Defamation of Character

Chapter Fourteen –

She didn’t know what to expect upon her arrival, but another letter wasn’t it. Not only was she disappointed over the letter; she had arrived in a very familiar place, her vacation villa from last summer. Mentally, she started calculating the distance between the villa and the cabin in the mountains and winced as she realized that she would not be able to safely Apparate should the need arise. Her excitement over seeing him did little to dull her anger. It galled her that she was actually excited about seeing him. As long as she kept reminding herself that this was not some sappy scene from one of her silly books, she would be okay.

“Remember,” she chided herself, “you’re here to hear what he has to say, then leave. Just remember what he has done to your creative processes. Draco and Pansy’s book was a fluke—a shiny crown on a stalled career.” Ever since Romance Rabble had published Drago’s story the pressure to write the next story had mounted.

She didn’t know what it was, but she just couldn’t do it. She’d spent the last week staring at a blank page. She couldn’t write anymore. No matter how hard she tried to write Harry and Ginny’s book she just hadn’t been able to muster the words. She was dead in the water, unable to string together two paragraphs that made any sense. She spent most of her time hoping and praying for inspiration to strike. It was as elusive as the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. The clamor to write her next book had torn her into knots.

Perhaps it was her own bitter disappointments of romance that were clogging her pipes. If that was the case, then the arrival of Severus Snape signaled the nails being driven into the coffin of her writing career.

Hermione opened the letter, telling herself that she would scan the contents and feed it to her enchanted shredder later. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reading such baited tripe, but she couldn’t resist. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

Dear Hermione,

I’m outside.

Yours,

Severus

She didn’t flip the letter over to look for more. If she had figured anything out by now, it was that Severus was a man of few words. “Just remember,” she murmured softly, “this isn’t some fluff-filled reunion scene. You’ve come to listen to what he has to say and that’s that. You shall return to the cabin and write like mad. Now that you have your notebook back, writing Harry and Ginny’s story should be a snap.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis, but the dread was already spreading.

The irony of her current situation did not escape her. She had been working on Harry and Ginny’s book last year when Severus had arrived, insisting that the Wizengamot had frozen all of her assets due to the lawsuit he had filed against her.

She should have known better. She should have realized that he hadn’t had a legal leg to stand on, but he had gotten the upper hand and she hadn’t been able to do much other than break his nose.

Hermione smirked as she remembered the shocked expression on his face. He’d probably never been sucker-punched before. She clutched her wand in her fist, determined not to lose it this time. Really, Hermione. Stop being so paranoid. You only wish Severus would disarm you and have his wicked way with you. He obviously isn’t interested in a long-term, intimate relationship. Don’t you think he would have tracked you down sooner rather than later?

Shaking that annoying inner voice out of her head, she made her way outside. The sun was dipping low in the horizon, the author in her inwardly chuckling at the apropos setting. Sunset signaled the end of the day, why not the end of a relationship as well? It isn’t like you ever had a relationship with Severus. You shagged him. He shagged you. It was a one-night stand and a learning experience. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She walked past the pool and down the trail toward the beach, her annoyance over the whole “cat-and mouse” game growing stronger with each step. She was winded by the time she made her way over the dune and stopped dead in her tracks.

The view was breathtaking. Soft waves caressed the shore as if commanded to do so in a rhythm that soothed the scene. Fairies flitted along the walkway, chattering excitedly. Beneath a gazebo, a small banquet. The lighting was exquisite, illuminating the intent with shattering clarity. Next to the banquet were two emerald green chaise lounges. Beyond the sofas stood Severus, his back ramrod straight, as though he were facing a firing squad.

Hermione didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. He’d obviously gone through a lot of trouble to plan this seduction, even going so far as to import the fairies from Europe.

For the sake of her sanity, she would go with insulted.

“You have some nerve!” she hissed, stomping up the steps of the gazebo. “Do you take some kind of perverse pleasure in ruining my vacations? Have you no other hobbies? Do I need to take out a restraining order?”

He turned around at the sound of her voice. He was dressed differently and looked uncomfortable. Instead of wizarding robes, he wore gray trousers and a black, button-down shirt. His ebony hair was pulled back, held at his nape with a scrap of black material that blended with the color of his hair. His feet were bare and covered with sand—almost as if she had interrupted his enjoyment of walking barefoot in the sand.

There was something there. Something shocking about his feet. She couldn’t take her eyes off of them. They were pale, paler than the rest of him. It was almost as if this was the first time he’d dare to run around barefoot. He curled his toes, and she looked up. He was looking down at his feet too; seemingly disappointed that he’d allowed her to catch him during such an unguarded moment.

“My apologies, Hermione,” he stated, magically summoning his shoes and sitting to put them on. “It would seem that I lost track of the time. I am glad that you came.”

She assumed a defensive posture, her arms crossed over her chest. “Of course, I came. I came to hear what you had to say. Then I shall be leaving.”

Seemingly unperturbed by her tenacious behavior, he finished his task and took a step toward her, only to be stopped when she raised her wand. “What do you want?” she asked quickly, the soft quality of her voice betraying her emotional state.

There was no answer, and a grin spread across his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?” he answered her question with a question, which further proved that the man was out to drive her insane. Standing, he brushed past her and attended the banquet like a valiant host, lifting serving lids and stirring contents. Once finished, he set the lids to the side and, gazing at her as though she were on the menu, pulled a chair out for her. “Please… sit.”

Insulted, Hermione! Stay insulted, her internal voice commanded. “Could you not find a suitable whore in Knockturn Alley to attend to your needs, Severus?” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. They were harsh and bitter. But justified! After all, he is trying to seduce you.

Severus held onto the back of her chair, her words hitting their intended target. “I have no need of pale imitations,” he retorted, his voice like velvet. He really couldn’t blame her for her reaction. He had, after all, planned a seduction, but it wasn’t a seduction of carnal design. It was one that was intended to last.

“Smooth answer,” replied the young, distrusting witch, “but I shan’t demean myself for food and spirits. I made lo—h-had sex with you once. It was enough.”

Ignoring the slip of her tongue, Severus abandoned his effort of gentlemanly manners. He released the back of her chair and busied himself with pouring the wine. He’d squelched the Slytherin voice within his head that had encouraged him to spike the wine with a Love Potion.

The disdain in her gaze would have frozen a lesser man in his tracks. “If you think I’m going to eat or drink any of this, you are sadly mistaken.” She waved her wand over the scrumptious banquet for emphasis. “There’s no telling what kind of potions you have spiked them with.”

Severus smirked, amused that she could tap into his inherent personality so well. “The though had crossed my mind, but I thought it best to win your affections the… natural way,” he replied casually, sitting down, carving the roasted pork, and placing a serving on her plate and his.

“Win my affections?” she asked, striving to maintain some semblance of conviction in her tone. Stay on task, Hermione. This is not a cheesy reunion scene. Don’t let him close again. It will only hurt when he gets a bur up his arse and decides that he doesn’t want you again.

“The natural way?” Her stomach growled in protest. She’d been in the mountains for a week, and her diet had consisted of cookies, ice cream, and potato chips, washed down with unhealthy doses of soda.

Writer’s block sucked! Not only was her diet exceedingly unhealthy, but she felt like a raving lunatic.

Unfolding his napkin and setting it in his lap, Severus gathered his utensils and started cutting his food. Hermione threw her hands into the air. “You’re barmy!” she announced, her voice echoing against the ceiling.

Her resolve wavered as wicked visions of her sex-deprived imagination danced before her eyes. She watched in fascinated horror as he lifted a piece of pork to his lips and smiled. If she didn’t know better she would have sworn that he kissed it prior to placing it in his mouth and chewing the tender morsel. He swallowed, her gaze riveted to the bob of his Adam’s apple. Then he licked his lips.

She swayed on her feet and took a step back. She was on fire. All she knew was the torturous desire to have him. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered, her inflection betraying her wavering conviction. “I’m leaving.” Hermione turned on her heel and stomped toward the stairs, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier. Her determination was such that the momentum she had gathered caused her to ricochet off the magical boundary and land on her bum.

“Are you all right?” Severus asked, grasping her elbow and helping her to her feet.

Hermione wrenched her elbow from his hand, as soon as she was steady. “You are un-bloody believable!”

“I am guiltless, I assure you,” he replied. “It would seem that the fairies have misunderstood my instructions.”

Brushing her bottom off, Hermione walked toward the stairs again, this time cautiously. “And just what were your instructions, Severus? ‘Help me witch-nap Hermione Granger, and I shall reward you handsomely?’” She bit her lip as soon as the words left her mouth. Isn’t that what she had just been hoping for earlier?

Crossing his arms over his chest, Severus shrugged. “I instructed them not to let anyone except you into the gazebo until the matter was resolved.”

Hermione poked the barrier and received another shock. She shook her finger. “You blithering idiot! Firstly, I have a difficult time believing that you ever wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Even a first-year knows not to interact with fairies, much less make deals with them. Please tell me you didn’t do anything foolish like promise them the soul of my… er… your first born child.”

Severus cleared his throat to keep from laughing. He would never admit that he wasn’t totally blameless for her current confinement. He had worded his instructions to the fairy queen as such to gain these exact results. He had anticipated Hermione’s stubbornness and reluctance. He had always viewed the descriptions of Hogwarts’ houses as biased and had lobbied to have “stubborn” added to the House of Gryffindor. He had not, however, anticipated her venomous sarcasm or prickly countenance. But he would not let either dissuade him. He had come too far to turn back now.

“Secondly,” she continued, her voice dripping with outrage, “fairies are literal creatures. Did you happen to specify which ‘matter’ needed to be resolved?”

Severus didn’t reply. She needn’t know that the “matter” was as simple as a kiss and that one kiss would release them both. Nor did Hermione need to know that the fairy queen was fulfilling her end of a bargain that he’d struck with her long ago. They were quite safe from the soul-snatching creatures. Yes, his plan was deceitful and manipulative, but he knew of no other way of procuring what he desired most.

He’d spent the last few hours grasping for a hold on hope, doubts over his current plan nipping at his conscience. There were so many reasons why he should leave this woman alone, but he couldn’t think of any right now.

He had missed her. Dare he hope that she had missed him? How could he ever earn her forgiveness, much less her trust? He clung to the hope that he could. Her most recent entry in her notebook gave him hope. The few paragraphs that she had written certainly did explain why she’d left his bed Christmas night, but he needed to be sure.

“Well?” With her arms crossed over her chest and her toe tapping she looked like an ill-tempered nymph.

“No, I did not,” he replied sharply. “I didn’t feel as though the fairy queen needed to know the nature of our business. You know what horrible gossips fairies can be. They are worse then the castle portraits.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, stormed to the table, and sat down. Grabbing her napkin, she snapped it into her lap, picked her utensils up, and glared at him. “I assume we are to dine. Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat?”

Ah, yes. One of his lover’s most endearing qualities—her candor. In true fashion, Hermione was trying to resolve the problem at hand as quickly and as painlessly as possible. “But what about the potions I may have poisoned your food and wine with?” asked Severus, finding it difficult to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Glaring at him, she switched the plates and goblets. “Somehow I doubt you would poison yourself.”

Doing his best to school his bemused features, he sat across from her and picked the glass of wine up. “You are, of course, assuming that the ‘matter’ is that we dine together.”

She took a sip of wine, relishing the giddy warmth that spread through her. She had resigned herself to total lunacy the moment she held onto the Portkey that brought her here. “If the ‘matter’ is sexual intercourse it would appear that we shall be trapped here for all eternity.”

Humor danced in the ebony light of his eyes, which served to infuriate her further. Yes, Hermione. Infuriated is good. Stay with infuriated.

But I want him, her libido whined.

You can’t have him, logic affirmed.

“Eternity is an interesting concept,” murmured Severus, taking a sip of his wine and setting the glass down. She could tell that he was trying to bait her, for what purpose other than meaningless sex, she didn’t know. She stabbed a piece of meat and popped it into her mouth. The delicate blend of spices and wine enticed her taste buds, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the flavors.

While she had her eyes closed, Severus Summoned her notebook from across the room. It was time to face the truth. He flipped to the last entry, turned it around, and slid it across the table.

He took a deep breath and read the lines he had memorized. “Even as she rested on top of her lover, still intimately connected with him, she felt that pain of truth keenly.

‘I love you,’ he had blurted, though the look in his eyes had told a different story. It was as though she could read his mind. He would sell his soul not to love her. Love was a burden. It was a curse.”

Her eyes flew open.

“Is that why you left?” he asked. There was no accusation in his tone, only hopeful curiosity. He gave her no time to respond and continued with his theory. “Do you think I would sell my soul not to love you?”

“Stop,” she whispered her response, unable to believe what he was saying. His words chipped away at her fixed intentions. She didn’t think she could survive another round of disappointment. Disappointment led to bitterness.

“I would sell my soul for your forgiveness,” he said, grasping one of her hands and brushing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. “I would sell my soul for an eternity in your arms.”

Yanking her hand out of his, she jumped out of her chair and backed away. She had to get away from him. This wasn’t right. She wrote romance novels. She didn’t live them.

Severus followed her, spinning her around before she reached the enchanted barrier that held both of them captive. Tears swam in her eyes. Touching his forehead to hers, he sighed. “I wish you could forgive me,” he whispered against her lips, releasing the fairies from their obligation and freeing her.

There was something in his voice, a catch that was unmistakable. The melting sensation Molly always talks about whenever she’s around Arthur consumed her. “Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice sounded like a whimper.

“Loving you?” he questioned, rubbing his hands up and down her arms and causing her to shiver. He pressed his lips to hers again, this time with firm intent. The kiss was quick and undemanding.

Hermione shuddered, unable to stop from leaning into his embrace. “This isn’t a scene from a romance book, Severus. This doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want to love me,” she said softly.

“Look at this.” She motioned toward the setting. “Listen to yourself,” she instructed, needing him to bring her back to reality before she did something silly again. “This isn’t you. You abhor nonsensical romanticism. You don’t even like what I write. Face reality. A relationship between us would never work.”

His fingers flexed on her shoulders, and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes. “I never would have thought you a coward, Hermione.”

She tried to pull away, but he held onto her, determined to make her see him for what he was. Cupping her chin in his palm, he forced her to look into his eyes. “You write of love, yet you know nothing about it—”

“There’s more to relationships than love and sex,” she countered. “Communication, compromise, trust—”

“And that is the crux of the matter,” Severus acknowledged as his frustration grew. He pulled her against him, aligning her body with his. “You cannot forgive me; therefore, you cannot trust me.”

Hermione shook her head. His words intoxicated her, chipping away at her determination to resist him. Her hands settled on his chest, and to her horror, started unbuttoning his shirt. His breath tickled her ear as his tongue lavished her earlobe with erotic attention. “Of… c-course I can forgive you,” she stammered.

Another button came undone, and she felt her blouse loosening as he worked the material from her body. “I don’t see why we can’t b-be friends,” she announced, barely able to catch her breath as he nibbled a path along the column of her throat.

“And what if I want more than friendship?” he asked, maneuvering his thigh between her legs and rubbing her readied sex through the layers of fabric. He captured her lips and swallowed her reply. Pushing his tongue past her lips, he tormented her with passion.

Sex isn’t love, her voice of logic shouted over the rush of blood that tried to consume her. Hermione tore her lips away from his and groaned as he nipped the flesh of her jaw and neck. “Stop,” she panted. “Please don’t.”

The hand that cupped her arse moved to the small of her back. His thigh fell away from the apex of her thighs. His breathing was ragged, and he trembled.

“Sex isn’t love,” she stated, repeating the mantra to herself in an effort to regain control.

He bowed his head, his frustration etched in the lines of his face. When he looked up, she could see the determined look in his gaze. “Some define it as a physical manifestation of love, but others confuse it with lust. I can assure you that I am not confused. I am a patient man and will wait as long as it takes for you to accept the inevitable.”

Making certain she was steady of her feet, Severus backed away. Releasing her hand, he turned and walked away.

--

TBC

Author’s Note—The good news is that the next chapter is almost done. The bad news is that this isn’t the last chapter. Special thanks goes to Jen for proofreading this silly story and riding me to finish it.