The Razor's Edge

Warning: This is rated M for mature themes, very dark content, self harm, OOC Hermione. You have been warned, some of it is disturbing, if you don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All of this belongs to J. K. Rowling

Hermione Granger was at her limit. She was feeling the stress of having to always be perfect building up in her chest, like fizz trying to escape a pop bottle. She had a free period that was for studying, and she slipped into the girl's bathroom. If she didn't do something, anything, soon, the feeling would become unbearable. It was making her shiver and clench her teeth. Her scalp prickled, and she fought the cold fingers of tension and panic. She wondered if she was having a breakdown. That couldn't be allowed to happen. She had to regain control of herself. When she was absolutely sure that she was alone, she locked herself into a stall, and took out a razor blade.

Hermione had been carrying it around for a long time, and now was the right time. She took the cold metal in her right hand, and it glinted at her with a soulless wink as she gently applied it to her left wrist. Her hand shook, but she was not afraid, just a little nervous. She moved her hand in a ghost stroke first, planning it out. She was going to cut across the wrist, and not down the arm. Her intent was not to hit a vein and kill herself, but to relieve some pressure. She took a deep, steadying breath, and gently cut.

Hermione's breath hissed between her clenched teeth. She barely made any cut at all, but she could feel it. The blade was sharper than she had realized. It stung, and went cold. Bright pearls of blood collected along the edges of the line, if you could call them that, but pearls are pure and precious , and this was already deepening into something darker. Hermione watched, detached, as the skin became pinker along the edges. She licked her lips, which had become dry, daring herself. Might as well do it again. She raised the blade and made another cut, just below the first, a little voice urging herself to exert more pressure.

This cut hurt as she made it. The cold bite of it made her wince, but that was the point, after all. The blood that was already there from the first cut welled quicker to the second, and began to flow a little. Hermione had not anticipated that blood might actually run, and she grabbed some toilet paper to staunch the wound. It kept seeping. It was deeper than she thought. All of a sudden, she realized that she may get into some trouble if anyone found out about this. She took out her wand and performed a healing charm.

The blood continued to drip down her arm. Hermione increased pressure, but she was not panicked about the damage from the cut. She racked her brains. Why was the cut still there? Had she gotten the words wrong? She concentrated. Making absolutely sure that she had the incantation correct, she performed it again and lifted the toilet paper.

Two parallel lines remained, one deeper than the other, unmistakable in what they were. It seemed a beacon to the world of her failure. All anyone had to do was glance at her arm and see her deepest secrets, a badge that she was carrying for all and sundry to gawk at, to talk about and become afternoon gossip. Hermione felt beads of sweat break out on her forehead. Why wasn't this spell working? She got it right, she knew she did. Her legs felt a little weak, and she didn't know how all this had come to such a point. Hermione Granger was a girl who was in control of everything, who was confident and knew it all. And now look at her. Shame briefly flooded her, but she clamped down on it. There wasn't any other way. Now she had to fix this. What were her options?

Madame Pomfrey might be able to help, but Hermione was reluctant to chance it. It was likely that Pomfrey was not familiar with Muggle psychological problems, and Hermione could lie about how she acquired these cuts, but if it ever happened again, Pomfrey wouldn't buy it. Hermione needed to know why her charms were not effective. She needed to go to someone whom she could trust. Someone who dabbled in the darker side of things.

The problem with that is that all of her friends were definitely not into the dark side of anything. She loved Harry and Ron, but they couldn't help her with this. They wouldn't understand her compulsion. She barely understood it herself, and it would hurt them. They didn't know the things that drove her, the same things also isolated her. So that left people that she couldn't trust, but knew things she wanted to know. Her mind automatically turned to residents of the House of Slytherin.

Hermione's mind struggled with itself. She didn't want to have any dealings with people from that House! They were untrustworthy, and she didn't want them to have something to hold over her head. Who could she possibly ask, Draco? She recoiled at the idea of going to him with anything.

A thought whispered as if from far away "You could ask Snape."

"No!" The thought shocked her, as if someone else had thought it, and not her own brain.

"Yes. He is skilled in many areas. The Dark Arts, Potions...he would know what to do."

"I hate him!"

"Fondness is not required for this. He has knowledge you require. Seek him out."

Hermione could not refute this logic. "He has no impetus to help me. Why would he? He could turn me in."

"Turn you in to whom? As you said, he doesn't care enough to turn you in. The worst to happen is he'll say no. You have no other option. Swallow your pride and go, or you will be discovered."

Hermione realized that Snape was her only choice, however repugnant. Besides, the thrill of her illicit action was starting to wear off. The high of it had initially numbed her to the pain, but now her arm was starting to burn. She sighed, gathered up her stuff, and left the bathroom.

Unfortunately, she realized with a start, her free period was almost over. She had spent more time in the bathroom than she had intended to. Cutting was cathartic, but Hermione didn't know if it was worth the benefits. She had to go to her next class, and it became obvious that she had to hide her arm for the rest of the day from her classmates. It wasn't an obvious injury in an obvious place, but Hermione was conscious of it, and she was grateful when the day was finally finished and she could go to the empty Dark Arts classroom and seek Snape out.

Her heart was thudding as she approached, and she felt more nervous than she should. "Stop being so silly," she told herself sternly. Then she was there.

Snape was seated at his desk, scribbling on parchment and scowling as usual. He didn't look up at her slight shadow in the doorway. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Miss Granger, what brings you here?" Snape said silkily without looking up.

Hermione was unnerved. "May I come in, Professor? I have a matter I need to discuss with you."

At this, Snape's quill stilled, but he still didn't move. "Am I correct in deducing that this is a...private matter?"

Hermione nodded.

Snape began writing again. "Then I suggest you address the head of you own House for such a thing. Good day, Miss Granger," he said dismissively.

Hermione took a tentative step inside his classroom. "Please, sir, I need your help. I am appealing to you as the most appropriate source in this matter, Professor McGonagall would not be able to guide me in this."

Snape's head snapped up. "Come, come, Miss Granger, enough of the theatrics! Are you telling me you have some sort of girlish secret you require the knowledge of the Dark Arts to deal with?" He spat this out irritably, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Hermione gulped. "I...I don't know. That is to say, I am not sure what my problem requires, but I think that I am in over my head, and I know that you can help me. Please."

Snape looked her over for a minute. "Well, well, that is a first. The lofty Gryffindor admitting ignorance on anything is a sight I thought I would never see," he mocked. "What is the exact nature of your problem, Granger?"

Hermione looked around nervously. "First, I need your word that this is just between the two of us," Suddenly that sounded more intimate than she ever intended, and she hastily changed her wording."I mean, I am telling you this in confidence,"

Snape sounded impatient "I won't bandy your secrets in the common room, is that what you want to hear? Idle gossip is of no interest to me." His bored tones seemed designed to embarrass.

Hermione colored again. She sensed she was losing his interest. She closed the door behind her. "I thank you for your discretion in this, Professor. I have a wound that I am unable to heal. I was hoping that you could take a look." As she spoke, she rolled up the edge of her robe.

Snape gazed down at the neat red lines. "I understand your quandary, Miss Granger, but do you?"

Hermione looked up at him. "That is why I am here, Sir. I felt...unable to see Madame Pomfrey about this. I thought perhaps-"

Snape interrupted her "But do you fully understand the import of your actions? I assume you have tried your own methods of cure, and they have thus summarily failed you?" Snape circled around Hermione and his voice dropped a notch, now deceptively soft. "Only the greatest need would bring you to me. You view me as an enemy, and indeed, perhaps I am to you. There is no love lost between us. Why should you share this great piece of your personal life with me? Did you think I would not divine the cause? If you feel that I am the only person you could turn to, then you are in a desperate situation, and you will do something for me in return for the favor I am about to do you."

Hermione felt as if all her muscles had frozen in place and time had stopped around her. This was unreal! She couldn't even think of what he could want from her. Her voice barely eked out from behind her clenched jaw. "What do you require of me?"

Snape's eyes glittered as her considered her. A gleam entered his eyes as he took her measure, standing there with her hand cradling her hurt arm, slightly disheveled robes, bushy mane of hair. He gave her a once over and seemed to look right through her, as if her saw her very soul. For a minute, Hermione was spellbound, drawn right into the black depths of his eyes, unable to look away. Then he broke the contact, and with a slight wrinkle of his oversized nose, seemed to indicate that he didn't find her suitable for what he was looking for.

Hermione felt unexpectedly angry. How dare she not be up to scratch! The flare of ire caught her off guard, and before she could stop it the words were out "I'm more than up to the task of anything you set for me. You can't scare me off, Snape..." Suddenly what she said hit her and her face flamed bright red. She wanted to sink into the floor.

A flash of surprise flitted over Snape's face at her words, before he slammed down the defense of his customary scowl. "Very well, Granger, consider a deal made. I will help you with your predicament, and you will be my..." here he paused a moment, and seemed to lose his train of thought. "Assistant. I have need of someone with skill to aid me, as I still get requests for Potions, and that takes up some of my time. You will come here every day after class and I will have things for you to do. Agreed?"

Hermione's face was still crimson, and she only generally nodded in his direction so as not to meet his gaze directly. "Agreed"

Snape was all business now. He took out his wand and grabbed her arm. "When I asked you earlier if you understood the full import of your actions, it was partially in reference to the self harm imperviousness loophope?"

Hermione shook her head, watching Snape as he inspected her arm more closely.

"I can only assume that these wounds are self inflicted? Yes? Well, being that you are a Muggle, it is less likely that you would know of the clause that disallows the one who inflicts the harm to heal the damage, in reference to the self. It doesn't much happen here in the magical world, this tends to be a largely Muggle problem. This requires the person to seek out help, or to deal with it the way a Muggle would, which wizards and witches are most likely not going to. It is an effective clause, limiting self harm. Occasionally, Muggles such as yourself stumble into it, and then you are found out. These wounds, unfortunately, are highly resistant to magical means of repair, and require knowledge which few people possess to do so. In this, you were right to come to me." Snape smiled a tight smile but did not look at her. "Madame Pomfrey would have caught on to the fact that something was wrong rather quickly when none of her usual cures worked."

Hermione had relaxed while Snape was talking. His voice was pleasant when he wasn't deriding someone. She felt the brush of his fingers on the skin of her wrist, and she felt very calm. She chanced a look at him, and saw his head bent intently over her arm. His black hair was falling forward, concealing his face from her view, but it looked soft, rather than greasy. She almost had a whim to touch it, then startled slightly. Had he put her under hypnosis? She realized he had been talking and struggled to pay attention. What was wrong with her?

Snape had finished examining the wound. It was as he had expected. He had read about the next step, but never performed this himself, as it required something of the enchanter, and he had never felt compelled to give of himself in this personal way before. However, to have a Gryffindor student at his mercy was too much to resist. He readied his wand and bared his wrist.

Hermione watched in growing horror as Snape said the words that peeled a very thin slice of skin off of his own wrist. It was tiny, to be sure, but it drew a line of blood that looked even more painful than her own. She watched in mute fascination as the minuscule sliver wavered in the air and came gently to rest on top of the first cut she had made on her own arm. Snape uttered an intense phrase, and it fused with her own skin, the thinnest silver line barely visible. He repeated the process with the second cut, and then it was over.

They both sat back, silent. Hermione felt transformed somehow. She didn't have the words, or even know what to think about what she had witnessed. She was vaguely ashamed. Snape just looked tired, for once, which strangely endeared him to her. She shook it off and clung to anything else to think of. When she saw the lines of blood on his own arm, she could focus on something else.

"Sir, isn't this a Catch-22? You have harmed yourself now."

Snape aimed his own wand at his arm and repeated the spell to heal himself. It worked. "While I don't understand your reference, I do intuit your meaning. The difference is intent. My intent was not to inflict harm or damage upon myself, it was of a...nobler purpose." His mouth twisted, and a wry expression came upon his face. "Now go back to all of your "friends" and I shall expect my payment in blood of my own devising, starting tomorrow."

A/N: This is only my second fanfic. My first one was not well reviewed, so I don't know if I should bother to continue writing. I will gladly read any reviews, as they help in the process. Let me know what you think. Thanks!