Temptation at Bay

Disclaimer: JKR owns the rights to anything you recognize in this fic. I wish I did, but alas! Life is like a box of Bertie Bott's. Sometimes you get chocolate fudge, sometimes you get earwax.

Credit: Credit goes to my wonderful beta, Tevildo, for cleaning up my horrible punctuation and grammar. Any errors that remain after he is done with a chapter, are solely my own. Feel free to pelt me with cauldron cakes for these.

AN: Right, sorry for the delay folks but I have this puppy wrapped up now and the last few chapters will be coming more regularly. I'm going to complete this and maybe enter it for the Multifaceted Awards for shits and giggles, but I will definitely consider another serious break from ficcing after this. Anyway, enough about me and more about the chapter at hand – wafts of lemon in this chapter, but nothing too raunchy. Enjoy.

Hermione had breathed a sigh of relief; the book was exactly where she had left it in the library. The slender leatherbound codex had collected some more dust since she last used it – evidently no one cared much for 'Anianol Dewiniaeth, or, The Mysteryes of ye British Magicians'. A good thing it was too – she needed to double-check the reversal spell.

Not long after, she was back in her quarters. She sighed and rubbed at her burning eyes. It was only lunchtime, but it felt as if she were on the verge of collapse. The sandwich she had ordered was untouched, but she'd got through most of the coffee. Severus was sleeping again in the basket next to her on the bed. She had managed to force some gruel down his throat, but had stopped when he struggled, afraid that he'd do himself more damage.

'Better get on with some reading', she thought, carefully cracking the book open to the appropriate page. The ornate script and archaic spelling did nothing to improve the throbbing headache behind her eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth as if it could catch the gasp before it escaped. It couldn't be! She reread the sentence to make sure she wasn't mistaken.

"With eache passing daye, the man will be more unto a beaste for the minde of man and beaste cannot co-existe in the bodie of the beaste."

This was impossible! Having always prided herself on looking, or rather researching, before she leapt, this was a major blow to her academic ego. Well, she hadn't exactly planned it, she reasoned. But she had cast a spell without knowing all its implications. That's what she got for insisting on poetic justice.

Wiping angrily at the treacherous tear on her cheek, she ignored the small annoying voice in her head, reminding her that she had only herself to blame for this. This was no time for a breakdown; she had to act and hope for the best. She would do it tonight.

***

Hermione was reaching for the coffee pot again at dinner, promising her tortured taste buds that she'd add more sugar this time, when Minerva turned to her.

"Have you seen Severus around?"

Hermione nearly dropped the pot in fright. Oh Merlin! Did she know? Had Hagrid told her what had happened last night? Had Minerva put two and two together? Hermione's eyes darted to the huge man who was shovelling whole jacket potatoes into his mouth. She should have told Hagrid to keep quiet about it – not that it would have done any good, he always blabbed without meaning to. 'Calm down, Hermione,' she chided herself. 'It was a simple question, not an accusation. Just answer.'

Composing her face into what she hoped was surprised concern, she replied, "Not since the day before yesterday. Why?"

"I suspect the blasted man took my advice for once. I just wish he had given me some notice to arrange a substitute in his absence."

"Advice?"

"I told him he needed some rest. Well, not in so many words, but he did need some time away. He was long overdue; hadn't taken a single day off in the past five years." Minerva paused to sip her tea. "Where on earth did you get that nasty cut from?"

Hermione's hand darted to the cut on her forehead before she could stop it; she lowered it with great effort, her cheeks flushing red. "Tripped over Crookshanks this morning and caught the wardrobe. Silly cat."

Minerva looked unconvinced. "You look a bit peaky, dear. Are you feeling quite well?"

Hermione felt trapped by the penetrating gaze of the older woman. "I... Summer heat is getting to me, couldn't sleep last night." She smiled weakly.

"Oh, I know what you mean. It has been simply sweltering. I could show you a cooling charm that works wonderfully..."

Hermione smiled and nodded as Minerva spoke. At least one of her problems had been solved – nobody would be alarmed if Severus didn't return for a few days. Now all she had to do was reverse the spell without killing him, convince him to forgive her somehow and then stay out of his way for the rest of her natural life lest he end it unnaturally.

Simple, really.

***

It was well past midnight, the halls would be at their most deserted now. It was now or never.

He twitched and groaned when she stroked him. Worrying at her lower lip with her teeth, she knew she had to make a decision. If she didn't cast the counterspell within the next few hours Severus could be lost forever, but she didn't know whether he would survive the transformation in his weakened state. Either way, he would be no more unless she did something. She had to try! She lifted him from the basket, and, gently cradling him against her, she carried him from the room.

***

He lifted his head groggily. Where was she taking him? Back out to... a memory played around the edges of his mind like a taunting child, just out of reach, then was gone. Ah well, it probably wasn't important.

The moonlight flashed over them as they passed by windows and slipped down dark corridors. Finally she set him down on cold flagstones. He panicked for a few short moments – was she abandoning him? Hermione. He was desperately trying to struggle upright when she spoke to him. She seemed distressed, her hand trembling on his flank.

Abruptly, she moved off, turning on her heel a few steps away and pointing something at him. She spoke softly once more, then she stood up straighter and spoke in a firm voice. Light rushed at him; then, all he knew was pain.

***

Hermione's resolve had wavered at his response. His movements were weak and uncoordinated, but his terror was clear.

"Shhh... shhh... please don't, you'll hurt yourself." She stroked his soft fur – he was quivering under her fingers, his eyes wide in confusion. She knew she couldn't leave it off a moment longer; he was losing himself.

'Do it, just do it, Hermione.' Steeling herself, she levelled her wand at him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured quietly. "Atal Ysgyfarnog!"

She fell to her knees as the figure in front of her twisted in agony – the pitiful bleating of the hare shifting jaggedly to the screams of a man. His limbs stretched, his body filled out, his fur melted away into his skin. His joints cracked and popped as the connections were altered.

After what seemed like an eternity, the corridor was quiet once more. Severus' pale skin glowed eerily in the darkness where he lay sprawled on the floor. Hermione gave a start when he groaned loudly. Quickly crawling to his side, she turned him over.

"Severus?" Her fingers sought out the pulse in his neck – it was fast but strong. "Severus, can you hear me?" She turned his face towards her. "Seve-"

"Myaaaaah?" Hermione's head snapped around. A raggedy cat was watching them, its huge lamp-like eyes glittering. Mrs. Norris. Hermione strained her ears for the shuffling gait of the cat's master. Filch would no doubt appear round the corner within the next few minutes, his lamp held out in front of him like a shield.

Throwing her cloak around Severus, she hastily levitated the unresponsive man. There was no time to waste.

***

Hermione quickly shrugged into her dressing gown; she'd had to shed her blood-spattered robes. The violent transformation had opened up the gashes in his side, but at least she'd been able to treat him with more effective potions now that he was human again. He'd flailed weakly in protest when she forced a bitter cocktail– pain-relieving and Blood-Replenishing potions, with a small measure of Skele-Gro – down his throat but quieted down considerably as it took effect.

His left side was a disturbing imitation of a cloudy night in miniature – huge blue-black bruises with scraps of pale skin trapped between them stretched from his shoulder down to his hip. Where his skin wasn't bruised, it was grimy from his ordeal.

Lazy swirls of steam reached into the air above the basin of hot water before fading into nothingness. After wringing out the facecloth, she gently wiped his face. He groaned at the contact, trying to turn his face away from the damp flannel, but then relaxed into her restraining hand on his cheek. For a split second, she thought he was nuzzling her palm, but he had gone quite still again.

Rinsing the flannel between wipes, she worked her way down his neck, over his chest, and down each arm, trying to ignore the thrill of feeling his wiry muscles flex at the contact. Cradling his hand in hers, she stroked down each of his long tapered fingers, forcefully stopping herself from pressing her lips to his upturned palm.

She suddenly frowned. Why shouldn't she? It was unlikely that she'd ever have this opportunity again –he certainly wouldn't allow it. Rebelling against his imagined rebuff, she kissed his palm. Such a small innocent gesture, but it left her panting. His skin had been warm and salty against her lips. Her tongue darted out to taste him again.

A shiver ran through her body. She had to stop... she wouldn't be able to stop if she continued. Besides, it was wrong. She couldn't take advantage of him in his weakened state, he probably hated her enough already without adding molestation to the list.

She closed her eyes in shame as images of entangled limbs and bedsheets barged to the forefront of her mind. Taking in a deep shuddering breath, she continued washing him, her touch clinical and efficient now until she reached his groin. She hesitated, her true motivations for wanting to do it warring with the lack of good reasons not to.

'Do it, just do it, Hermione.' She echoed her words of earlier.

She tried not to relish the sudden twitch he gave when she ran the facecloth around his member; she tried to ignore the low moan that escaped his lips. Her brash advances would not have been so well received had he been conscious; the thought sent the building thrill in her chest crashing down.

Taking the opportunity to dress his wounds once more now that he was cleaner, she tried not to lower her gaze further down his naked body than was strictly necessary to do her work. He gasped when she massaged the thick bruise-healing paste into his side and sighed when she dribbled the Murtlap Essence into his cuts. Who knew the quiet man would be this vocal in an unguarded moment? 'Would he be this vocal when...' She violently shook her head to banish the question.

When she'd finished bandaging up his chest, she pulled the sheets up around him; not so much to keep him warm, as to keep temptation at bay.

Reaching for the bowl of ice she'd requested from the kitchens, she pressed a small chunk against her lips, allowing her tongue to sweep over it to start the melting. Running the ice over his parched mouth, she was relieved when he unconsciously licked the water from his lips. With infinite patience, she repeated the process over and over again.

Penance was served, one drop at a time.

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