Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13

"So nice of you to finally join me," Snape snapped as he heard her footfalls closing in on him from behind. He paused in his steps.

"Now, if you have ceased your childish tantrum, there is work to be done. My stores are, regrettably, depleted and must be restocked."

"Will we be traveling to Diagon Alley...? Sir," she added as an afterthought.

Her shorter legs struggled to keep up with his pace as he resumed his brisk walk. He paused again to allow Hermione to bridge their gap.

"No, we will be foraging in the Forbidden Forest." He looked down his aquiline nose at her. "I suggest you either change or transfigure your clothing into something more appropriate."

Hermione glanced down at herself; her school robe was opened, revealing her uniform. "If I may go to my room and change, sir, I won't be but a moment."

Snape nodded. "See that you aren't."

Hermione didn't dally as she hurried to the Gryffindor dormitory. "Bertie Botts." The Fat Lady swung open before she even reached the portrait hole. The common room was engulfed in warmth from the roaring fire.

"Hermione?"

She jumped, startled. Haunted eyes turned to her as the Boy Who Lived pushed himself into a sitting position on the sofa.

"Harry, is everything okay?"

The dark haired boy took his glasses off and scrubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before replacing his glasses.

"I can't sleep... Nightmares."

"About You-Know-Who?" she questioned, taking a seat on the ottoman.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, each dream is more terrifying than the last. There is so much pain and death." He ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "And I can't do anything to stop it."

The clock above the fireplace mantle chimed quarter to six. Hermione looked at the clock. Snape was waiting for her. She glanced back at Harry, who resembled a wounded puppy, then back at the clock. Bugger Snape. If he insisted on acting like a giant prat, he could wait. Harry needed her.

"Have you spoken with Dumbledore... Seen what he has to say?"

"He thinks I should practice my Occlumency and refine my skills more, as if it's going to help." He huffed, closing his eyes, leaning back against the headrest of the sofa. "I don't know if I can take much more of this, 'Mione." Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Don't give up, Harry." Hermione itched to grab his hand, to offer some gesture of comfort. "You can't. It will get better... It has to."

"How can you be so sure?" He still wasn't looking at her.

"I wouldn't be a know-it-all if I wasn't."

Harry cracked a genuine smile. "Hermione." He turned to face her. "Never change."

******

"I can't promise that, but I can promise to always be here for you. And you've got to promise me something."

"What?"

"That you'll ask Ginny to the Yule Ball."

Harry flushed scarlet.

"Don't think I don't see the way you two look at each other during meals."

"'Mione, the Yule Ball is more than a month away," he whined, embarrassed.

"Well, I just thought I would get the ball rolling before someone else decides to take an interest." She cheekily smiled.

"Who?" Harry's head shot up, his embarrassment seemingly over.

Hermione leaned in. "I'm not one to gossip," she whispered conspiratorially,"but I've heard Lavender and Pavarti..."

The clocked chimed six o'clock A.M. She really had lost track of time. "Harry, I've got to go; Professor Snape is waiting for me."

He nodded. "I'll see you at dinner." It was more of a statement than a question.

*********

Hermione rushed to her room. Lavender was snoring, murmuring something or other about Won-Won. Parvarti was just beginning to stir into wakefulness. Quietly as possible, she tiptoed to her trunk. Hermione forewent modesty for the sake of time and quickly doffed her uniform for her favorite pair of denims, a blue and white-striped jumper, which she now amply filled out compared to last year, and her hiking boots. Grabbing a hair-tie from her shower caddy, she pulled her unruly curls into a high ponytail. Slinging her school robe over her shoulders, she dashed back into the common room, through the portrait hole, and into the solid and furious form of Professor Snape.

Rebounding off him, Hermione used the wall behind her for leverage. Snape didn't seem as affected, needing to only take a step back to regain his bearings.

"Professor..."

"Miss Granger!" he snapped. "Follow me now!" he whispered. His rage, barely concealed, caused his voice to dip even lower.

Hermione shivered, whether from fear or the sound of his delectable voice, she couldn't be certain.

Head ducked in shame, she followed him, making a conscious effort to stay a few steps behind him as they walked through the corridors of the castle to the Forbidden Forest. Hermione felt like a condemned Azkaban prisoner awaiting the Dementor's Kiss. Between his heavy breathing and the popping of his knuckles every so often as Snape clenched and unclenched his fists, the silence was deafening.

Once outside, the cold winter air whipped through Hermione's petite form, and she made fast work of the buttons on her robe.

"Professor, I am sorry, but Harry needed me."

His jaw clenched; Snape refused to acknowledge her. He didn't ask for much, just that she simply follow his directives, but the stubborn, irritating bint couldn't even do that. Didn't she know or even care that her life was in danger? No, he supposed she didn't. She was like every other fucking sycophant in the school, bowing and scraping to kiss the pompous and arrogant arse of Potter.

Snape stopped at the edge of the forest. The sun was just starting to reach over the horizon. He closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air, releasing it slowly.

"We've many ingredients to harvest and are behind schedule."

Hermione opened her mouth to apologize, but closed it. She doubted he would want to hear anything she had to say anyway. Snape handed her a slip of parchment with numerous potions ingredients to be gathered. There must have been thirty items on the list. Belladonna, Larkspur petals, daisy root, valerian root, nettles...

"Sir, will we be collecting all these today?" A part of her wished the answer to be yes just to spend that much more time in his presence, uncomfortable though it had become.

"No, Miss Granger."

Disappointment filled her, and though she could not see his face as his back was still toward her, she imagined his eyes rolling at the hopefulness she allowed to seep into her voice.

"If you have finished with your incessant need to question everything..." Snape gestured to the forest and for her to precede him. Sighing heavily, she trudged on, list in hand.

They worked in tension-filled and strained silence. The sun was bearing down on them through the coverage of the forest canopy. Covertly, she would watch him. The precision and grace he showed as the silver blade of his knife dislodged a plant from the earth, soil falling in clumps, was amazing. With the skill of a surgeon wielding a scalpel, he snipped roots, leaves, and petals, depositing each into labeled specimen jars.

"Miss Granger, I suggest you return to your work, unless you wish to earn a zero for the assignment."

"Yes, sir."

********

Hermione crossed off another ingredient from the list. She had been working diligently for hours. The slight headache that had begun an hour ago was now a migraine, and the heat of the sun, despite frigidness of winter and lack of breakfast, was becoming nauseating.

"Professor, can we rest for moment?" Hermione set down her tools and rested her head on her knees.

Snape turned to her, insult on his lips dying unspoken; the pallor of her face startled him. "Miss Granger..." He moved to her, crouching beside her.

"Migraine," she moaned, the throbbing behind her eyes intensifying.

Severus positioned himself behind her, mindful not to come into bodily contact with her. His head was bent low, close to her ear.

"Miss Granger," he breathed.

*******

Hermione could smell the tea on his breath, smell the dirt around them, feel the heat radiating off of his body from their close proximity.

Keeping his voice low, he said, "Miss Granger, I need you to lift your head."

She did, and he moved back to accommodate himself to their new position. "Close your eyes. That's right..." he encouraged. "Now take your hair down."

Hermione complied, moving her hands behind her and sliding the black elastic from her hair. The curls fell past her shoulders.

Dipping his head low once again, he breathed gently, "Imagine a soft summer breeze."

She nodded, the ends of her curls brushing his nose.

"Feel the warmth, smell and taste the scents carried on the wind. Can you feel the warmth, feel it wash over your body?"

Hermione moaned, her head lolling back. "Feel the gentle wind as it blows through the trees, through your hair, each curl uncoiling as the tension is carried away."

Fifteen minutes, and she was drugged listening to him, cooing contentedly as he whispered to her, his voice a soothing balm.

"Open your mouth." He reached around and placed the mint leaf in her mouth. "Chew it slowly; savor the crispness, the natural oil." Hermione did as was told.

Her migraine had ebbed away, and the mint was settling her stomach. Cracking opening an eye, she no longer felt as sensitive to the light.

"I feel better... Thank you." Sincerity and gratefulness colored her words. "Where did you learn how to do that?"

Not answering her question, Snape moved from behind Hermione and to his portable potions curio. He pulled out an apple, and using a clean knife, cored and sliced the fruit, handing her the pieces.

"Eat this to settle any lingering nausea, and then we'll break for lunch."

Hermione took a bite of the deliciously sweet segment of apple. Severus watched her chew and swallow the fruit. He followed suit with his half of the apple.

"As a child, I was plagued with headaches. My grandmother was not a wealthy woman, and a visit to the chemist was a luxury we could not afford." Absently, Snape fingered the rosary in his pocket. "I would be laid up in bed, and she would sit with me. Painting beautiful pictures, rubbing my temples, she would carry on about the summer days of her youth, stories of the first time she met my grandfather until I was so distracted I forgot about the pain or fell asleep."

Hermione had stopped eating her apple, so riveted was she to this man's tale. The way his eyes would spark with light or the corners on his mouth would tug upward, forming the curve of a smile. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of it himself.

"She sounds like a lovely woman."

"She's dead," he snapped, his eyes darkening as he remembered where he was.

Hermione's heart sank, saddened at his turnabout.

"No!" She startled them both with her unplanned outburst. "Please, sir, don't..." she paused, searching for the words to continue, "don't shut down, please, not with me." She crawled to him, closing the small distance between them to kneel in front of him. "Please," she pleaded, eyes searching.

Severus closed his eyes and looked away from her, his resolve cracking. "Such a dangerous game we play... Hermione."

She gasped. Had she wheedled her way through the layers of cold, hard, black ice that shrouded his wounded heart?

"S...Severus?" Hermione tested the name, falling from her lips in quite uncertainty. Her fingers raked through clumps of upturned earth, nervousness building in her gut, her body prickling with anticipation.

"Look at me," Snape commanded softly.

"I am." It hurt to breathe. Pressure compounded within her chest. She exhaled.

He shook his head slightly, as if amused. Inky hair glistening with the sheen of oiliness fell forward. "See me."

"I do," she rasped, inching forward, their knees briefly touching.

"Give me your hand."

"They're dirty." Black soil caked her fingers. Grime and grit was embedded under her neatly trimmed nails.

"It matters not."

She placed her hands in his larger ones; he turned them over so her palms were face up.

His thumb matriculated over the smooth skin.

"Be still," he chided as her hand jerked.

"Sorry... tickles."

Snape released her hands. "Keep them where they are, if you please."

Hermione nodded, confusion creasing her brow as she watched her professor draw a silken, wrapped bundle from his voluminous robes. She was drawn to the gracefulness of his movement, the delicate way he caressed the silken object resting gently upon his lap. The dedication a precision he took, slowly and methodically, unwrapping his parcel. Stray bursts of sunlight bounded off the glittering object, momentarily obscuring it from her view.

With the heft of the hilt in his hand, he held the blade up for her perusal. She blinked once, twice, comprehension of his prize creeping into consciousness.

"I said you would do well to fear me, Miss Granger." His eyes rested on his blade.

"I don't..."

"Even now?" he queried at her unfinished statement.

Wide eyes followed the movement of the dagger as Snape shifted it from his left to right hand. Hermione was unable to find her voice; she nodded dumbly.

"I warned you, Miss Granger, I am not a man to be trifled with."

Another nod of affirmation.

"Yet, you persist, seek me out despite my protestations. You claim to want me."

Another nod.

"Miss Granger..." he raised the blade to his left palm and sliced down, drawing rivets of blood to the surface. Hermione didn't flinch when he grabbed her wrist with his uninjured hand, nor when the cold silver ripped through her flesh. "You asked this of me," he solemnly stated, clasping their hands together, a river of red trickling down their arms.

"Baptized in my blood, so shall I shed blood. With my blood I offer my body."

******************

A/N: As usual heartfelt thanks and appreciate go out to my beta, SLU, as well as to all my readers and reviewers.