Chapters 41-50

Waking in Your Arms

When Hermione woke, his arms were still wrapped around her.

She lay with her face pressed against his shoulder. Her bones and muscles still ached in the aftermath of the night, but for the first time in weeks she felt warm. For the first time in months she felt safe and secure. His right hand rested lightly on her left shoulder. When she took a deep breath, and no cramps seized her, intense relief washed over her. Snape reacted to her slight movement by curling the fingers of his left hand tighter around her waist and pulling her closer to him, but he did not wake.

She closed her eyes again and kept very still, just breathing, inhaling his familiar fragrance. The spicy scent caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach, and suddenly a strange ache formed in the middle of her chest. She felt light and heavy at the same time, as if her heart were a soap-bubble, shimmering, pretty, but fragile: a soft breeze would shatter her and rip her apart.

Breathe in. Her cheek, the way it rested on the rough woollen fabric of his robe. Breathe out. The weight of his right arm on her shoulders. Breathe in. The warmth of his body around her and beneath her. Breathe out. His left arm slung around her back. His hand holding her. Breathe in. Why did her eyes burn with tears all at once? Breathe out.

She opened her eyes and blinked.

His face so close to hers, unguarded and vulnerable in his sleep. She loved the proud arc of his nose. The sweep of his black lashes. And most of all, to see him at peace for once, the harsh lines in his face smoothed by quiet slumber.

…loved?

Oh.

She must have tensed, because his lids fluttered and then opened. Black eyes glinted in the pale morning light.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. His voice was low, but to Hermione’s surprise she realised that it sounded the way she remembered it from earlier years. Smooth.

She exhaled in a sigh. ‘Better.’

A faint, relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Good.’

Tightening his hold on her, he sat up in a slow, awkward movement, grunting a little. Once seated, he carefully lowered her to a lying position, all the time watching her intently. After a moment, he seemed satisfied that she did not exhibit any negative reactions to being moved.

‘Can you sit up?’

‘I think so.’ She attempted to raise herself the way she usually did, sitting up and swinging her legs around in one fluid movement—and failed. She slumped back against him.

‘Shit.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oops. Sorry, sir.’

He merely raised his eyebrows a little. ‘I would suggest taking things a little more slowly today, Miss Granger. A Cruciatus relapse like the one you suffered last night is not a trifling matter.’

She bit down on her lip and tried again, more slowly. This time he helped her, gently pushing her back into an upright position. She felt stiffer than ever before, and her muscles protested every inch. But in the end she was sitting next to Snape, and although every bone and sinew in her body ached, there were no cramps, no agonised spasms.

His lips curled into a slight smile. ‘For future reference, Miss Granger: this is what it looks like when the worst of a Cruciatus relapse is over.’

When she glared at him, she could have sworn that a spark of relieved amusement glittered in the depth of his eyes.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, before she burst out with a question, ‘Why didn’t you call Madam Pomfrey?’

Snape shifted until he sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight and tense. He did not look at her, but stared at the opposite wall, the shoulder-length curtain of black hair hiding his expression.

‘She couldn’t have done anything else for you than what I did,’ he said softly. ‘And as long as you are my apprentice I am bound to do all that is within my power to take care of you.’

oooOooo

‘Are you sure that you’re feeling better?’ Lois asked. ‘You look terrible.’

Hermione smiled. ‘Yes, I am. With the cramps gone, Professor Snape could give me something for the pain. And he’s going to brew potions for me that should prevent another relapse.’

‘That’s good.’ But the concerned look didn’t leave the eyes of the dark-haired Muggle woman. ‘It was a—spell—that caused those problems?’

Hermione curled her fingers tighter around her mug of hot chocolate. She was ensconced in an armchair in the Potions master’s library, snuggled into a soft blanket. Lois had come to visit her after the latest therapy session. Hermione sighed. She didn’t particularly want to talk about the Cruciatus today. Or ever, really.

‘Yes,’ Hermione said at last. ‘An especially nasty curse, one of the Unforgivables. It’s called the ‘Cruciatus’ curse. It causes pain. Apparently it can have quite…uncomfortable long-term effects.’

‘I think I can see that,’ Lois commented wryly.

Hermione shook her head. ‘No. You can’t. I had cramps, convulsions. No control over my body. The tiniest movement caused spasms of pain. And all that was nothing compared to the real thing.’

She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to remember Bellatrix. Or the final battle. The memory of the article about the murdered family burned in her brain. Would it happen all over again? War, torture, death? And little Alina…as a Muggle-born witch her life was at risk, too.

‘I’m sorry, Lois. I’m afraid the wizarding world is not a very nice place.’

For a while Lois didn’t reply. When she finally met Hermione’s eyes, her expression was grim, but calm. ‘I don’t know how well you’ve kept up with the Muggle world, Hermione. But you should realise that it has never been a ‘nice’ place. Why should the wizarding world be any different?’