Teapaper

The Sunday following found Hermione once again surrounded once again the scent of aftershave that was quickly becoming familiar. Closing her book, she leaned over and flipped the sign in the shop to closed in a practiced motion.

               “Good afternoon, back for another book?” She asked.

               In response something hard was placed in front of her. Reaching out to touch it she found it was the familiar and terrifying shape of a potions bottle.

               “This is a diagnostic potion of my own making. It is necessary you take this today before we meet tomorrow.” Snape explained, sounding irritated.

               Hermione made a noncommittal sound and popped the top off the bottle to smell the potion in question.

               “Well, better than the numbing solution St. Mungoes tried first. Certainly, more original. Bottoms up then.” Without allowing her brain to catch up to her decision Hermione pressed the bottle to her lips and drank as quickly as she could.

               The icy tingling that spread through her body at first wasn’t entirely unpleasant and neither was the feeling that came next- almost as if her skin had grown a second layer that felt everything just a little differently.

               “I expected more questions before you drank that. Losing your touch Miss Granger?” Snape asked.

               “I agreed to let you treat me as a lab rat. No sense in fighting you every step of the way. What kind of diagnostic potion was that anyway? It doesn’t feel like any I know.” Hermione shrugged.

               “As I said before, it’s of my own making. I’ll be keeping the specifics to myself.” He answered stiffly.

               “Well if that’s all, when should I be expecting you tomorrow then?” she reached for the water bottle she’d put on the desk earlier.

               “I’ll be here at nine to collect you.”

               “And what exactly will we be doing tomorrow?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask, nervousness shaking her voice. 

               Suddenly the smell of aftershave was nearly overpowering and she could feel hot breath on her cheek.

               “I’m going to hurt you, Miss Granger, and you’re going to thank me for the results.” His hand found hers and squeezed it once, tightly. Confusingly.  Then he left as quickly as he’d entered.

               Hermione sat in a daze for the rest of the day, forgetting to flip the sign back over until a customer had tapped on the glass and cautiously pushed their way inside.

               The next morning promptly at nine Severus pushed open the door to the shop and Hermione bid goodbye to Tara, the Monday shopgirl for Teapaper. As if in a daze she took his arm when he guided her hand to it and allowed him to lead her in to the alleyway where they twisted and turned in stomach churning disapparation. They didn’t speak until he’d led her into a house and down a steep set of steps and her feet hit the familiarity of cobblestone.

               “As I said yesterday, I’m going to hurt you. I need to know if all pain for you is the same or if there is any nuance to what you feel. The diagnostic potion will tell me far more than you could with just words.”

               “You’ll be able to do that?” Hermione asked carefully. It would probably be rude to say to him ‘Can you really touch me with kindness?’

               “Don’t be ridiculous.” He snarled at her. 

               She was patient as he positioned her in front of a chair then held her tongue between her teeth as she felt his large hands travel up her arms to cup her face. She was silent for a while, waiting for the pain to kick in but when it didn’t, she decided to speak up.

               “I’m not sure its working.” She murmured.

               “Shut up Granger, not everyone can just willingly hurt people they know.”

               As she went to reply again an acute pain pierced through her from where his palms touched. The intensity drove all rational thought from her mind as it made its way through every cell. She knew, in the back of her head, that she was begging mindlessly for the pain to stop. Distantly she could feel her fingers curled in to the fabric of Snapes shirt, desperately searching for purchase away from the pain.

               Her legs gave out quickly and she began to fall only to be pushed backwards so she landed squarely in the chair that she’d fully forgotten was behind her.

               It took far longer than normal for her to come back to any modicum of her senses before she was aware of how wet her cheeks were.

               “Would you say that was a normal amount of pain for the curse?” Severus’s voice was cool and detached and Hermione wanted to scream for some reason.

               “No. That was worse. What did you do?” She asked, rubbing her cheek with the inside of her sleeve, and taking big steadying breaths.

               The man in front of her shifted “Not sure yet.” A hand landed on her shoulder, it should have been comforting. “I’m going to hit you now.”

The warning came mere seconds before the same hand that had gently cupped her face a scant few moments ago struck her.

               Her cheek stung from a firm backhand and her head snapped to the side but that was it. She blinked in amazement: It just stung! It was normal. It occurred to her now that she hadn’t been really harmed since the end of the battle. Snape had asked a question she should have asked years ago. And what’s more he had answered it.

               “Thank you.” She warbled.

               “Thanking me already? We haven’t even been a half-hour at it.” She could hear him moving around the unknown room.  

               “I don’t think I’ve ever liked the feeling of being hit until right now.”

               A jar was plopped in her hand unceremoniously.

               “Put that on your face. I won’t have you in public looking like I beat you.”

               Dutifully she opened the jar and smeared the bruise paste on her cheek.

               “What’s even next?” She asked, screwing the lid on the jar, and setting it down on the table she felt behind her.

               “We’re going out. Weren’t you listening?” Gingerly, she rose to her feet still shaky from the intensity of the pain she’d just experienced.

               A smooth staff was pressed into her hand. Closer inspection told her that the staff was as tall as she was.

               He led her back up the steps after a moment then stopped her at what she assumed was the front door.

               “We are going to go run some errands. Do whatever foolishness I can think of. What we are doing is unimportant. What is important is that as soon as we step outside, everything will hurt. You will do your utmost to keep that to yourself. The potion will tell me all I need to know so there is no need for you to inform me of how you are feeling.”

               “Okay.” She whispered.

               He pushed the door open and guided her outside with a hand on the small of her back. Almost as if a switch had been flipped the hand on her back sent fissions of pain skittering up her spine. The staff tapped the ground harder for a few steps before she collected herself. This pain wasn’t the all-consuming torture that he had just shown her was possible, but it was still certainly painful.

               They apparated  into another part of town and she felt the coolness of a disillusionment charm wash over her body. 

               “We are in Hogsmeade. I’d suggest being silent lest someone recognize a third of the Golden Trio.” She nodded silently and let him lead her away.

               By the time they entered the potions shop the hand on her back had progressed to being more than distracting and Hermione could hardly pay attention to the conversation between Snape and the clerk.

               “I highly doubt that crushed stinging nettles are going for quite that high a price.” Snape was audibly annoyed. She could hear the poor clerk gulp.

               “Well, no, but you’re trying to buy out my entire stock! I won’t get more in for months if I rush it! I’m just trying to protect the shops overhead.”

               “Do you own the shop? No? Blast the overhead and sell me the damn nettles for market. Or you can explain to the owner why you missed out on such a large sale. Your choice boy.”

               She nearly giggled despite herself and the pain at how very Snape-like it all was but a small huffed breath did succeed in escaping. The hand at her back gave her waist a tiny squeeze that should not have been as exciting as it was.

               “Three hundred and seventy-two galleons then sir. Market price as requested.”

               A bag was pressed into her hand to carry, and they left the shop quickly. He guided her into Madame Puddifoots next, the sugary scent of confectionaries doing a bit to bring Hermione’s mood up and doing very little to lessen the constant pain of Severus’s hand on her back.

               A small reprieve was given to her as she sat in the booth waiting for him to return with tea and cakes. It had been years since she’d stepped in to Hogsmeade or even been this close to Hogwarts for that matter. The familiar smells and sounds were both a balm to her psyche and a terror that had her lungs pulled snugly together in a corset that was pulling ever tighter.

               Severus broke the concentration her growing panic was demanding by sliding in to the booth beside her, pushing her body deeper in to the booth. The warmth of his body sent strange tingles through hers, but it didn’t hurt.

               She heard the china slide across the wooden table till it stopped in front of you.

               “I seem to recall you eating the strawberry shortcake every time it was available.” Snape said in explanation for what was in front of her.

               “It was my favorite. One of the few sweets my mum would make over the hols.” She picked up the fork laid on the edge of the plate and stabbed down in to the soft cake.

               “Was?” Severus asked.

               “I find it a bit hard to eat now with my parents lost to me and life being what it is now. Just doesn’t taste the same I suppose.” She slid the fork in to her mouth and sighed as a stinging pain erupted on her tongue along with the sweetness of the cake. “Thanks for the cake.”

               She didn’t finish the cake and they left shortly after Severus drained the entire pot of tea he’d brought over- offering none to her.

               They visited every single store Hogsmeade had to offer including the quidditch supply store much to Hermione’s amusement. By the time Snape had guided her back in to Teapaper she was leaning heavily on the staff he’d leant her, every muscle screaming in pain and every tiny touch from him set off another cascade of pain rushing over her.

               “You can leave me here.” Hermione said, sitting on the first steps up to her flat. Her shaking legs promised her she wouldn’t make it up the steps without crawling. “I need a minute.”

               She let out a yelp of surprise when wordlessly he gathered her in his arms and carried her quickly up the flight of steps and deposited her at her door. Only the heat of his body a betrayal that he was truly touching her instead of the brand of pain she’d become intimately acquainted with from his large hands.

               “Until next Monday, Miss Granger.”