A/N:

Oh, my goodness! The holidays are over, and I'm finally able to get back to my writing. I hope everyone had a good break. I'll try to post updates more regularly, and gasp! I might even be able to respond to a review or two. Thank you so much for reading my little tale, and I hope you enjoy.

-K

.

.

.

Ch. 6— The Potioneer

.

.

.

Severus had to wait two days more before he could secrete himself in the shadowed corner of the kitchen while she cooked. He didn't have time to switch the pillows tonight, but he figured he could do so when she next went to dance class with no one the wiser in a day or two.

Late in the evening, he watched from his shadowed nook when she bustled into the room carrying an armful of groceries, and immediately threw up wards and a 'muffliato' spell. Drawing out her muggle cellular, she tapped it with her wand, and loud, raucous music began magnifying loudly around the stone-enclosed space.

She changed the song to one that was guitar-based and lively, and immediately set to work un-bagging and organizing her ingredients, kicking off her shoes in the process so that she was bare-footed on the stone floor. Her hips swayed side to side as she chopped, diced, peeled, and mixed, and Severus didn't even bother trying to stop his body's natural reaction to such a sight.

Meanwhile, the song, for some strange reason about a train and obviously muggle, continued to play, and he heard the lyrics, "Without love, where would you be now?"

However, soon the song ended and another took its place, one more sultry, and he was proud to say he recognized the song from his youth, but not the singer. "Layla, you got me on my knees. Beggin' darlin' please," she sang along with this as she folded a mixture of raw egg, cheese, and some kind of spiced sausage into little pockets of dough and crimping the corners with the tines of a fork, began setting them aside. It was some kind of pasta, and she boiled them a batch at a time, setting them under stasis once she was through.

She then began building a base for a sauce, a fresh-ingredient marinara, adding what she'd already chopped as well as various spices and a healthy dose of white wine to simmering. The kitchen was starting to smell heavenly while the song changed yet again, and she lent her full voice to singing along with the female singer:

'You're no good, you're no good, you're no good. Baby, you're no good.'

And her hips swaying to the rhythm as she bounced and gyrated around the stove, dipping that finger into the sauce and bringing it to her lips to taste; oh, Severus needed to gain control of himself immediately!

Right at the song's interlude, she tilted the pan so that the flame kissed it and set the lot to flambé, burning off the residual alcohol and expertly tossing the sauce. Not missing a beat, she sang the final stanza, and the words gave Severus chills:

'I'm telling you now, baby, that I'm goin' my way. Forget about me, baby, 'cause I'm leaving this day!'

Yes, this was what was at stake was it not? If she were to catch him here, if she were to leave this house without Severus making his feelings known to her.

The song changed yet again, and she individually plated three servings of pasta and salad and began cleaning up.

This song was much of a much slower and gentler pace, though still guitar-based, and as she stood near the sink, he heard the words:

'Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say,' fill the room as he watched her magically clean up her cooking dishes, and stand swaying side to side, lost in music's melody. 'Just like children sleepin', we could dream this night away.'

His pulse thrumming triple-time, Severus drew a breath for courage, and silently crept out from his corner to come stand behind her. Her wand was on the counter beside her, and peering into the glass above the sink, he saw her eyes were closed as she silently swayed back and forth to the lilting, gentle melody. He would have to time his request and whisper just right in order not to alarm the spellbound witch.

Waiting for a lull in lyric with his heart in his throat, Severus bent down and whispered softly, "May I have this dance, Hermione?"

.

.

.

Hermione loved Neil Young's 'Harvest Moon'; loved the imagery and the sweetness of it. It was easy to get lost in the picture the singer was painting, and closing her eyes, she did so, letting the rhythm carry her away.

'But there's a full-moon rising, let's go dancing in the light.'

"May I have this dance, Hermione?" a voice whispered gently in her ear, and unsure if she'd heard correctly or not, she opened her eyes and looked behind her.

Severus Snape, having shed his billowing wizard's robes, stood before her in white shirt sleeves, trousers, and vest.

He was also as barefoot as she.

Already caught in the surreal spell of the music, Hermione turned around and faced him; his arms held out for her to step into.

Tentatively meeting his gaze, she nodded and saw a measure of relief appear over his sharp features as his arms came around to hold her, drawing her closer. A realization pierced the foggy, surreal part of her thoughts at that moment: this man wanted her, wanted to make her his.

Severus Snape wanted to make love to her.

Her world tilted a little on its axis at that. He drew her closer, drawing her arms more fully around himself so she was nestled into his chest, into his scent as she felt the reverberations of this revelation rocket through her.

And it seemed he was as moved as she for she could hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm where she rested her head, and she looked up meeting his onyx eyes. Meanwhile Young continued to sing, 'When we were strangers, I watched you from afar', and Severus drew her even closer to him and began shuffling them gently around the floor.

His eyes were filled with such vulnerability; there was no masking the desire he had for her or the admiration and respect. Held in his arms like this, she didn't feel foolish or ridiculous. She didn't have reason to feel embarrassed that he 'caught her out' as it were, dancing and singing like a loon while she prepared her dinners, for the look in his eyes told her she was the farthest thing from foolish in his estimation.

Gulping, she reached up and moved some of the hair out of his face, leaving her hand placed at his jaw.

Turning his head, he nuzzled slightly into it, and closing his eyes, gently kissed her palms' center as they continued to sway to the slow-moving song.

The thought of Severus Snape as her lover filled her with a certain tingling anticipation, and it was all too soon the song ended, and he was reaching for the hand she still held at his jaw, bringing it to his lips and dusting a kiss along her knuckles.

He took a step back from her, and rasped, "Thank you, Hermione," and bowed formally over her hand. And then, reluctantly, it seemed to her, he released her. Another song, faster-paced, began to play, and not wanting to spoil the mood, Hermione turned the music down low.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him, gesturing to the plates of food she had just prepared.

He growled, "For what you make, witch?" his onyx eyes burned into hers, "Starved."

She gulped, his words causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

But he shook his head. "You are on strict economy; I have seen it, and I wouldn't want you to go without your dinner, even if what you've made is a beautiful feast for the eyes as well as the other senses."

Her pulse thrumming, Hermione took a step towards him, and said, "I can afford to share, you know? At least a little, and I wouldn't mind the company… as agreeable as it is," she ended on a smile.

He smirked, "In that case, witch… yes; I accept your invitation to dinner."

.

.

.

Lucius could feel it. Something had changed.

The moment he stepped into the same room as Severus, he knew. It seemed somehow over the course of last evening, Severus had made his intentions toward Miss Granger known, and she had accepted him.

There was happiness, a sense of peaceful ease about the darker wizard, and Lucius gulped, swallowing down the jealousy he felt.

He was happy for his brother; truly he was. But that didn't stop Lucius from wanting that very happiness for himself.

"Severus, have you seen Miss Granger yet this morning?" Lucius asked casually.

He waited… with no response forthcoming from the other wizard.

"Severus?" Again, he questioned. Still no response. "Severus?" Now, Lucius was beginning to become irritated.

"Hermio… errm, no." The dark wizard turned around to face him; his occlumency shields falling into place. "I have yet to see her this morning. Why?"

"Oh," Lucius gestured to the items he held, "I have her dissertation as well as her journal. I'll try her in her room, shall I?"

A flash of jealousy appeared on Severus's face but was gone in an instant. "Suit yourself," the darker wizard said.

"Oh, I shall, brother. Believe me, I shall." With those words, Lucius left and made his way towards Miss Granger's room, knocking softly upon the door.

She appeared a moment later, an air of disappointment flashing on her face when she saw it was him, and then she put up her guard.

Lucius immediately held out her dissertation as well as her journal for her to take. "These, I believe, are yours. If you have a moment, I would like to discuss with you your dissertation? Would the courtyard in an hour be sufficient?"

Her eyes widened as she took both from him and clutched them to her chest. "I'm ready now, if you'd prefer it?" She was obviously eager to get at his opinion.

"I haven't yet had my breakfast, and as we are without an elf," Lucius quirked a small smile, "I'd invite you to dine with me, that is, if you haven't had breakfast as well, but I'm afraid my cooking skills are going to be put to the test to serve me, let alone someone of your considerable culinary acumen."

"Are you angling for me to cook for you again, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, a slight smirk on her face.

He shook his head, slightly insulted she would think so. "No, Miss Granger. Actually, I was not." He turned away from her and called over his shoulder shortly, "The courtyard in an hour."

"Wait," he heard her say, and then she was walking up to him, and touching him on the sleeve. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude. I—" Lucius turned back to face her and saw her color was high. "I would be happy to have breakfast with you; that is, if the offer is still open?"

"I never offered," he shook his head, "My cooking abilities—"

"Shall only be improved with my tutelage," she dimpled at him. "Come on. It's the least I can do for your taking the time to look over my dissertation and returning my journal. Thank you for that, by the way." She squeezed his arm, "Besides, the suspense is killing me to know your thoughts." And she led the way to the kitchen, all the while with Lucius smirking to himself.

The girl had played exactly as expected… straight into his hands.

.

.

.

Hermione watched as Mr. Malfoy very inexpertly flipped the omelet they had been preparing, the stuffing running out its sides.

"It'll still taste the same though, right?" he asked her skeptically as he looked down at the pan.

She shrugged and looked down as well. "That depends, do you eat with your eyes or your stomach, sir?"

He looked up at her, his pale blue eyes piercing as he said, "How very philosophical of you, Miss Granger. Tell me, which do you prefer?"

"Aesthetics without function has never appealed to me. Beauty for beauty's sake is frivolous and a waste of space. And also doesn't taste very good."

"Ah, so you're one of those, are you?" He split the omelet down the middle and carried the plates to the trestle table, holding the chair for her to take a seat.

"One of whats?" she asked, placing the goblets of fresh-squeezed orange juice she'd made at their settings and then taking her seat.

He sat opposite her exactly where Severus had sat last night. And last night had been so very magical! Never would she ever have believed Severus Snape would want to... well, 'court' her as it were. It was in some respects too fantastic to be believed.

"I believe it was the muggle poet Keats who said, 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever'. However, you are one of those that believe art must serve a purpose, have a message in some respect," Mr. Malfoy continued, drawing her back into their conversation.

Hermione's eyes crinkled with a smile as she sawed into her busted omelet and took a bite. "Still tastes as good," she murmured reassuringly around her forkful. Chewing and swallowing, she said, "Even in joy, the thing of beauty has purpose. I challenge you to find a piece of art—be it natural or manufactured—that does not and cannot have a purpose ascribed to it in some respect. Even those that specifically do not, wind up having some meaning attributed to them, therefore the 'art for art's sake' argument is a fallacy and does not exist."

He saluted her with his goblet, "Clever girl. Incidentally, you are correct. It all hinges on a matter of perspective just as your dissertation does. Those sympathetic to your aims will find it a rousing piece of literature, I am sure. However, house-elf sympathizers are few and far between, especially when you get to the Wizengamot, whose owners comprise nearly four-fifths that general populace."

Hermione winced. This was not news to her. One thing the Ministry had instituted after her fourth year of schooling and the fiasco with Barty Crouch and Winky the house-elf, was a compelled registration for all magical sentient beings in a single household. The records were public knowledge; as were the wizards comprising the Wizengamot. She had done her homework, and the statistic Mr. Malfoy had just given her was correct.

At length, after he had finished his omelet and sat back with a replete sigh with his juice, he stated, "I find your work well-reasoned, Miss Granger, but ultimately naïve and short-sighted. You cannot hope to appeal to the Wizengamot's 'better nature' with this pathos-driven approach. It's infantile, and you are better than that. They need numbers, they need facts, they need a replacement work-force, for if not the house-elves then whom? You were lamentably murky on that point."

Hermione held up her hands. "Witches and wizards could learn to—"

"Do for themselves?" he smirked at her. "Come, come, Miss Granger. You know better! Might I suggest an alternative?" he looked down, "Are you finished? I would still like to take a stroll around the courtyard."

"But the dishes—" Hermione looked around at their plates and pans, knives and cutting boards, vegetables half-chopped and some absolutely massacred; Lucius Malfoy had none of the graceful economy of movement she had around the kitchen.

However, it had been quite an adventure making a mess with him.

"Will still keep, Miss Granger. Gods, woman! Do you ever take time to sit and relax?"

He waited beside her chair for her to get up, and Hermione did so, pointing her wand at each of the little messes that she could to set them to righting themselves.

Tsking, he took her by her wand arm and tugged her along. She changed her wand to her other hand and continued to point and cast spells over his shoulder, even as he led her through the doorway out into the courtyard.

"Ambidextrous, are you?" he asked, ushering her on.

"With wand-work? Absolutely," she answered, restoring her wand up her sleeve. "I don't think anyone who grew up when I did, didn't learn at least a few defensive spells to do with the other hand, in case their main was incapacitated."

"Yes, Draco is quite good at that as well," Mr. Malfoy said absently, and Hermione bit her lip.

His son Draco was a sore point with him, she knew. Draco Malfoy had quite disowned his father upon Lucius Malfoy's sentencing. Draco and his mother had taken what they could of the Malfoy family fortune and fled the country almost the moment Lucius's life sentence had been pronounced.

Having been the one to oversee his divorce at Narcissa Malfoy's insistence it be done, she knew the woman had long since gotten married to a very wealthy Albanian wizard. And Draco, too, had gotten engaged to a pure-blood German heiress. Neither had shown any interest in Mr. Malfoy in the ten years he had been incarcerated, nor it seemed thereafter when his sentence had been overthrown.

Hermione, herself, had written to Draco telling him of his father's reversal of fortune, but it had been nearly two months since, and no word back had been forthcoming.

She swallowed, "Mr. Malfoy—"

"Lucius, please, Miss Granger." He smiled tightly, his eyes still un-restful as he looked at the water cascading down the courtyard fountain. He continued absently, "I find it impractical to continue standing on ceremony when we are to be… neighbors of a sort. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, I guess you're right… Lucius."

"Of course I am," he said with faux-conceit and gestured she should have a seat on the stone bench. "Now, back to your dissertation, Miss Granger—"

"Hermione, please," she interjected with a small smile.

His teeth flashed, "Hermione then. Back to your dissertation. You have very lofty ideals concerning house-elf equality and freedom."

She drew breath to argue the point, but he held up his hands. "Hear me out, please. You do, for a society hinging on such a slave force, have very elevated ideals concerning its removal. You've cited exceedingly well the reasons why this should be the case, and I cannot fault your argument there, but have you stopped to consider that perhaps the 'slaves' for lack of a better word, do not wish to be freed?"

She again drew breath to defend, and he again stopped her, "Nuh-uh-ugh, wait. That question was rhetorical as I am not yet finished."

Biting her lip, she nodded up at him and waited for him to continue.

He quirked his lips at her in a small smile. "What if… you deflated your proposal a bit? Instead of aiming for house-elf freedom and equality, aim for instead… more stringent laws governing the keeping of house-elves. A welfare proviso if you will? That way an entire workforce is not put out to pasture—to live gods know how and where without their humans to take care of them and vice versa, and you are less likely to cause as many waves with the 'old-salt' council members of the Wizengamot who would not bat an eye at striking down your years of preparation for your dissertation and denying you entry to be advisory to the Council." His eyes crinkled at the corners at her, "And now I give you the floor. What say you?"

She thought about it for a moment as she pursed her lips.

What he was proposing was not without merit. And quite frankly, she'd had a difficult time trying to picture the house-elves in any other occupation besides domestic pursuits…

At length, she said, "I say it's a lot like a story I read once about a muggle lorry trapped in a tunnel. It wasn't until someone suggested letting air out of the lorry's tires that they were able to get the thing freed. What you're proposing is a lot like that I think. My goal will always be to see to the house-elves' freedom, but I will be unable to do so if I don't, at least, get my foot in the door. And alienating nearly four-fifths of my audience will hardly meet my aims…"

"There see?" he smirked at her, "Now you're thinking like a Slytherin."

She smiled up at him. "What does being Slytherin have to do with anything? It's just good sense."

He grinned winningly at her. "Precisely so, Hermione. Precisely so."

.

.

.

Two days…

He had seen neither hide nor hair of Hermione in two days' time, and Severus was beginning to get worried. She hadn't come down to make a meal or to even go to the lavatory.

He should know for he had been listening.

Lucius, too, had been suspiciously absent from the common areas of the house of late, staying mostly to his room.

All in all, Severus felt quite excluded.

Upon the third day, he'd had enough and knocked upon her door. The door opened with a soundless latch, the usual wards she had in place preventing it opening having fallen away.

More than a little anxious now, Severus peered inside, and his mouth opened in a soundless gasp at the wreckage he saw. Papers and books were strewn everywhere; there were charts, graphs, and muggle contraptions upon every surface, some spitting out paper, others scanning it in.

And the witch responsible for this beaurocratic nightmare was seated at her desk, her back to him, staring ominously at the wall, her rat's nest hair stuffed with quills and flecked with bits of parchment.

Trying—and failing—not to imagine the worst, Severus again called out, "Miss Granger…?" as he tentatively stepped into her room.

"Hermione…?" Still no response.

Severus reached for her shoulder. "Hermione?" The chair swiveled at his touch, and he slowly turned her around to face him.

She was glassy-eyed and unresponsive.

Heart in his throat, Severus crouched before her, again rasping her name to illicit a response, trying to get her to react with no reply forthcoming. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and reached for the pulse at her wrist.

Her pulse was thundering.

However, her breathing was slow, deep, and even. Severus cursed his absence of a wand and the diagnostic spells he would not be able to perform.

"LUCIUS!" he rasped as loudly as he was able, beating on the steel leg of the desk with a book to get his brother's attention. She still remained unresponsive to any of the stimuli around her, not even flinching when she really ought to at the sound he was making. "LUCIUS!"

"Severus?" Lucius asked from the hall, and Severus looked up. The blond wizard was looking around her room with wide eyes, and then his gaze fell upon her, and Severus saw him visibly recoil.

"Good gods!" the blond wizard burst out, rushing to kneel before her, "What's happened?"

Severus grit through clenched teeth, "I think what Potter tried to warn us about with her study habits has finally come to pass."

Lucius reached for her jaw, and she closed her eyes, at last, resting her head against his palm. "Had I known our little conversation in the courtyard would have sent you into such a tailspin, my dear," he murmured, scolding, "I would have kept better watch over you."

"What did you tell her?" Severus asked, looking at his brother accusingly. By gods, if Lucius said anything to harm her—

"At ease, Severus." Lucius looked at him sharply. "I was honest and told her my opinion. That is all. The girl agreed and began working on changes to her dissertation forthwith." Lucius looked back at her, his jaw once more clenching as he caressed her cheek with his thumb, "It seems she hasn't stopped since."

Lucius looked back to him for guidance.

"Bath," Severus decided meeting his eyes and saying via Legilimency, 'Cold water. We'll try to shock her out of it. It worries me she remains so unresponsive.'

Lucius nodded and released her cheek.

Bending forward, Severus drew her by the knees and waist until he had hold of her and stood with Lucius grabbing her nightgown and robe draped across her bed. "Look through her things," Severus called over his shoulder, "and see if you find any potion; she's not sleeping though she's in some sort of catatonic state; we need to get her heart rate down." Severus carried her in his arms, the dear weight of her bushy quill-infested head resting against his shoulder as he bore her to the lavatory.

Gads, but she reeked of grime, sweat, and obsession!

And it was with clinical detachment, Severus divested her of her witch's robes, removing as many of the quills as he could from her hair in the process. Lucius came in just as he was lowering her into the ice cold water.

She didn't respond.

"I found her bath kit with her shampoo and the soap she prefers, Severus, but no somnolence potion. Only what I believe are stimulants, plenty of stimulants… and lots of empty phials of the stuff."

Severus tsk'd as he took off his robes and began rolling up his shirt-sleeves to the elbow.

It seems this was one of Hermione Granger's dirty, little secrets. And would explain why the witch didn't want for extra food or the occasional trip to the lavatory, pending on the potion she'd been ingesting.

Lucius took off his suit jacket and began rolling up his sleeves as well. He handed Severus the soap and a flannel he'd brought with him, and Severus handed Lucius a pitcher of clean water, and both began to bathe her.

She barely stirred when Lucius poured cold water over the crown of her head and began working lather into her hair; Severus, meanwhile, tended to the rest of her, washing every part of her body save for her head.

He was absolutely furious with the witch for allowing herself to get to such a state!

Pending on the potion she had been ingesting, the effects could have the potential for causing great harm, and she had obviously been abusing for a while if this episode was anything to go by.

Draining the water, Lucius wrapped her head in a towel, and Severus drew her from the bath, putting her into Lucius's waiting arms with the bath sheet. And together, they dried and dressed her in her nightgown and robe. Severus once more carried her back upstairs while Lucius went to the kitchen to fetch her a meal.

Upon placing Hermione in bed, Severus drew the covers up around her, and looked about for the wastebasket. Finding one of the empty phials, he held it up to his nose, recognizing many of the ingredients but not the particular brew itself.

He combed through her things until he found her stash—at least forty phials of the stuff, and taking one of the lavender-hued things, he popped the cork, and with his pinky, rimmed the phial and then put it to his lips to taste.

Severus looked down at her in shock.

It was a mixture of Wide-eye and Pepper-up potions: a very potent mixture, indeed. And his little idiot had been taking this for gods only knew how long.

Gathering all the phials he could find, Severus waved his hand and banished the lot, getting rid of all of them.

The potions were not addictive in that the user would unwittingly crave more, but they did lose efficacy over time thus leading to tolerance, and then their eventual abuse. They would have to wait until this latest 'high' coursed through her system, and by his rough estimation, it could be anytime from now until five hours from now, pending on when she ingested her last dose.

"I found tinned soup and crackers, Severus. I hope that's alright?"

"Put it under stasis; she won't be eating anytime soon," Severus told him, pulling up a chair to her bedside.

"What is it?" Lucius nodded toward the empty phials.

Severus looked at him and said via Legilimency, 'Miss Granger imagines herself a potioneer, I suspect, and has been dosing herself with her own cocktail of 'Wide-eye' and 'Pepper-up'. The efficacy is highly potent. I, in fact, got a hum just from sampling the stuff.'

He watched Lucius's eyebrows raise as he, too, pulled up a chair. "Will she be alright? What do you propose we do with her?"

'In the state she's in?' Severus countered angrily with his thoughts, 'The little idiot deserves to be hanged by her toes and flogged.'

Lucius retorted dryly, "Let's save the tar and feathers, shall we, for another offense? This one seems a bit mild."

'Mild, Lucius?' Severus's eyes flashed fire, 'The fact that she's in a stupor is telling, indeed, as are her dilated pupils and her tachycardic pulse. She's high as a kite! The witch could have killed herself, or rendered herself persistent vegetative with the amount of glop she's been ingesting! And if that had happened, there's not a damned thing I could have done about it under the circumstances without my wand or usual store of potions. I can't even 'floo' us to St. Mungo's. I don't think you understa—'

"Oh, I understand more than you might think, brother mine," Lucius looked up at him and met Severus's eyes, his filled with steely resolve. "Our Hermione has a plethora of insecurities, Severus, that will not be helped by your blustering at her once she's recovered from this… 'stupor' she's in. Trust me when I say you will only make the recrimination she's going to give herself worse. The witch has been through much in her short life and is deserving of your respect and your compassion, not your ire. Do you understand?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "How do you know—?"

Lucius frowned, "Her journal. I used the crystal to duplicate it, and since she unlocked her version three days ago, I've been holed up in my room reading the damned thing cover to cover." Lucius gave him a level look. "And let me tell you, Severus, some parts are hair-raising indeed. For being the 'beautiful, clever female third of the 'Golden Trio' and given so many gifts in this life, Hermione Granger has one hell of a dark side to counterbalance the light. She's been kicked to hell and gone by practically everyone she's known save Potter and those muggles at her club. She's come to expect it, Severus; especially by those in the wizarding world."

Severus was at once intrigued and dismayed by Lucius's words.

And the pale-eyed wizard entreated him for understanding. "When she wakes up, don't give Hermione what she expects. It will only lead to more self-loathing and feed the spiral of depression she tends to go down when incidents such as this do occur. Trust me when I say, Severus, the girl has had enough of that to last a life-time."

"Depression?" Severus asked, absorbing all of what Lucius had told him.

"Clinically diagnosed, yes, by muggle psycha-whatsits. They also said she has a severe 'social-anxiety disorder' stemming from a need for perfection." Severus watched as Lucius reached for one of the curls at Hermione's crown and brushed it gently to the side. "The girl expects too much from herself, and this is why she's been as successful as she's been, but it's also a curse as well. That and her muggle parents, but… I've only just started reading about them."

"Tell me," Severus barked, "Tell me all of what you know."

And fervently, Severus listened as Lucius began to speak.

.

.

.

Hermione gradually became aware of her surroundings and was, all of a sudden, both disturbed and comforted by the silence surrounding her.

Opening her eyes, she looked around and saw that she was still in her room, but she was in bed. That wasn't right. Why was she in bed? She had way too much to do to be abe—

"Good afternoon, Hermione," a voice rasped by her bedside, and she looked up wide-eyed. Both Severus Snape and Lucius were sitting to either side of her bed and had been apparently for a while.

"How are you feeling?" Lucius inquired with a small smile.

Oh, dear God! What had she done? The last thing she remembered was drafting the outline for the new house-elf rights' legislative bill she wanted to submit with her dissertation.

The potion—a combination of two stimulants—was a hold-over from her Magus University days when she had been juggling working a full-time job and taking a full course-load. Sleep, then, as now had been at a minimum, and without a time-turner, she had needed something to keep her going that was more potent than caffeine yet less addictive. She had done her research, and through trials and tests had invented the potion she liked to call 'I-pep'.

The only trouble was, the longer she took it, the more her body had developed a tolerance to it, and she was having to make the stuff in stronger and stronger batches in order for it to be effective—dangerous, she knew, but as the ingredients were all relatively benign, she figured her body could tolerate the additional strain.

Over the last three days—had it been three days?— she knew she had ingested phial after phial of the stuff, unthinking—thinking only that she had to get one more sentence, one more thought, one more addendum to the piece of legislation she was crafting to go along with her modified dissertation put into place….

She licked her lips. "I feel…" she closed her eyes, "incredibly stupid."

Severus grit, "That's good, witch, because you—"

"Must be starved after your time spent in your room, are you not?" Lucius interrupted smoothly, and Hermione opened her eyes to feel the weight of a tray settle upon her lap. She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy's crystalline eyes peering down into hers, except within them, she saw no judgment or condemnation, only understanding.

She gulped and nodded feeling slightly comforted.

"It's only tinned soup and crackers. But I did warm it up," he finished proudly.

Grabbing her wand off the dresser, she removed the stasis charm and looked up at Lucius skeptically. "Still edible?"

"I'll have you know, young miss, I have prepared tinned soup before with some success."

Her eyes widened as he sat upon the bed and raising her, plumped the pillows behind her until she was sitting up. "What do you think I've been living on for the last few days, hmm?" he asked her. Picking up her spoon and blowing on the contents, Lucius held it up to her mouth.

Hesitantly, she opened for him, and swallowed some of the soup he fed her, "Still edible… but barely tolerable."

"Well, we'll have to save the haute cuisine until you're back on your feet, hmm?" He again held the spoon up to her lips, and she dutifully swallowed. This was yet another surreal moment: being fed tinned soup by Lucius Malfoy in her robe and nightgown while Severus Snape sat and watched.

Suddenly realizing what she was wearing, and then looking back up at the wizards before her, her cheeks pinkened. "Did you—"

"Lucius and I did what we thought was best." Severus said tersely from her bedside.

She looked over and met his implacable stare as she gulped the spoonful of soup she'd been fed sticking in her throat. He spoke slowly and low, his every word clipped, "We were going to shock your system first with cold water to bring you out of your stupor, Miss Granger, but then Lucius found the phials—"

"I can explain—" she began

Professor Snape scoffed, "Don't bother. They're gone, and you are never," he leaned forward in his chair until his face was inches from hers as he ground out, "ever to ingest either potion again for the rest of your days. Do you understand?" His voice died in a terrible whisper.

Pursing her lips, she hung her head and tried hard not to let the overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment overcome her. "Yes, sir."

She felt gentle, prompting fingers at her chin and looked up. Lucius quirked a small smile and held up another spoonful of the god-awful soup.

She shook her head, smiling blearily. "Please," she whispered, "I'd just like to be left alone."

"Not going to happen, Miss Granger. Not for the next forty-eight hours at least." Professor Snape grated from her bedside, sitting back in his chair. "Perhaps not even then." He picked up one of her books and leafed through the pages until he again found his spot, not even sparing her a look as he stated, "If you're going to cry, do so now and have done. We're not leaving."

Lucius tsk'd above her and shook his head. "What the insensitive brute to my right is trying to say, Hermione, is that we were both concerned for you, my dear, and we still wish to keep watch over you until the effects of the potion you've ingested are completely out of your system. But you are a grown witch, and able to decide for yourself whether or not this is agreeable, hmm?" Lucius quirked another smile and held out another spoonful on insipid soup for her to take.

She smiled slightly but shook her head declining the soup. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine now. You both can leave."

"Can, but not willing," Professor Snape ground, licking his thumb and slowly turning a page.

She bit her lip and looked over at him; his jaw was hard as granite. "Oh, honestly!" Hermione looked up at Lucius to gain his support.

The blond wizard's lips twitched. "I would gladly stay to run interference, my dear." He sketched a small bow as he stood with the tray, "However, I, at least, will adhere to your wishes."

She gave a sad, watery chuckle, the preposterousness of her situation asserting itself. "Please stay." She gestured to his vacated chair.

"Sleep," Professor Snape ordered.

Lucius also nodded, "On this I must concur with hard-nosed Severus over there. You do need your rest."

She licked her lips. "But my dissertation—"

The book Professor Snape was holding slammed shut with a 'crack', and he suddenly took her by her chin, again coming nose to nose with her as he grit via Legilimency, 'Know this, I am biting my tongue to keep from saying some very uncomplimentary things concerning the deplorable lack of judgment and intelligence you've displayed over the course of three days' time. I will be monitoring your activities in the future, Miss Granger, and by Merlin's staff, if you step one toe out of line with me, I will make certain you live to regret it.'

"Do you understand?" he finished in a lethal whisper.

Wide-eyed and gulping, she hesitantly nodded, and he released her chin.

"Good," he rasped, once more not looking at her, and picking up his book again, he thumbed through the pages until he found his spot. "Sleep," he barked.

Not wanting to incur his wrath any more, Hermione settled back and closed her eyes, feeling another paradigm shift occur within her.

Within moments, she was asleep.

.

.

.

Lucius watched as Severus came in bearing a tray.

It was day two of Severus's enforced bed-rest of the girl, and she was only allowed to get up and go to the lavatory and then return back to bed. The first day, the witch had slept over eighteen hours, and the second well over twelve.

However, she was wide-awake now, and showing Lucius how absolutely abysmal she was at playing wizard's chess. "How can a woman so well adept at arguing so fiercely in print, be so terrible at strategy?"

"Words versus action," Severus answered sitting down a tray in her lap and plumping up her pillows. "Miss Granger is a 'linguistic architect'." Both Lucius and Hermione looked over at him questioningly as he handed Lucius a plate as well as taking one for himself.

"Does that mean I 'talk a good game but don't follow through?'" she asked, dubiously prodding her resisting queen across the board to be annihilated by Lucius's knight thus ending their game.

Lucius's lips twitched as he took a sip of the truly delicious wine the girl had liberated from her stores and enjoyed the byplay between the two before him.

"The pen is mightier than the sword." Severus smirked; his eyes alight with teasing. "You've proved that time and again, …gods know with the accursed essays you'd write. Nearly crushed me under the weight of them."

"The various meanings of the word, 'press' come to mind," she grinned over at him as she cut into her seasoned chicken.

Severus continued, whispering, "A 'linguistic architect' means you understand things on an abstract as well as concrete level and exhibit brilliance when it comes to wordplay and usage. You can clearly communicate new ideas and see how they fit into different contexts. That's what makes you a good logician and will serve you well as a member of Council, should that be where you wish your career to go."

"And yet, with actual material strategy, I'm hopeless," she sighed as she finished her last bite of greens, and Lucius offered the ones off his plate to her. The girl had gained a semblance of health and radiance back through their care, but she was still too gaunt by half.

He had noticed that over the course of the weeks they'd stayed together.

She was entirely too thin, and when the house-elf had been in residence, there was no reason for this to be the case.

"No. Not hopeless, just… average," Severus grated and cleared his throat, his frail voice giving out. He mouthed, "We all of us have our gifts, Hermione. That's not yours."

"And we all of us have our foibles," Lucius interjected smirking at his brother, "For example, did you know Severus is absolutely atrocious at cleaning charms?"

She looked up and smiled softly." 'Scrub the cauldrons by hand for detention' Professor Snape horrid at cleaning charms?" she asked with wide-eyed wonder. "No! I can't even imagine! You don't say?" she looked over at Severus and smirked.

Severus pointed a finger at Lucius accusingly and mouthed, "Cooking, cleaning, practicalities of daily living…"

Lucius sniffed, "I can still clean my own clothes wandlessly without the aid of an elf, Severus. In fact, I've never met a charm that didn't lay down like a lover for me. You, however…"

"Wrote some pretty useful ones, Lucius," Hermione interjected, "that I, in fact, still use to this day thanks to the 'Half-blood Prince'." She dimpled towards the dark wizard, and Lucius had the privilege of watching Severus's mouth open but no words come out.

A rarity… even with his vocal impediment.

"It is going to take the three of us, you know?" Hermione continued, looking between the two of them, biting her delectable lower lip. "To run this house without an elf. I'm sure food stores are getting low by now, and I'm loathe to ask Harry to borrow any more money. Over the years, I've taken enough."

Lucius looked towards Severus and raised his eyebrows. Severus, meanwhile looked within, his face going stony once more. Again, the Potter charity issue was a galling reminder of just where they were and what they were doing there.

Without his social connections, Lucius was all but useless to the two beside him. Hermione needed to work to finish her degree, but Severus… he was a working man… used to a working man's wage….

"Say, Severus… how do you feel about prostitution?" Lucius asked, his eyes dancing with wicked delight.

The two looked at him, mouths agape.

Hermione was the first to recover by saying off-hand, "You know, I did have a grandmother that used to say, 'Every woman is sitting on a gold mine'." she shrugged, "I can't help but think you gentlemen wouldn't be any different."

"You're grandmother sounds like quite the pip, my dear," Lucius murmuring, leaning towards her, "Incidentally, if you're offering? I accept, witch. Name your fee."

She gave him a level look and muttered dryly, "You can't afford me."

Lucius smirked, and looked up studying his brother who was, in turn, studying the girl. "Well, there's always Severus, here. How do you feel, brother, about whoring yourself out for monetary gain? What's the muggle expression? Taking one for the team…" Lucius watched in glee as Severus's ears began to turn red.

Oh, he did so enjoy embarrassing the dark wizard, and in front of a pretty witch too!

He decided, however, to end the torture before Severus truly took offense as he clarified, "Of your work, Severus. You could prostitute your work. Sell potions by a roadside somewhere."

His eyes widening in realization, Severus soon snorted and shook his head, "Practicalities, see?" he mouthed to Hermione and rolled his eyes.

Hermione licked her lips. "I have a rudimentary potion's kit, and Ginny may have some of what I lack around here somewhere, but… how could we possibly afford the ingredients, Lucius? Not to mention the wand-work? All potions require some form of spell-work, and you two don't have wands. We really need to get Harry on that. It's been over a month!"

Lucius was undaunted by her questions. "Pick a potion, Severus, that has the most yield in profit for as little start-up as possible, and that's the one we shall brew."

"We?" Hermione asked him.

"We… yes." Lucius smiled tightly. "You are the one with the wand, after all. Any conglomeration Severus brews is liable to come to only muck with just his wandless magic to sustain him. Not even my crystal would do for such precision-timed displays."

She shook her head. "I am the one that seriously needs to get back to her revision and re-drafting of her dissertation. I have less than ten days before it's got to go back to Alec for approval."

"And you have me here to help you every step of the way. If there's one thing I know, it's bureaucracy and politics, my dear," Lucius pointed out, smiling knowingly.

The look on her face was priceless.

'Shocked devastation' was apt, as well as 'blind panic' and 'loss of control'. "No," she murmured weakly, and then more adamantly, "Absolutely not."

"Do you want to continue to eat, Hermione, or not?" Lucius asked her baldly.

"Eating's over-rated; especially if you're the one doing the cooking," she pointed at him and sniffed daintily, "I've foraged for food before, I can do it again."

"And there you have it!" Lucius smiled beatifically. "Our solution presents itself."

Lucius looked over at Severus to find his eyes going wide as he cottoned on to what Lucius was saying.

"By hook or by crook, eh?" Severus whispered.

"Yes, indeed, Potions Master Snape." Lucius grinned. "Yes, indeed."

.

.

.

A/N: Closer and yet closer still. Another update will hopefully happen soon.

Reviews, my dear readers, are like pennies from heaven. Fill this authoress's pockets to overflowing, won't you?

-K