Chapter 9

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

Working tirelessly well into the night, they took turns preparing ingredients, stirring the potion and reciting incantations. The solution took five grueling hours of chopping, crushing, mixing and chanting continuously before it could be left to boil for another three hours. When the potion was sufficiently bubbling, Snape placed a lid on it and set a timer spell. The clock from his sitting room chimed, telling them it was a quarter past one.

"You must be exhausted," he said, offering an arm to her as they left the lab.

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "The possibility of finding a cure has me too on edge for sleep."

He nodded, understanding, but he still wished she would rest. Although he was certain the cure would work, it was Dark Magic, and, as such, the healing would most likely come at a price. He didn't want her to wear herself out before they finished.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered.

"That would be lovely," she said, following him into the small kitchen.

He set about mixing various tea leaves and herbs together to create the perfect brew when her stomach growled.

"Sorry," she said, looking embarrassed.

"Don't be," he assured her. "You hardly touched your dinner."

"I was just too ... "

"I was not chastising you," he said gently. "I know you were thinking of the potion, as was I. But there is no reason for you not to eat something now."

Knowing her stomach was probably unsettled from nerves, he made her some buttered toast and then watched as she nibbled on it.

"This will work, Hermione," he assured her.

"I don't doubt you," she said with a sleepy smile.

Her belief in him always mystified him. Watching her hide a yawn behind her small hand, he wondered if he would ever stop being amazed at the faith she had shown in him since the end of her first year.

He had purposely chosen a blend of tea to promote peaceful rest ... not a sleeping draft ... just some chamomile, lavender and valerian to help her relax. He figured her body would do the rest. Sure enough, her eyes seemed to flutter shut, only to snap open again.

"There is a guest bed you may use to take a nap," he offered. "We still have a long wait until the potion is ready for the final step."

She looked like she was about to object when another yawn issued forth.

"Come," he said, standing up and offering his hand. "You shall rest, and I will wake you when it's time."

She took his hand and allowed him to lead her upstairs. He showed her into a small room with a comfortable bed. He watched her look longingly at it and then back to him. Before she could voice her objection, he promised once again to wake her when the potion was ready. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for everything," she muttered into his chest.

Gently stroking her back, he kissed the top of her head. "You are welcome, pet."

She pulled back a little so she could look in his face. "Sorry I've been a disappointing date."

"There is nothing disappointing about you," he assured her. "Now into bed with you."

He waited until she was under the covers before snuffing the candles and closing the door.

~*~

When he was certain the potion had been reduced as much as possible, he doused the flame and stared at the brownish-green salve. It appeared perfect, but it wasn't as if one had much to go on other than gut instinct when dealing with ancient Dark potions. But up until this point, there was nothing particularly Dark about the brew before him – just another mixture of plants and animal parts. At least it will be until this, he thought as he placed the vial of Lucius' blood on the tabletop. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, praying to any deity who would listen for this to work before heading upstairs to wake Hermione.

He knocked gently on the door and waited for a response. After a moment passed, he tried again. With still no response and concern growing, he slowly opened the door, wand out.

She was sleeping soundly, curled up on her side, long hair fanning out behind her. Her face was relaxed; all the tension and hidden pain it usually possessed was gone. Without being able to see into her knowing eyes, she looked so young. Too young, he thought. He briefly wondered what he looked like when he slept. Was he as peaceful and angelic? He nearly laughed out loud at the thought and blamed the lateness of the hour and the potion fumes for even having such an inane thought.

With a little awkwardness, he reached out and gently touched her arm. "Hermione," he whispered. "It is time."

She was instantly awake and upright in bed, her wand drawn, before her mind and eyes caught up with her body's trained response to an unknown touch.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, lowering her wand. "Old habits and all."

Though he was impressed with her reaction, and if he were willing to admit it ... which he wasn't ... a little fearful he had been about to be hexed, he simply assured her that it was fine and that they should return to the lab.

She stood up and stretched, and he noticed her dress rose slightly up her legs as she did so. His mind was brought back to the task at hand when she locked her arm in his and said, "Let's go."

He followed her back down into the lab, taking a place across the table from her. Watching as she slowly uncapped the vial, he once again said a silent prayer as she drizzled the dark red liquid into the waiting cauldron. Her face was intense as she muttered the last incantation while stirring the required thirteen times. The mixture had thickened to a gel state, and she was having trouble churning as it continued to congeal. He wanted to help, but it was important that the person cursed be the one to complete the potion. With the use of both hands, she completed the last circle and lowered the stirrer to the counter.

Expecting her to want to try the balm immediately, he was surprised that she just stared at it.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

"What if it doesn't work?" she whispered.

He was immediately at her side, taking her hands in his. "It will work," he assured her. "Why don't you try it?"

She glanced down at the potion, which was now a fairly innocuous mint color, then back to him. With shaky hands, she began to remove her dress. He turned around to give her privacy.

After a few moments, he heard her sigh with relief, and he began to relax. His ease was short-lived. When a scream tore from her mouth, he turned to find her doubled over. He rushed to her side and was frightened to find what looked like black fog seeping out of the very top of the wound where she had applied the salve.

"It hurts. It hurts," she was chanting as tears welled in her eyes and her body shook.

He pulled her to him. He feared something like this. No Dark cure came easy. "It's the toxins of the curse leaving you," he told her. "The potion is working. But you need to apply the rest."

"I ... I can't. Not by myself." She looked to him, her eyes begging for his help.

He removed the cauldron from the lab table, which he quickly transfigured into a small bed. "Lie down," he urged her gently.

She did as he instructed, and he sat next to her on the edge of the mattress and began to apply the potion as gently as he could as she thrashed beneath his hands. Her wails of agony slashed through him as he continued to torment her with the treatment, batting her hands away as she tried to claw at the cut and the mist rising within it. Once he was certain the entire wound and the surrounding tissue were well coated, he straddled her legs, using his weight to hold them still as he pinned her arms to her side, afraid she would hurt herself if left free. He wasn't sure if using magic on her would interfere with the potion; besides, putting her in a body bind seemed wrong and cold, even to him. And so he held her, releasing her arms only to apply more balm as needed as the hours of night drained away into the twilight of morning.

The sun was shinning brightly by the time all of the potion had been applied, and the black vapor no longer rose from the wound. Hermione, voice long hoarse from hours of screaming, only whimpered now and then in her state of unconsciousness. She had passed out about forty minutes into the process. Snape thought it was a blessing for her.

He himself was beyond exhaustion, but there was one thing left to do for her. He summoned some water and a flannel and began to gently wash away the remains of the potion before inspecting the wound, which now resembled any other cut.

Standing, he pulled a glass jar from his pocket. He had done some brewing of his own while Hermione slept. The book he had consulted after his visit with Lucius confirmed the detoxing potion and also included a healing potion. As with the first brew, it was an innocent mixture of herbs and oils, except for the last ingredient. He bared the skin of his left forearm and sharply drew a blade across it, gathering the running blood into the jar. He watched transfixed as the clear liquid turned pink. "Blood of a friend, freely given," he whispered. Corking the bottle, he gently swirled the contents thirteen times clockwise before pouring it into Hermione's injury.

The effect was instantaneous. The skin began to knit itself together as the surrounding area was soothed, and the angry red color receded. He continued to trickle the potion over her until all traces of the wound were gone, and all that remained was flawless, pale skin.

He sank onto the floor beside the bed and laid his head on the mattress. It was over. She was cured.

Author's Notes: Shakespeare and snark make a comeback in the next chapter.

Many thanks to Zafania and Tjwritter, who suffered through the first draft, and to Logical Quirk, who made sure I didn't make more mistakes.