Collision of Worlds

The weight of the night pressed heavily on Severus as he guided Hermione through the quiet corridors of headquarters. He couldn't bear the thought of her facing the ordeal alone, her body bearing the marks of Roland's brutality. Before reaching her room, he detoured to his lab, a sanctuary of potions and remedies. He quickly gathered a jar of soothing salve and a vial of potent pain potion, his movements efficient and precise.

Once inside her room, he handed her the items. "I’ll step out so you can change out of that dress and into something more comfortable," he instructed, his voice gentle. "Let me tend to your injuries once you’re finished."

Hermione nodded, her movements stiff and hesitant. She reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, but a sharp intake of breath betrayed her pain. "Severus," she said, a shaky laugh escaping her lips, "I need some help with this."

A blush crept up Severus's neck as he realized the predicament. He turned her around, his fingers gently brushing her hair aside to reveal the nape of her neck. He traced the delicate line of her spine, his touch feather-light as he reached the zipper. He slowly pulled it down, the sound loud in the quiet room. The dress fell open, revealing the curve of her back and the lacy edge of a black thong.

Severus felt a surge of desire, a heat that clashed with the guilt and anger churning within him. He shouldn't be thinking such thoughts, not now, not after what she had endured. He quickly averted his gaze, turning away to give her privacy.

"I'll... I'll be right here," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

He waited, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He was furious with Roland, disgusted with himself for his inappropriate thoughts, and overwhelmed with a tenderness he had never felt before. He wanted to protect Hermione, to heal her wounds, to shield her from the darkness that threatened to consume her.

______________

Hermione rummaged in the wardrobe of the room and changed into something much more comfier, clad in a silky champagne-colored nightgown with delicate spaghetti straps. A matching robe flowed loosely around her, offering a fragile shield against the vulnerability she felt.

"You can turn around now," she said softly, her voice still laced with the tremors of the night's events.

She lowered the robe, revealing the extent of her injuries. Severus's heart clenched at the sight of the angry bruises marring her pale skin. He began with her back, gently rubbing the soothing salve into the scrapes and bruises left by the rough brick wall. He moved to her arms, tracing the dark outlines of Roland's fingers with a mixture of anger and tenderness.

He then turned to face her, his touch feather-light as he applied the salve to the strangulation marks on her neck. Finally, he reached her face, his thumb gently caressing her bruised cheek and split lip. Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, seeking solace in his presence.

The salve worked its magic, the deep tissue damage slowly fading. The worst of the bruises were still visible, a tapestry of yellows and browns, but the intense black and blue had subsided. It was a small victory in the face of a harrowing night.

Hermione, her eyes still closed, reached up and captured Severus's hand, the one that had been cupping her cheek. She brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against his palm.

Severus's breath hitched. The unexpected gesture sent a wave of warmth through him, chasing away the shadows of anger and guilt. He looked at her, his heart aching with a tenderness he had never known.

At that moment, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of her room, the weight of the world seemed to lift. The fear and anger faded, replaced by a fragile hope, a sense of connection that transcended the darkness of the night.

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Emboldened by the intimacy of the moment, Hermione rose on her tiptoes, her hands framing Severus's face. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss. It started softly, a tentative exploration, but quickly deepened as she poured all her gratitude, her fear, and her burgeoning desire into the connection.

Severus, caught off guard by the intensity of her kiss, felt a surge of emotions he had long suppressed. The passion, the raw need, was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He lost himself in the kiss, his hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin, a physical manifestation of the desire that consumed him.

But just as quickly as it began, Severus pulled back, his mind catching up with his body. He held her at arm's length, his gaze searching hers.

Hermione, breathless and confused, looked at him with questioning eyes. "Why did you stop?" she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Severus sighed, his voice heavy with regret. "Hermione," he said, "I can't. Not tonight. Not after what you've been through." He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was denying both of them something they both clearly craved. "I don't want to take advantage of you, not like this."

Hermione, though disappointed, was touched by his concern. She understood his reluctance, his desire to be a gentleman. But the fire he had ignited within her still burned bright. She longed for his touch, for the exploration of the passion that had flared between them.

Severus, sensing her disappointment, handed her the vial of pain potion. "Drink this," he instructed. "It will help with the soreness." He knew that once the adrenaline wore off, the full extent of her injuries would make themselves known.

Hermione nodded, downing the potion in one gulp. The effects were almost immediate. A wave of drowsiness washed over her, her eyelids growing heavy. She crawled into bed, the soft sheets a welcome comfort.

Severus sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently stroking her hair. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a tender gesture of affection and protection. "Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered.

With a lingering glance, he left her room, closing the door softly behind him. He knew he had made the right decision, but the image of her in his arms, the taste of her kiss, lingered in his mind, a promise of what might be.

Hermione, thankfully, drifted off quickly, the pain potion working its magic. The night's terrors faded into the background, replaced by a hazy sense of warmth and security. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly safe, protected by the man she was slowly falling for.

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Sleep eluded Severus. The events of the night replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle of anger, guilt, and fear. He bypassed his own room, heading instead to the den. He poured himself a generous measure of firewhisky, the burning liquid a meager comfort against the turmoil within him.

He wasn't alone for long. Lucius, drawn by the scent of strong alcohol and Severus's troubled aura, joined him. "Care to inform me on what exactly happened this evening, my friend?" he inquired, his voice laced with concern.

Severus recounted the events of the night, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage. He described Roland's attack on Hermione, the brutality, the threats. He finished his tale with a guttural curse, smashing his half-empty glass against the wall. The shattering sound echoed through the room, a physical manifestation of his fury.

Lucius, though equally angered, maintained his composure. He knew Severus needed a steady presence, not a shared explosion of rage. With a flick of his wand, he vanished the broken glass and the spilled whiskey, then conjured a fresh drink for his friend.

"Severus," Lucius said softly, his voice gentle, "you truly care for her, don't you?"

Severus, his gaze fixed on the now-pristine wall, nodded slowly. "I do, Lucius," he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "I can't bear the thought of anything else happening to her. I need to protect her."

A genuine smile spread across Lucius's face. He clapped Severus on the back, a gesture of comfort and support. "We must use our Slytherin cunning and tact to resolve this problem, my friend," he said. "We need a plan. Since he's a Muggle, we can't legally use magic against him..." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Though I may still have an unregistered wand or two from the war, should we need to resort to that?"

Severus's mind was racing. He suddenly remembered something crucial. "Lucius," he said urgently, "Hermione doesn't have a wand. Roland snapped it."

Lucius's eyes widened in disbelief. "That vile creature!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disgust.

"Do you think..." Severus hesitated, unsure how to phrase his request. "Do you think she could use one of your... spares? Just in case he tries anything again. It would give her a fighting chance."

Lucius didn't hesitate. "Of course," he said, his voice firm. "She can try out both and see which one feels right. We'll make sure she's prepared."

The two men spent the rest of the night strategizing, their conversation fueled by fire whisky and a shared desire to protect the woman they both cared for. The air was thick with anger and determination, but beneath it all, a flicker of hope remained. They would find a way to keep Hermione safe, no matter the cost.

_____________

Hermione awoke with a groan, her body a symphony of aches and pains. The adrenaline and the lingering effects of the pain potion had worn off, leaving her with the raw aftermath of Roland's attack. Her head throbbed, her muscles screamed in protest with every movement, and a dull ache pulsed from her split lip.

She dragged herself out of bed, the soft silk of her nightgown a stark contrast to the harsh reality of her injuries. She opted for the comfort of jeans and a jumper, a simple act of self-preservation against the world. Her reflection in the mirror was a grim reminder of the night before. Faint bruises still lingered on her neck and cheek, and her lip remained swollen and tender.

The image of Roland, his face twisted with rage, flashed through her mind. A wave of regret washed over her, a bitter taste in her mouth. Why had she ever gotten involved with him? Why hadn't she seen the warning signs sooner? The worry gnawed at her, a constant reminder that he wouldn't stop, wouldn't rest until he had her back in his grasp.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her reflection. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Severus had been forced to defend her, to face danger because of her. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so helpless.

Desperate for a reprieve from the emotional turmoil, she reached for her bag, her fingers closing around the familiar bottle of pills. She didn't want to be completely numb, not with Severus around. He would see through her facade, she knew. So she carefully broke a pill in half, crushing only that portion into a fine powder before inhaling it. A sense of calm settled over her, a temporary reprieve from the anxiety that threatened to consume her.

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Hermione hesitantly joined the others for breakfast, her heart pounding in her chest. This was the first time she would face Lucius and Draco since the attack. She knew Severus had filled them in, but the thought of their pitying gazes made her want to disappear.

As she entered the dining room, their reactions confirmed her fears. Both men sucked in a sharp breath, their eyes widening at the sight of her bruised face and swollen lip. Hermione quickly looked down, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Severus, sensing her discomfort, reached under the table and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch, a silent promise of support, gave her the courage to look up. She offered a weak smile, hoping to convey that she was alright, even though she felt anything but.

An awkward silence settled over the group. No one dared to mention the incident, sensing Hermione's desire to avoid the topic. The clinking of cutlery against plates filled the void, a fragile attempt at normalcy.

Finally, Lucius broke the silence. "Hermione," he said, his voice gentle, "would you join me after breakfast? It's come to my attention that you haven't had a wand in quite some time, and

I hope to rectify that this morning." He offered a warm smile, a gesture of goodwill and support.

Hermione was taken aback. The thought of having a wand again, of reclaiming a part of herself that had been lost, filled her with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Since Roland had snapped her wand, she had almost given up on magic altogether. The Wizarding World held too many painful memories, too many reminders of the war and its aftermath. She hadn't been ready to face it, to venture back to it and confront the ghosts that still haunted her.

But now, with Lucius's offer, a spark of possibility ignited within her. Maybe it was time to reclaim her magic, to embrace the power that had always been a part of her.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "That would be lovely."