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The Quickening	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32428 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Chapter 12
Hermione woke the next day with a renewed sense of purpose. She had always enjoyed an intellectual challenge and this was as difficult a task as she had ever encountered. She was going to have to become an expert on the Galvanismus curse and parasitic curses in general. Then she was going to have to come up with some way of either lifting the curse or controlling it long-term. And this was all to be achieved in the space of one week. The fact that the finest Wizarding minds in the world had not managed to achieve such a thing to date should have dampened her spirits, but her success with the extracorporeal projection potion, coupled with an, admittedly naïve, sense of youthful invincibility, made her feel that she might actually have a shot. A small one. But a shot nonetheless.
Before she could hit the library and start researching, however, she had an urgent matter to attend to in the infirmary. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall had given her permission to come and go from the infirmary as she pleased. In reality, the Head Mistress would be devastated to lose either Professor Snape or herself from Hogwarts and so was willing to give her the best chance of success by allowing her access when needed. She had told Hermione in no uncertain terms that she had been appalled by what was said at the meeting with the Azkaban agent, but also informed her that she was wise enough not to believe the details. The fact that two exceedingly intelligent, and normally trustworthy, people would go to such lengths to pretend that they were in a relationship told her that there was likely to be a good reason. However, she also said that the rumour mill would be turning at a frenetic pace and there would be pressure for her to get rid of one or both of them if she couldn’t give the staff and students assurances about their safety into the future.
* * *
When Hermione arrived at Professor Snape’s room, he looked as bad as she had ever seen him, staring out the grey-lit window with sunken eyes.
“Has anyone been in here since I left?” she asked, setting down her bags.
It seemed to take a while for her words to reach him. He turned to her and gave a small shake of his head, his face expressionless. She doubted he had slept. He must be exceedingly uncomfortable after spending nearly three days bound to the bed rails. After leaving here, she would make an urgent meeting with Professor McGonagall to see that his care was improved. Before then, she would make him as comfortable as she could. Not only did she see the need as a duty of care to a fellow human being, but she was aware that her ability to lift the curse would be dependent upon his body helping with the process and she couldn’t allow him to be in a poor state of health.
“Okay, first thing’s first.” She tried to make her voice sound light and breezy, knowing that there was likely to be some resistance to her plans. “Let’s get some breakfast into you.”
He blinked slowly. “And Project Snape begins,” he muttered.
Ignoring him, Hermione removed the containers from her bag that she had filled earlier in the kitchen. There was porridge, milk and honey and a large thermos of black coffee. She was worried that he may need to use the bathroom after the coffee and wasn’t sure about the logistics associated with that particular activity, but she was nothing if she wasn’t resourceful and would come up with a solution. Pulling up a chair, she began feeding him the porridge, occasionally wiping the spoon across his lips like she was feeding a baby. The action wasn’t lost on him and he soon clamped his mouth shut, not allowing any more in. When she held the spoon in mid-air in front of him he lost his patience.
“Miss Granger, would you kindly give me the dignity of feeding me like an adult,” he snapped.
Hermione was taken aback.
“I’m surprised you haven’t started making sounds like the Hogwart’s express.” He glowered at her.
Hermione hadn’t had much experience with this sort of thing but decided that she wasn’t above taking on feedback. She made a concerted effort to watch him more closely for indications that he was ready for his next mouthful and finished by dabbing his mouth with a napkin rather than rubbing it all over his face like her mother would have done when she was a child.
As he took sips of the scalding hot coffee, the colour returned to his cheeks and, despite the stimulant nature of the caffeine that was flooding his brain, his body seemed to relax. Perhaps it was the familiarity of something that he enjoyed, amongst the unfamiliarity of his current unpleasant circumstances. He slurped down two cups before he spoke again.
“I don’t suppose you know the command for unlocking these restraints?”
It was a pretty stupid question as Professor McGonagall would never tell Hermione and risk her uttering the words and releasing him prematurely. Her expression told him so.
“Pity,” he said, wincing as he wriggled uncomfortably. “I have an urgent need to visit the bathroom.”
Hermione had been considering the problem and didn’t hesitate before pulling out her wand, scourgifying the porridge bowl and transfiguring it into a bed pan.
She could tell from his deep scowl that her attempts to be Little Miss Helpful were hitting all sorts of sore spots on his ego, but he was also obviously in quite desperate need to relieve himself and so he simply snorted distastefully and nodded toward his groin.
“I’m going to require a modicum more help than that.”
Hermione did her best to appear calm as her heart jackhammered in her chest.
“If you’ll just lift your backside off the bed, I’ll slip this under you,” she said.
She could tell he was rolling his eyes without even looking at him.
He gripped the bars on either side of his bed and lifted himself up. She caught a brief glimpse of his fuzzy buttocks between the flaps of his gown as she slipped the bowl beneath him, then busied herself with tidying the breakfast things into her bag while he relieved himself. She heard a faint sigh escape him and realised he had probably been holding on for an inordinately long time. Things were going to get even more awkward, so she needed to pull herself together and embrace her self-appointed care role with greater enthusiasm if she were going to get through the morning with him.
She stood and smiled warmly at him. “All done?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he closed his eyes as he continued gripping the bars. “Don’t let’s pretend that this isn’t fucking awful.”
Then she started to laugh. The situation really was awful. Her high tinkling laughter filled the room and she couldn’t stop it. He tried to glare at her but his lips were curled up too and a low chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.
No doubt Madam Pomfrey would be wondering what was going on.
Hermione wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, before reaching over the bed and tapping him on the leg. “Lift your bum.”
He did as instructed and she removed the bowl.
“What is this? Three days’ worth?”
He sighed as he lowered himself back down. “Indeed.”
Hermione took the pan into the adjoining bathroom and flushed its contents down the toilet. She scourgified it and returned to stand over him.
The lines on his face seemed less prominent, as if the strain of holding onto the contents of his bladder had been causing considerable discomfort.
“There are some other things that we need to do,” she said, holding onto the bar at the side of his bed, “and I’d prefer it if you would just do them without the performance. I understand you’re not comfortable with any of this but I need you as healthy as possible if I’m going to have any chance of helping you with the curse.”
She could see him considering her words and biting back the retaliation he would normally fire off to reassert himself in times like this.
He acquiesced with a curt nod but eyed her warily.
“Now I’m going to wash your hair,” she announced.
He instantly forgot his previous assent. “No you’re not.”
“Yes I am. And I’m going to use my own products.”
“My hair is not in need of Muggle products. I have my own.”
“Yes I know. Grindylow Grease.”
Snape’s eyebrows shot up. “I do not wash my hair with Grindylow Grease.”
She gave up any pretence of politeness. “Whatever you use, it’s greasy and it’s not doing you any favours.”
“And why would I require favours from a hair product?” he sniped.
Although she was trying to assert herself, Hermione could feel a smile creeping onto her lips. She was surprised at how much he amused her.
Forcing herself to take up a more stern countenance that she felt, she transfigured the small porridge bowl into a large rectangular one.
“I’m washing your hair using my products and that’s final.” She carried the trough into the bathroom. “You might even enjoy it.”
She heard his derisive snort as she filled the bowl with warm water from the bathroom taps. It was considerably heavier after it had been filled, so she cast levioso and guided the steaming bowl back to the bed. Assisting Snape to slide forward, she stacked an extra two pillows under his neck so that when he lay down, his hair draped over the back of the pillows into the bowl. Transfiguring the thermos cup into a jug, she leaned over and proceeded to trickle the warm water over his dark locks, following up the water’s caress with a soothing palm.
The effect was instantaneous, his entire body seemed to melt into the mattress and an ecstatic groan escaped his lips. He didn’t even seem to notice, his eyes fluttering closed. She repeated the action, dragging her fingers through each swathe in turn, gently grazing his scalp with her nails. His entire body clenched and then relaxed. It was as if every muscle was tuned into every hair on his head. When his hair was thoroughly drenched, she squirted a large silken bead of shampoo into her palm and smeared it over his scalp. She proceeded to massage it in, whilst digging her fingers through his locks, determined to remove the days of oily build-up and any remaining residue from whatever foul product he usually used.
He leaned back into her hands like a cat being stroked. She was glad he couldn’t see the grin on her face. After rinsing the shampoo out, she applied a handful of conditioner, massaging it with firm strokes through to the ends of his locks. Both products bore the strong aroma of vanilla and she smiled at the thought of others smelling Snape’s vanillary hair.
Snape opened his eyes a fraction and saw her face swimming above his. She was either smiling or grimacing. He suspected it was the latter at having to touch his dirty locks. But he didn’t care. He felt like he had finally died and gone some place far better. He could never have imagined that having his hair washed could feel so intimate. So sensual. Not only that, he felt nurtured and . . . he hardly dared to think it . . . loved.
He had to pull himself together. He did not have a relationship with the girl. And he had never been intimate with her. Not really. Intimacy required vulnerability and he would never willingly allow that to happen with another human being again. Not since . . . No, he didn’t care to think of her any more. He had wasted too many years obsessed with Lily Potter and it had only brought him misery. She was the reason he had never had any true relationships or even friendships. His heart had been broken and the pain was too much for him to chance again. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down any further. His history with the Granger girl so far had been utterly combative, he would be a fool to expect otherwise.
“All done.” She rubbed and squeezed his hair with a large towel before dismissing the water with a flick of her wand and transfiguring the bowl back to its normal size.
“Now that wasn’t so bad was it?”
She really was smiling at him. Was she simply revelling in her own smug dominance? He wondered. It didn’t seem to be the case. Why, then, would she smile?
“The next thing is to get rid of this abomination.”
Before he had a chance to protest, she had disintegrated the hospital gown and disappeared the pieces, leaving him naked from the waist up. He reflexively tried to cover himself before his shackled wrists protested.
“What, in Merlin’s name, are you doing?” he growled.
“I need to wash the rest of you,” she said. “But I forgot that there was something else I wanted you to do.”
He rolled his eyes before glaring at her angrily.
“I need you to exercise,” she said, ignoring the snarl on his face.
“What!” he spluttered.
“As I informed you previously,” she said calmly. “You need to be in good physical condition for me to make any attempt at dealing with the curse or even investigating it properly. If you are forced to lie here for a week and a half, you are going to lose muscle mass and cardiovascular fitness. I want you to start by lifting yourself up on the bars and dipping your body down. Do as many repeats as you can.”
His lips parted as if he were about to speak.
“And I said no more performances please Professor.” She turned away from him and proceeded to walk around the bed.
With a deep sigh, he did as she instructed, grasping the bars on both sides of the bed with his hands and lifting himself up. Letting his elbows bend, he lowered his body down toward the mattress, before pushing himself back up. Hermione turned to watch and was quite taken aback by what she saw. His chest and shoulders bulged with rippling muscles. They were more akin to what she would expect to see in Harry and Ron’s ‘Masters of Quidditch’ magazines than adorning her snarky old potions professor.
“And I suppose this couldn’t have been done with my gown on,” he ground out, as he continued pushing against the bars.
“Not anymore.” Hermione murmured, almost wistfully, as she continued to watch him.
His wet hair clung to his face and neck and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin. She felt herself honing in on his every feature, even noticing the small droplets that clung like dew to his long eyelashes. And then there was the blanket that slipped down millimetre by millimetre as he pumped his arms. It receded ever so gradually until the two muscles gently sloping down to his pubic region were exposed and prominent, even the veins within them were bulging. She didn’t know the name of them or even what the area was called but she had always admired . . .
“Are you sure I’m doing this for my benefit only?” He cut through her thoughts.
She crossed her arms and strolled nonchalantly around the back of his bed so he couldn’t see her blushing furiously.
“I think that’s enough on your arms and shoulders. Let’s start on some leg lifts. Then we’ll move on to calf stretches.”
By the time he had finished exercising, he was puffing with exhaustion and covered with sweat.
Hermione transfigured the bowl once again and filled it with warm water before returning to his bedside and retrieving a soft sponge from her bag. She dipped the sponge in the water and began to wash his glistening chest with it. He grimaced but didn’t complain. Mainly, she suspected, because he hadn’t managed to catch his breath yet. She was acutely aware that the idea of someone touching him like this, especially on the areas of skin marked by twisted and lumpy scars from his years of torture, would feel distinctly uncomfortable, and possibly even terrifying. But he needed washing and there was no one else to do it. She continued to dip the sponge into the water and push it over his chest, around his neck and under his arms. As she moved down to his abdomen, his eyes jumped to hers. She knew exactly what he was thinking but there was no way she was going to give up before thoroughly executing her plan to leave him clean, fed and tired enough to sleep.
“I’m sorry but I have to do this,” she said, slipping the sponge down under the edge of the blanket. “You’re sedated aren’t you?”
“Not that sedated,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
It was true. No sooner had her hand dipped down toward his pubic area than she noticed a large bulge appear under the blanket. Drawing in a deep breath she clamped her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Think unpleasant thoughts,” she said, before throwing the blanket off and applying the warm wet sponge to his cock and balls.
“Uhhh,” he threw his head back and locked his arms, the veins in his biceps bulging like caterpillars under his skin.
Undeterred, Hermione continued to clean him thoroughly, holding on to his erect shaft as the sponge glided along his length.
“Merlin’s bloody balls! I thought this was supposed to be a sponge bath not a heavy duty washing cycle,” he growled, trying to stop himself from thrusting into her palm.
Hermione quickly dropped his waggling member which seemed to follow her with its eye, even as she progressed down his body to his muscular thighs, calves and feet. She rolled him over and washed the back of him, squeezing the sponge up through his buttocks before rinsing for a final go at his back.
When she had finished, he seemed to be breathing just as heavily as when she had started.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really didn’t think it would cause that sort of . . . response.”
He glowered at her. “It’s actually been quite a while since anyone has willingly touched me there. Apart from being touched for the sake of humiliating me in front of the entire school of course.”
She stopped what she was doing and glared back at him. She had been trying to make up for her past indiscretions as best she could and was furious that he should bring it up again. Clearly, he was trying to regain some sort of control after the embarrassment of the sponge bath but it still hurt. Taking a few steadying breaths, she dipped into her bag.
“I brought these.” Her voice was flat and emotionless.
In her hands was a small bundle of charcoal coloured clothing.
“They’re mine. I’ve transfigured them for you. I’ll get them back when you’ve finished with them.”
With a wave of her wand, the seams of the pyjama top and shorts separated, allowing the material to wrap around Snape’s body before restoring themselves.
He was suddenly hit by a wave of emotions. The pyjama material felt so soft and smooth, as if she had worn them hundreds of times. And they smelled like her—vanilla, peach and a hint of rose. Just like when she had washed his hair, he felt enveloped in a soft warmth. He felt nurtured. And he felt loved. It was so difficult to take as he was still sporting a raging erection which was creating an unsightly bulge in the soft charcoal shorts. He wanted to tell her how she made him feel. That he was sorry.
“I hope you get some sleep.” Hermione didn’t look at him as she lifted the bag over one shoulder and left the room.
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The Quickening