Chapter Five

The Great Hall was engulfed in a cacophony of excited chirps and chatter as students from each House eagerly shared their plans for the Hogsmeade trip that was to be held the next day. Hermione tuned out the din as she focused on her cold and congealed mashed potatoes, pushing the hardened mush from side to side. She hadn't touched a bite; her stomach roiled at the very thought. Sighing heavily, she covertly scanned the High Table, her eyes briefly falling on Snape before turning back to her Housemates.

"It's a shame you can't go tomorrow."

She continued to stare at her plate.

"Hermione, I said it's a shame you can't go tomorrow." The voice got louder, disturbing the withdrawn girl from her thoughts.

"What?" she muttered absently. "Sorry, Gin. What were you saying?"

"You okay, 'Mione?" The brown eyes of the youngest Weasley were etched with concern.

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, her fork diving into one pile of potatoes and spooning it onto the other she had constructed on her plate.

"Ruffy gip avtetntion," Ron garbled. Food smacked loudly and sputtered out on the dishes before him and on Hermione's robes.

Repulsed, Hermione pulled a face at the boy sitting in front of her as she wiped her robe clean with a napkin.

"God, Ron! Swallow before speaking," she snapped. "Disgusting." She spat, pushing her plate away.

After taking a deep swallow of pumpkin juice, the boy began again, "Ruddy git gave you detention." Hermione suppressed a growl.

"I botched the potion. I deserve detention," she ground out, her anger mounting at having to hash out this discussion once again.

Hurt flashed in the redhead's eyes. "She's gone bloody mental, she has." He gulped, looking towards Harry wide-eyed for verification of his claim.

"Hermione, it wasn't your fault the knife slipped and you cut your hand. The bat's just looking for an excuse to punish Gryffindors," the Boy-Who-Lived chimed in, coming to his friend's defense, cutting daggers at the dark wizard seated next to Dumbledore.

Hazel eyes softened, Harry, ever the protector. "I'm going to the library."

"Again? You were there all afternoon," Ginny piped up.

"I'm still working on my essay for Professor Snape."

"You and your bloody books."

"Go bugger yourself, Ron." Her face becoming drawn, pale.

Ginny gasped as she watched her bushy-haired friend push herself away from the table and stalk out of the hall.

Dark eyes obscured by lank locks trailed the fleeing Gryffindor.

"Ow! What the bloody hell, Gin!" Ron rubbed his shin.

"Prat!" his sister snipped and deftly kicked him again.

"What I'd do?" He shrugged, confused.

Harry shook his head; sometimes Ron was clueless.

"You hurt her feelings," the girl said, assuming the cause for her friend's hasty departure.

"Women! Can't win, I tell you," he bemoaned. "Neville, mate, pass the potatoes."

Hermione briskly bounded down the halls, aggravated; it did not help that blood was starting to seep through the gauze covering her hands. "Blo..."

Vision blurred, Hermione staggered into the stone wall, trying to maintain some semblance of balance. Cramps seized her abdomen; it felt as if fire was singeing through her veins, threatening to incinerate her from the inside out. She trudged against the wall; Moaning Myrtle's loo was in the distance, if she could just remain upright. Nails dug into the grey stone, inching her stumbling form forward; slashes of blood marred the rough stone in her wake.

A gut-wrenching yowl broke from her constricted vocal cords, and she dropped to the ground. "Pleas... ple... pl..." Over and over, drag, rest, pull up, drag, crawl.

"Tergeo." Blood vanished from the wall and the runner where the girl lay sprawled, convulsions wracking her already trembling body.

The form, swathed in black, bent down and scooped up the girl, cradling her against his chest to muffle her cries. Disillusioned, long legs made haste to the safety and solitude of the dungeons.

Whispered words and coos offered little comfort to the girl who thrashed in his arms. Snape nearly dropped her on the landing to his office, his breathing labored. "Almost there, Miss Granger. Hold on."

Wandlessly, he dismantled the wards and heaved himself and his burden through the opened door before shouldering it closed. Ending his Disillusionment Charm on the both of them, he gently laid Hermione upon the floor and turned to his door, casting a Silencing Charm and erecting the wards.

The pain intensified, rifling through her weak body. "Please," she cried again to no one in particular. Snape dropped to his knees, resuming his hold of Miss Granger; never had he felt so helpless.

"Shh, it will be alright." A fucking lie and he knew it. What little dinner he ate was threatening to come up. Severus conjured a damp cloth and mopped her brow, futile in his attempts to still her form and quiet down her discomfiture. Her hands, a bloody mess, were tearing at her robe; a rattling caught his attention. He helped her out of the garment; a plastic, orange bottle clattered to the floor, rolling away from the couple.

Extending his leg while still keeping a firm hold on Hermione, he nudged the bottle towards him, plucking it from the floor as it came within his reach. The bottle was from the chemist; only a few pills remained. The prescription made out to Eugene Granger for Percoset, he recognized the medication as being a Muggle painkiller. Popping the cap using his thumb and forefinger, he dumped the little white tablets into his palm. Hermione's mouth opened on reflex, like a baby bird waiting for nourishment from its mother. He placed one pill in her mouth, which she readily swallowed. She nipped at his fingers, begging for another pill, and hesitantly, he gave into her demand.

Convulsions still seized her body as she welcomed the undertow of unconsciousness. Severus was thankful for the reprieve; she needed rest no matter how it came to her. He checked her pulse and vitals; they were returning to normal. He exhaled and scooted against the wall of his classroom, shifting to find a comfortable position for Hermione and himself.

Two hours later, and she had only moved once, and that had been to burrow closer to him. She was clutching the front of his teaching robes in her sleep. His legs were past the point of numbness. He was careful not to jostle about too much, but the loss of circulation was causing his calves to cramp. Shifting her to rest more on his left side, he wriggled his right leg, hissing at the tingling pain as sensation began to return. After a few moments, he did the same with the other.

"Mmmm." Hermione twisted, face burying deeper into that wonderful scent. Unconcerned with itchiness, she rubbed her cheek against the woolen fabric. She shifted again, eyes slowing, fluttering open. She yawned.

"Hello." She smiled sleepily, looking up into her Potions master's face.

"Sleep well?"

She nodded.

"Feeling better?"

"Much."

Yawing again, she stretched and lethargically pushed herself away from Snape and off the floor. He followed suit.

"Tea?"

"Hot cocoa?"

He nodded and gestured for her to enter his office. Once inside, he warded the door and cast another Silencing Charm; he did not want them disturbed.

He conjured a tea service for himself and a mug of hot chocolate for Hermione.

"Thank you." She blew on the beverage, taking a sip.

"You are welcome," he said, stirring a teaspoon of sugar into his cup of Earl Grey and adding a slice of lemon.

"Are you experiencing any lingering effects from the curse?"

"Not at the moment. The Percoset is doing a smashing job at alleviating my symptoms."

"I would say so." There was an edge to his tone as he handed her back the near-empty bottle.

"You've no refills left."

"I only take the pills when I need them; I just happen to need more of them on my menses."

"They are addictive, Hermione," he warned, taking a swallow of his cooling tea.

"I know," she admitted, "but it's the only way I know of to circumvent some of the effects of the curse. If I can't use magical means, I'll rely on Muggle methods."

"Fifteen points to Gryffindor for cleverness and a well-researched essay."

She smiled.

"I particularly enjoyed the pages regarding the implications of forced incestuous relationships between fathers who cast the curse upon their daughters, though those cases only numbered a small percentage of the total number of women affected."

"Still, 0.8 percent is disconcerting nonetheless, though I found if the curse was cast through familial bonds, it was done so out of greed."

He nodded, pleased with her observations and quick mind.

Encouraged by his praise, she continued, "What I find most interesting though, is that the Fidelitious Fealty is able to distinguish between sexual and non-sexual touch or emotion."

"Go on." He was enjoying their discourse.

"It all boils down to the intention of the one who casts it. For example, if a male family member casts it to gain monetary wealth from an arranged marriage, as in Nunry's case, then the sexual touch of any male other than the one to whom the woman is to be bonded will exacerbate the curse. Non-offensive, physical gestures of friendship, familial ties, or say bumping into a man in Diagon Alley have no bearing on the curse."

"Very astute." What could be called a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"If a husband were to cast the curse, any touch of a man who is outside the bloodline triggers an almost instantaneous reaction." Pausing for a moment, Hermione took a drink of her cocoa.

"And if it were a woman who cast the Fidelitious Fealty?" he ventured.

"Women tended to cast the curse on their husband's mistresses, ending any relationships outside of marriage. Then there were women who did so out of petty jealousy, which would render the woman a eunuch, for sexual touch from any man is an impossibility."

"Look at me, Hermione." Severus moved a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "Physical intimacy should only be one facet of a relationship, not its entire existence."

She shrugged away from him. "I know that, but I can't even share a kiss, feel a caress, become a mother... Moments in life that are taken for granted I can never experience." Hermione wiped away a few errant tears.

"It is getting late." The clock behind his desk read quarter to nine.

"The library will be closing soon; best get back to the tower before anyone comes looking." With a resigned huff, she grabbed her robe from the back of the chair and waited as he dismantled the wards for her.

"Tomorrow, noon?"

"Noon," he confirmed as he walked with her out of his office and into his classroom.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

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A/N: SLU my wonderful beta kicks butt. I would also like to thank everyone that has reviewed my story, it means so much to me.