberry jam burst on her tongue. She hummed with pleasure and caught the half-smile on Snape's lips before it was quickly gone.

From his place across the floor, Crookshanks crunched through a bowl of Go-Cat, and Hermione noted with a flash of embarrassment the shining surfaces in her kitchen. A glance into the alcove meant for a utility room showed even the cat box had been scoured and filled with new litter.

'Why did you come?' she asked again, a bit of her anguish creeping into her tone. 'And don't say you wanted tea! You might have had that anywhere!'

He lounged across the table from her, seeming more relaxed than he normally appeared at Grimmauld Place. Was it because there was little danger of random Weasley incursions here? He had removed not only his cloak but his coat, as well, and his shirtsleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, so that the faded grey of his Dark Mark showed against the very white skin of his left forearm. He watched her with slightly narrowed black eyes, and one side of his mouth curled up at her outburst.

'But we're skiving off the Order meeting,' he said, deadpan. ''Bout time, too. They were becoming tedious.'

She pushed her empty plate away from her, feeling pettish and quarrelsome now that her most immediate needs had been taken care of. The after-effects of the sleeping potion were hanging on, but her shower had made her more alert, and she was wary.

'Have you eaten enough?' Snape inquired mildly. 'Would you care for another piece of toast?'

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. 'No, I don't want anything else to eat. I want to know why you're really here.'

'Well you wouldn't come to me, would you? Even though I gave you my address.' He stood, sending the dishes from the table to the waiting washing-up water in the sink. Then he meticulously flicked a crumb from his black trousers. 'Now, how do you mean to entertain me?'

Hermione started, a panicked fluttering setting up in her chest. She'd struggled with the anxious feelings whilst she showered, both excited and alarmed that he had come to her. What sort of 'entertainment' did he expect?

But rather than looking at her, he strolled into her lounge area, which contained one armchair and a matching sofa, and he stopped before her television with its accompanying video recorder. She followed him somewhat hesitantly, keeping well out of his reach.

'It's a television...shows moving picture stories,' she offered.

He nodded, squatting on his haunches to better examine the VCR. 'I saw tellies growing up...my ... friends had one...but this is new. What is its function?'

Hermione bit her lip; she'd forgotten that Snape was a half-blood. 'It plays recorded material...you can choose which movie or programme you want to watch.'

She crept closer, fascinated by his interest. He didn't even seem like Snape when he was thus engaged. He could have been any disturbingly appealing, somewhat older man she'd brought home ... not that she'd ever done much of that.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. 'Is it operational? I only ask because it's covered in dust.' A grimy fingertip was offered as proof.

'Yes, it works. I just haven't much felt like watching anything.'

He flicked his fingers, magically clearing the dust from the electronics, and seated himself in the middle of the sofa, directly in front of the screen. 'Excellent,' he said. 'You may put something on for us to watch.

Hermione felt a trifle put out. How like a man! Give him a telly, and he's ready to veg out on the sofa!

'Problem?' he asked, and Hermione met his gaze. 'Would you rather play wizard chess?' He sat up a bit straighter. 'Or if you prefer, I can go now.'

Hermione whirled from him and plucked a tape at random from her shelf of videos. So now he was threatening her. Well, he couldn't go now. She pushed the tape into the player and adjusted the volume. It would serve him right if she sat down in the armchair, but Crookshanks had appropriated it for his after-dinner kip. Besides, she was too drawn to Snape to disturb the cat and take that particular stand. As unsettled and irritated as she felt, she was nevertheless happy to have him, the comforting, living, breathing bulk of him taking up space in the middle of her sofa. So she sat down beside him, close enough that their upper arms touched.

He stiffened at the press of her arm against his, but she didn't care. Her entire body was bathed in well-being to be so close to him. She wanted to absorb the feeling into her very cell structure, to hold it within herself for later access during all the times she would be miserable again ... when Snape wasn't here. But she didn't have long to bask in her contentment, for the soporific effect of the flickering images on the television screen produced their inevitable result. Soon her head fell back against the sofa cushion, and she dozed.

Severus pretended to watch the inane programme she had inserted into the player, monitoring her state from behind the curtain of his hair. When she nodded off, he waited five minutes to be sure she was asleep, then rose from the sofa. He had further investigation to complete whilst she was otherwise occupied.

She stirred, her eyelids lifting minutely. 'What?' she murmured.

'Just need the loo...I'll be right back,' he said soothingly, and waited until she was quiet again before moving into the bathroom.

His interest was all for her stash of potions or other drugs. He frowned at the open shelf of bath soap and shampoo before working out the shelving behind the mirror. He found nothing alarming; she had an anti-depressant, virtually untouched, from the look of it, but there was no danger of abuse or dependency there.

He moved purposefully into her bedroom, its stale air telling the tale of the welter of bedclothes in need of a good scrubbing. But it was the bottle of Dreamless Sleep on her bedside table, otherwise cluttered with used tissues and empty cups, which answered the question in his mind. He carried the offender into the bathroom and poured it down the drain, rinsing the phial with water from the tap so that no dregs of it remained. He then searched every possible hiding place, looking for an additional stash, but he found none, nor did she have Muggle pharmaceuticals beyond paracetamol.

He replaced this rather harmless bottle of tablets in her handbag and moved to the bathroom sink to cleanse his hands of the dust from his search. He had never, before tonight, had any indication from the girl that she was using substances improperly, and his search bore this out. She had only begun over-using the sleeping potion since last he had seen her, and eventually, he would know why. For now, it was enough that he had cleared out her stash, that she was well, if malnourished, and accepting of his presence and assistance.

Avoiding, as always, the sight of his reflection in the mirror, he returned to the sofa and resumed his position. She stirred sleepily and cracked her eyes open again. The smile she gave him then pierced him with its sweetness...its welcome.

'Hi,' she said.

His throat felt oddly constricted, and his voice sounded strained to his ears when he answered her. 'Hi, yourself.'

She uttered a small sigh and wrapped her arms about his arm, as if it were a teddy bear, and settling her cheek on his shoulder, drifted to sleep again. The cat chose that moment to express his appreciation for the filled food dish by jumping onto the sofa and stepping into Severus' lap, covering his white shirt and black trousers with a coat of ginger hairs.

'Is this really necessary?' he asked the creature, suddenly remembering that it was a half-Kneazle. The confounded thing probably did understand what he was saying to it.

Crookshanks...a bloody stupid name, if you asked Severus...did not comment on the relative necessity of the operation, rather giving an almighty stretch and yawn before planting his back end on Severus' lap, his front paws on Hermione's jeans-clad legs, and beginning to purr with a violence surely sufficient to register on the Muggle's Richter Scale. With one arm appropriated for sleep-snuggling and a dead weight across his legs, Severus recognised that he was undeniably trapped ... but he was not alarmed by it. Instead, a strange sense of success...of satisfaction...seeped into his consciousness, and using his free hand to thread through the cat's thick fur, he passed the hours of the night in watching over his new charges until he slept, too.

Crookshanks was the only witness to the shifting of human positions through the night, which had the girl pulled against the man's chest, their arms wrapped each about the other, as inky black hair blended with the girl's lighter brown. Crookshanks was forced then to adjust his own position, but he made no complaint: The food dish was full, and the girl was out of bed.

The needed Protector had arrived.