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Mission Impossible	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 11774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

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She’d settled in. The room hadn’t been completely empty. A small chest, which had been locked, and a stool; little else occupied the room save for cobwebs and dust. It had taken an hour to finally open the chest but once she had its contents took her breath away. Miniature furniture; as if he had packed up his previous house, somehow managed to shrink it and locked it away inside the chest. It was elegant, refined and beautiful to examine, but why had he not made use of it?

            Hermione sighed. If she was going to be able to help him at all; beyond the question of whether or not such help existed for the physical ailments of his condition— she was going to have to convince him that he deserved somewhat better than the squalor he’d been forcing upon himself.

            Her mistake had been not setting the furniture around the room as she’d taken various pieces out of the chest. Within moments of their removal the furniture started to grow, which was a ridiculous concept because inanimate things couldn’t grow, but she supposed the proper term for it was ‘return to its actual size.’ Unfortunately the bed she’d chosen from the three that were inside the chest was rather large and took up half the room dividing it in such a way that she’d have to climb over it to make use of the space on the other side.

            It was as if he’d packed up his entire life, all the luxuries that one would believe to be befitting a man of Severus Snape’s tastes, and was ready to take to the road with them, only he’d ended up here and somehow forgotten about his little chest of wonders. She decided she would discuss that later.

            The water had been almost too warm for comfort when she’d taken to the shower. She was surprised to find nothing other than the toilet sink and shower in the bathroom. A mirror had clearly once hung on the wall over the sink; the graying of the wallpaper around its outline gave proof to its former existence, but where the mirror had gone she couldn’t rightly say. The fluffy green towels that she’d drawn around her had come from inside the chest, as there had been none in the bathroom. But it felt good to be clean.

            She padded back across the hallway and into her make-shift room. Hermione nearly shrieked as she saw him there, leaning against the heavy wooden post of the bed. It was unsettling to say the least. He looked no more refreshed after his rest and his presence made her shudder.

            He said nothing, only stared, as best one could with black voids for eyes. This unnerved her. She looked away. It didn’t occur to her that she was still wearing nothing but a towel and her hair was dripping down her back. The room was not as cold as she had expected, almost as if he’d cast some sort of climate control charm or a simple heating spell.

            “You are still here.” He said.

            “Yes.” Her voice was shaky but she did her best not to show it.

            Severus Snape was not one to be bothered with frivolous details but her voice was haunting him. He dared not hope, though the thought had crossed his mid. It had been so long since he’d heard any voices at all, and even then his last contact with the outside world had been with Albus Dumbledore. How long had it been? It could have been months or years since his eyes had given away, one of the side effects of restoring him to life.

            He’d hardly noticed them at first. Just little headaches here and there, nothing a quick potion couldn’t fix. A slight falter in his step from muscles weakening and the ancient magic that coursed through his veins. His body would destroy itself slowly and agonizingly until he wasted away. It would drive him to madness, carnal lust, and eventually he would die, gasping for air and aching worse than any Cruciatus curse he’d ever known. All of these notions had been foretold to him when the ancient spell had been discovered to be a viable option for preserving his life. But he hadn’t believed any of it until he’d started to literally deteriorate and sought refuge in the cabin in the middle of nowhere. His mind played tricks on him at the best of times. How could he be certain what was left of his mind was not slipping now.

            Hermione stood in the doorframe, studying him, trying to wrap her mind around what to do next. Her mind was torn. Part of her wanted to rush to him, throw her arms around him and embrace him until he crumbled beneath her. And at the same time she wanted to back out of the room and lock herself back in the tiny bathroom until he retreated back to his shabby mattress. But she also longed to question him, demand he stop giving up, demand he sleep on one of the beds she found in the chest and demand that he remember her.

            His movement startled her thoughts and she found herself pressing her back against the wall, making room for him to pass by her to the door. But he did not leave. His hand clutched at the doorknob and pulled it shut. A wave of nervousness swept over her. Hermione’s body tingled, the hairs on her neck standing on end despite being damp from the shower.

            She looked at him, really took him in as she had when she’d first laid eyes on him in the tiny cabin. He was gaunt; skin stretched so tight and thin across his skeleton that he looked like he’d been dead for some time. His limbs were frail, fingers twisted and bent as if they’d been seized by crippling arthritic paralysis. Rough stubble covered his face. It was evident that he’d attempted to shave, little scrapes healing with bits of dried blood. His hair was unruly, well past his shoulders, and unkempt.

            It nearly made her weep; this once formidable man was a decaying old corpse barely grasping life. He’d been left to rot, and convinced himself that he deserved no better. Hermione bit her lip to keep the choked sob from escaping her lips and for a moment she forgot how terribly awkward she felt standing practically naked in the makeshift room with him.

            “No doubt he told you this was dangerous…” he rasped. To say that his voice was scratchy from disuse was putting it politely. It lacked all of its normal edge and bite, and the deep timbre that had made her tremble at his words was long gone.

            “Y—yes.” She faltered but only for a moment.

            He’d been sustained on wild blood. It had hardly even been enough. And it was getting worse. But it was harder to lure wild creatures near to the cabin and he was in no condition to go out hunting for them. Magical creatures were rare, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to sap the life force from one— before he’d lost his vision.

            “Sir?” she’d slipped up, intentionally.

            It was a term he hadn’t heard in an eternity. A lifetime ago as a different man it had been his title. Addressed and revered with respect by the students he terrorized. But to hear it from her lips now; a terrible torment. It would spark hope inside him for the briefest of moments but he would give in. He would not allow himself to believe that after all this time that it could be her.

            “You shouldn’t have come here.” He said.

            Hermione didn’t know what to say. A long moment passed between them in silence before the words came to her, “I came to help.”

            His strength was wavering but he used what was left of it to reach forward and grab her arm. His fingers were bony and painfully tight against her skin. She did not cry out though her body tensed and closed her eyes tightly. Dumbledore had warned her that the curse may have degraded him to nothing more than a ravenous animal but he had seemed fine when she had arrived, as fine as one could be when living isolated from the world in squalor slowly wasting away.

            “I came to help,” she repeated but her voice was a strangled whimper at best.

            “You cannot help me.” He said and released the grip on her arm.

            She released her breath, unaware that she’d been holding it. “I came to help you. And I will help you.” She said, suddenly finding her Gryffindor courage. Hermione reached her hand out and grabbed his hand, carefully folding her fingers over his and cupping his hand close to her. “I’m going to help you. You’re the last chance we have.”

            Severus did not speak but he did not pull his hand away from hers. She couldn’t tell if it was because he lacked the physical strength to do so or because he felt some sort of reassurance in her hands. A careful step forward put her right next to him. He was so fragile she half expected him to collapse right in front of her. Hand shaking she reached up and placed her palm against his cheek.

            “Don’t…” but he could hardly raise a proper protest.

            Hermione pressed her lips against his cheek, lingered for a moment and then slowly pulled back. “I need to dress,” she said. “But I will help you.”

~*~

            It had been surprisingly easy to create space inside what had been the tiny bathroom once she’d brought the chest containing his furnishings into the room. The walls seemed to expand to allow her to set up the porcelain bathtub and a vanity with a mirror and chair. She wasn’t sure how cleaning him up was going to help his condition but Hermione was convinced that if he looked less pitiful it might help her concentrate.

            At first he had resisted her, taking to stalking up the hallway and locking himself in the room with the broken down mattress. But after an hour of her sitting outside the door, with her head against the door singing a droll Weird Sisters tune he’d given in. His pride was going to be an issue but she imagined she’d deal with that as it arose in the situation.

            She’d come prepared and after searching the pantry for some dried herbs Hermione had managed to draw a strong herbal bath in the porcelain tub. In theory it would help soothe some of the aches and pains, help with the trembling nerves, and give him slight peace of mind. Jasmine and lavender with soft hints of rosehips and mint. The water was quite warm but not hot enough to damage.

            “Do you need help getting in?” she asked. Hermione had waited outside the bathroom leaving the door only slightly ajar trying to give him privacy so that he could undress without her having to watch.

            It was embarrassing. He wanted to growl but the truth was he would. He could not see the bathtub but knew it well. The ledge was high and it would be difficult with his body in the condition it was in to enter the tub without falling and causing himself injury. Severus gripped the edge and tried to steady his weight against it as he lifted his left leg. But slowly he lowered his leg back to the floor. Cursing himself for agreeing to let this woman offer him help he turned his head to the door. He couldn’t see but he could sense her there, lingering just on the other side of it, waiting.

            Hermione peaked into the bathroom once more. His backside was no longer facing her and she quickly turned away, pressing her back flush against the wall of the hallway.

            “I can sense you standing there,” he muttered. “If you’re going to insist I bathe in this herbal concoction of yours…let’s get it over with.”

            The door swung open and she approached him slowly. The strong man who had dragged her from the throng of dancing heroes and thrust her hard against the walls of the lift on the way up to his suite was gone and in his place stood a frail man who looked ready to collapse into the waiting arms of death.

            His back was riddled with bruises and scars, his legs so weak they could barely hold him up. His arms were so thin he looked like a bedraggled toy. It took all her willpower not to sob. As Hermione stood beside him, she grasped her arm and guided it up around her shoulder, her body against his side. Ribs poked painfully against his skin as if he hadn’t eaten in months.

            It took a moment for her to adjust to his weight, though it wasn’t much, on her shoulders as she helped him down into the water. He hissed at first, but sank back into the water and sat motionless for a moment.

            “There, just soak for a bit, and we’ll get you taken care of.” She said. Hermione turned to go. There was no point in sitting there watching him, he would most likely demand she leave anyhow.

            “You have not given your name.” he said.

            Hermione froze. He hadn’t recognized her when she’d arrived and since she’d been there shown no inkling that he knew who she was. She was torn. Did she reveal herself in hopes that he would understand and hope that he wouldn’t throw her out, or did she lie and maintain that she was just an auror sent by Dumbledore? “You have not asked for it.” She said. Hermione quickly left the bathroom and pulled the door shut.

            She kept her time piece in the pocket of her jeans, leaving him to soak in the water for almost a half hour. She’d transfigured some curtains and various scraps of material she’d found into the cabin into suitable clothing, a warm jumper to go over her shirt and a pair of jeans, and thick wool socks. But the bathroom had been warm so she left the jumper over the chair in her bedroom when she returned.

            Helping him out of the bathtub proved to be a bit more difficult than it had helping him in, but she managed. He said nothing, not resisting nor helping her as she brought him fresh clothes to change into. Simple black pajama pants. Her hands rested against his hip as she helped him into them and again he grasped her wrist.

            “Your hands have a feel to them… almost…” He said.

            She wasn’t’ sure what he meant, but she wasn’t going to comment. “Let’s get you at the vanity I want to fix your hair and shave your face.”

            Severus wanted to protest. It was degrading, humiliating to have taking care of him as if he were some incontinent old man incapable of the simplest of tasks. But the curse keeping him alive had taken its toll and he could hardly argue. He hadn’t thought about his hair, though he had bothered trying to shave a few times. It seemed that as the curse sapped away at his body it kept his facial hair from growing too quickly.

            Hermione had found a pair of kitchen scissors in the pantry and had transfigured a make shift razor blade from one of the knives. With a wave of her wand she cast a few simple scourgifying and cleansing charms on his hair and in a few moments he had long silky black hair, though it did little to hide the streaks of gray. She sighed and gathered his hair in her hands, pulling it almost into a makeshift ponytail.

            She worked the scissors through carefully, cutting hair at the base of his neck and then evened the ends so his hair was relatively the same length it had been when last she’d seen him. “There,” she said with a little triumphant smile.

            He ran a shaky hand up to feel his hair but did not comment. His blank eyes stared forward and he waited. “Be careful,” he said. “Blood is not something I have much to spare.”

            She nodded. Hermione’s hand trembled but she gripped the blade firmly and waited until her hand had settled. She’d wiped his face with a wet cloth and made sure she was careful as she placed the blade flush against his skin. She’d never shaved a man’s face before, but somehow it seemed simple and natural. Easy strops down his face, pressing just enough to scrape the stubble away without nicking his skin. Gentle strokes under his chin and around the line of his jaw and in moments she’d managed to shave his face clean.

            Severus nodded and she supposed it was as much of a thank you as she was going to get, but she didn’t comment on it.

            “You should rest.” She said, noticing that he slumped in the chair a little.

            He longed to protest but the energy was not there. “Perhaps.”

            Hermione helped him to his feet and guided him across the hallway to the room she had set up as her quarters.

            “This is not the room I sleep in.” he said flatly.

            “Yes, but you’re not going to get any rest on that horrid excuse for a mattress.” She said.

            “And where will you sleep?” he tried his best to sneer but failed.

            “I am not going to sleep, I am going to cook you some food so when you wake you can build your strength. And then I’m going to research in your study to see if I can figure out a way to help cure this affliction of yours.”

            Severus dared not to hope. So he held his tongue. He did not resist her as she helped him up into the very large bed. It was a king sized mattress with luxurious sheets on it, a far cry from the busted single spring mattress he’d been resting on. She settled him against several pillows and pulled the blanket up over his bare chest, pressing her hand there for a moment. His brittle fingers wrapped around hers for a moment and he squeezed her hand.

            “It would be a lot easier to help you if I knew what was ailing you.”

            “Tell me your name.” he said.

            “What?” she asked.

            “I know you heard me, you daft girl,” he tried to hiss, but could manage barely more than a whisper. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you the curse.”

            She squeezed his hand and gently sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione brought her hand up to his forehead and smoothed his hair back. “It’s me, sir…” her voice trembled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Hermione Granger. It’s me.”

A/N: Sorry it's taken ages to get an update going here. PLEASE leave me a review! :-) The feedback really does help the development. Cheers.
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Mission Impossible