Love And Revolution

IV

Hermione had slept fine through the night, although it was naturally troubled. Snape had checked her pulse and smoothed her hair back to apply a balm to her bruise and she had stirred at the touch, muttering something in her sleep.

"Don't worry," she remembered him saying in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "It's allright. Go back to sleep."

She had quietened down and he had let her sleep on.

But her slumber was anything but peaceful; she was troubled by bizarre dreams- dreams where she was given a task to complete, something unidentifiable and unspecified, dreams of failing, dreams of family and friends turning away from her. And somewhere in there, a voice of calm- soothing and reassuring.

Eventually she woke up, feeling sluggish and heavy. Her head was pounding and when she tried to move, she found that most of her body ached.

Despite the pain, her analytical faculties appeared to have returned. She woke up in an adequately furnished room with muted colours; the furniture was old but well-maintained, the drapes were drawn, the sheets covering her were clean. She sat up to find that she was still dressed in the same clothes as last night, only her shoes had been taken off and set aside and there was a black cloak left behind- as if like a reminder of where she was and whom it belonged to.

She fingered the cloth- it was indeed Snape's own cloak- he had probably wrapped her up in that and carried her to his home, where he had laid her down in bed and pulled on the covers, so that she was comfortable, while he continued his vigil.

She clambered out of bed and folded up the cloak in her hand. It had a slightly odd smell- she thought she could detect traces of various substances, as if it had become impregnated over time with the tools of its owner's trade. Underlying it was a musky, slightly spicy scent. A trace of sandalwood, not quite cedar, a bit of cypress maybe...Something unique to the man himself.

Hermione clamped down on that line of thought immediately; one act of generosity and her imagination was running away with her. It must be because her head was still buzzing.

She was uncomfortably aware that she was in Severus Snape's bedroom. She was relieved to find that she didn't feel queasy, but she pushed against the throb in her head and the protests of her tired body, careful not to move too sharply as she slowly went downstairs.

There was no sign of Snape, but she told herself that he was hardly likely to disappear on her after all the trouble that he had gone through for her the previous night. If nothing else, he would never trust her with his house and all his possessions.

In all her fury last night, she'd hardly had the time to properly see the features of the house. Glancing around now, she saw there were books strewn all about, more potions ingredients, shelves upon shelves of large volumes, pots of plants growing here and there, most likely of Herbological value for potion-making, tumblers and cauldrons, some smoking, some sitting idle and also bottles of liquor strategically placed in different places so that they were easily accessible from wherever he was sitting.

With a pang she realized that her own living room had come close to looking like this with her recent bout of alcohol abuse- a habit she had forced herself out of.

It was clear from the position of the sun, that she had slept away the better part of the day, and as she stood unsure about what to do, Snape emerged from an adjacent room. He stopped on his tracks upon seeing her.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger."

Hermione gave an involuntary glance in the direction of the sun. Snape caught it and his lips quirked slightly. "Yes, it is later than usual, but it's still prior to the meridian."