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Broken Wings	By : emerald_sparrow Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 2379 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from HP. It's all JKR or WB. Not making any money from this fic.

Chapter List
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After two weeks of Snape practically dragging her out by the lake, Hermione began to look forward to it. The sun felt good on her skin, and the company was surprisingly enjoyable. They had fallen into an easy routine of preparing for the coming school year together in the afternoon after a morning walk and lunch. He was slowly helping her recover her mobility in her lower half, as well as her mind. He had been patient, even kind, something she'd never expected from him. Each day she itched to question him, to openly ask him why he had taken her on, but she couldn't bear the thought of somehow turning him away with a deep, serious discussion. Their casual, light banter had balanced out the awkwardness of their situation - her dark abyss of depression she'd indulged in, and he taking care of her with such dedication.
Hermione looked up from her book and tilted her head to the side. "I think I'd like for the students to have a visit from a true hero on the first day of class. Will you stop in?" she asked Snape, gazing at the water. She remembered Viktor Krum pulling her up from the bottom of the lake during the first Triwizard Tournament she'd experienced, both of them gasping as they swam to the docks.
But her thoughts soon turned to the most recent Triwizard Tournament, and it was as if she could feel the fire on her lower half all over again…. Burning…. Scorching her flesh… The horrific pain, the terror as a giant horn pinned her lower half to the cold, hard ground… Someone was screaming, a blood-curdling scream that made her ears sting.
"Hermione!" Snape bellowed.
She snapped out of the awful memory, her throat raw.
"Sorry," she muttered pitifully, looking down at her folded hands in her lap that had turned white from grasping tightly onto one another. She could feel her face turning red in embarrassment.
He had moved forward, on one knee in front of her, his hands on her upper shoulders. Once certain she had come fully to, he eased back. He reached inside his robes, but paused at her words.
"Please don't," she said softly, eyes seeking his. "I can't keep relying on your potions for comfort."
He arched a dark brow. "Hermione, there is no shame in using these to help you recover. You've suffered a great deal."
She shook her head. "I need to get past this." Tears filled her eyes and she looked away from him. "I'm not strong enough."
He grabbed her chin firmly and forced her to meet his gaze. "Do not be foolish. Summon that infernal Gryffindor courage and that razor-sharp intelligence and realize that you are making progress and will continue to." He held the vial in front of her. "With help."
She sighed and wiggled her chin free of his grasp, and then reached up to accept the vial. Swiftly taking a sip, she handed it back to him with a glower.
"There she is," he murmured with a smirk.
Hermione pictured herself leaning forward and running her lips across his. He was always so close, and yet he seemed so far away. Her savior, her determined guide through the darkness. She had a very real feeling that he knew so much about leading her out of it because he'd walked through it himself many a time. All that she had suffered paled in comparison to his hardships; it made her suddenly feel selfish. If he could live on through it all, so could she.
"I'm sorry, Professor Granger," Madam Pomfrey conveyed, in her usual prim and proper way. "The scars will remain. Not even a powerful charm from the best magical beauticians will be able to take them away."
Hermione shrugged as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. It was news that she had expected, but it still sent a pang of sadness through her.
"But you seem fully healed," Madam Pomfrey stated with a small smile. "Just in time for the start of term."
"I appreciate your patience with me during my healing," Hermione told her gratefully.
"You never once tested my patience, girl. It was Severus who tried me the most."
Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm sorry for that," she said softly. "He's such an obstinate man."
"You don't know the half of it," Madam Pomfrey replied.
Hermione looked up as the obstinate man in question entered the ward. He approached with his usual foreboding frown.
"Are you ready?" he asked, brow raised. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I am." Slowly, gingerly, she rose from the side of the bed, bracing her arms on it to keep herself steady.
"I'll get the chair," Snape said; but before he could turn away, Hermione stopped him.
"No," she said firmly. "I want to do this. Just…. Help me." She reached out for him, not caring how uncomfortable it made him, and took his arm. He didn't say a word, but held her elbow and guided her along.
It took them several long minutes to reach her chambers, which embarrassed her greatly. She thanked him after he helped her to her room, and attempted to extricate herself from him.
"What are you doing?" he asked warily, as she hesitantly made her way to her bathroom.
"I want to shower," she told him. "It will be my first time without help. I need this."
He eyed her as if he didn't trust her to be able to do it without help. "Do you want me to stay?"
A look of outrage crossed her features. "No! Of course not. That would be inappropriate. I'll be just fine." She closed the bathroom door behind her, and he heard the shower spring on.
He debated with himself, but finally chose to stay. A few minutes later, he was glad he had, because he heard a thump in the bathroom followed by her pained cry. He rushed through the door to find her draped haphazardly over the tub edge, tears running down her cheeks. He was momentarily halted by the sight of her naked body, but concern for her moved him forward despite the awkward situation.
"Get out," she told him weakly through sobs.
He ignored her and turned off the water, then reached behind him for her fluffy robe he'd seen hanging on the hook behind the door. Reaching down, he lifted her gently from the shower, and leaned her against him while he wrapped the robe around her shivering body. He spotted the monstrous scars on her abdomen and resisted a flinch.
After securing the robe around her, he lifted her once more into his arms and stalked toward the bedroom, where he laid her on her bed.
"Drink this," he commanded her, pulling a vial out from inside his robes. "It'll help with the pain."
Hermione eyed him through her tears and wrapped her hand around the vial. "Always drugging me," she murmured. She sipped the liquid from the small bottle and handed it back to him. "I'm waiting for you to say 'I told you so.'"
Snape furrowed his brows. "In any other circumstance, that's exactly what I would be saying. But I'm not going to be cruel right now."
"It's a miracle," she replied dryly, and reached up to wipe away her tears. "I lifted my arms to wash my hair and it just hurt so badly," she admitted balefully. "The scars, they feel… tight. I don't know. Like they're going to rip at any moment."
Snape cocked his head to the side. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I can brew a salve for that. Something I learned long ago. It will aid in loosening the pressure the scar tissue creates."
"What would I do without you?" she asked him, and though her voice was light and almost playful, she gazed at him seriously. He had been there for her. Why had he been there for her? No one else had bothered. But Snape had been there, every step of the way. She ached to reach out, to touch him and warm him physically the way he had warmed her mentally. But she was positive her growing attraction was one-sided. And he had surely just seen the horrific scarring across her body. No man could stomach that. She could hardly even look at herself without feeling ill.
The moment was heavy, her question still hanging in the air between them. He made the first move, clearing his throat, taking the now-empty vial from her hands, and raising slightly as if to go.
"Severus," she started, her hand curling over his wrist.
He halted his movement, and glanced back at her. There was an indiscernible expression across his features, but his voice was soothing as he told her, "I will not leave you. At least, not until the potion has helped you to sleep. Rest now." He slid from her grasp and seated himself in the plush chair at her beside.
It was a pitying look, she decided. That was what his expression had been. She didn't want his pity. She wanted to be the woman she had been before the incident. The woman who had coaxed the brooding, aloof Severus Snape from his dungeons to engage in brainy exchanges with a respected colleague. With a deep sigh, she realized she would most likely never have that relationship with him again. She had shown herself to be a weak, pathetic excuse for a witch. She'd burdened him with her problems. He probably cursed the day he ever became her friend.
She closed her eyes and tried to tune out the dark thoughts. They'd had her mind most of the day. It was time to turn them off.
Severus steepled his fingers and pressed them together tightly as he watched Hermione's breathing slow. She was ever-difficult, and it was becoming harder for him to know how to help her further assist in her recovery. Just when he was sure she was breaking through the chaos swimming in her mind, she pulled away, letting the darkness claw its way back to control within her. He knew the feeling all to well, but he was determined to not let her drown in it as he always had.
The persistent witch had wormed her way into his life from the moment she'd arrived to teach at Hogwarts. He was well aware that she had aided in saving him from Nagini's venom; it had predisposed him to being civil with her and entertaining her attempts to gain his favor. It bemused him that she would even seek him out, until he realized that he was the only one with which she could have an equally intelligent conversation or debate. It had surprised him, how pleasant it was to converse with her. They had actually build a tentative friendship.
And then the incident had occurred.
Damned if he was going to watch her wither away into the dark, angry, hopeless vessel he had been for so long. No, she would find herself again - he would allow no other outcome.
But to do so, he needed to know where she was, mentally. And he knew of only one way to do that, without all of the emotional obstacles of a serious talk between them. He didn't wish to invade her mind, but he excused it with the sure feeling that he was doing what must be done to help her.
"Legilimens," he whispered, and he was spiraling quickly throughout her mind. The flames from the dragon felt hot on his skin, as if he were truly there. The horror she had felt, continuously since that day, filled him. Her shame and embarrassment at her inability to break free of the darkness within her. Her constant helpless, hopeless feelings of never progressing to full healing.
And then… something more. Something that shocked him, though she had hinted and he'd overlooked it.
Images of him before her; of her hands curling into his hair, of her mouth meeting his in a soft, then passionate kiss. Of her hands running over his body, encouraging his ministrations, and then - her broken sobs as he pulled away in disgust from touching and seeing her scars.
He shook free of the spell and sat in the chair staring at her now-restless form on the bed. Here he had been, devoted wholly to her recovery, more understanding than anyone about her suffering… and she thought so little of him; that he would drop her because of a few cosmetic imperfections?
His blood heated. "Foolish girl," he sneered at her listless form. Her insecurity and relentless self-doubt would not deter him. In fact, he thought with a wicked arch of his brow, he would need to up his game.
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Broken Wings