Mine

Yours


She had never been a morning person. It usually took several minutes before her brain even engaged, then several cups of very strong coffee before she could put more than two coherent thoughts together. So when the shaft of sunlight came through the window landing right on the pillow, she did not awaken with all her brain cells firing. One tawny colored slowly eye opened, then drifted closed again. Letting out a small whimper, she rolled over and nuzzled down into the soft silk sheets. Silk sheets? She didn’t have silk sheets. What the… Now both eyes were wide open, taking in her surroundings. She looked down at the blood red silk sheets covering her naked body. Naked? Oh. Well. She would come to that later. She pulled the sheet up around her chest and looked at the rest of the room.

The walls were a soft grey stone, here and there they were covered in tapestries depicting various medieval scenes of castles and knights and their maidens fair. There was a carved wardrobe against one wall, dragons soaring across the doors. One entire wall was taken up with bookshelves, full of Muggle novels and parchment scrolls and, strangely as it seemed, a wide and varied collection of shot glasses and beer mugs. There was a huge cheval mirror in a corner. She saw herself reflected in the glass. Sitting in the middle of the largest bed she had ever seen. The posts on each corner soared towards the ceiling, intricately carved. The bed was nestled into a slight alcove in the wall across from a huge stone fireplace. The fireplace was flanked by two huge carved wooden doors, one, she knew, leading to a sitting room the other to a lavish bathroom.

She ran her hand through her hair, pushing the curls out of her face, as she took in all the little bits and pieces of the room. She liked this room. It was warm and comforting, and with all the dragons and castles, it seemed a bit fairy tale like. It was a romantic room without being frilly. She turned her head as she took a deep breath, smelling the coffee that appeared on the nightstand before her fuzzy vision could spot it. Did she say she liked this room? She meant to say she loved it. Especially the magic that allowed the room to know when she awoke and instantly notify the house elves who then supplied the self-replenishing mug that she now gripped like a lifeline with both hands.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she murmured as she began sipping at the steaming liquid.

“You’re welcome,” came a velvety voice from the now open door to the bathroom. “But I haven’t told you what I’ve done yet, so what could you possibly be thanking me for?”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was thanking the coffee gods.”

“Ah. I think it was house elves, but I’m sure they would appreciate the sentiment,” the voice was now thick with amusement.

“Wait. What do you mean what you’ve done?” The fog was starting to clear and she was replaying his earlier comment in her head. “What did you do?”

“Come, Miss Granger.” He walked over to the side of the bed, a red silk robe in one hand the other reaching out for her.

“Miss Granger, huh?” She said, one eyebrow arching up. “My, my, my. Such formal language for one so informally dressed.”

She eyed him up and down, truly appreciating the view. He had on a black silk robe, open over matching pajama pants. His bare chest lean, but beautifully muscled. His stomach tight, a trail of fine black hair running from his navel down to the low waistband of his pants. He leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms across his chest and his bare feet at the ankles. He had lovely feet. She had never really thought about a man’s feet before; but his really were lovely. Long and narrow, even the toes were nicely shaped and the right size. She must be losing her mind, she thought. I think his feet are attractive? She shook her head slightly as she looked up to his face, meeting his amused eyes. She sipped at her coffee again, meeting his widening grin with a cheeky one of her own. His hair, fine and silky and not at all greasy, fell around his face to fall to his shoulders. She took in his finely sculpted mouth and cheekbones, covered in a slight shadow of a beard he hadn’t shaved off yet this morning. His black brows, arching slightly at her scrutiny of him, slashed across a high forehead. They were a perfect frame for his eyes. The color of a dark night, they held the same depth and mysteries as a midnight sky. And while some may call it too large, his nose was, in her not-so-humble opinion, quite wonderful. It was a strong nose, almost aristocratic. Yes, all in all, this was a wonderful view to wake up to.

“If you have quite finished?” His lips quirked and he held out the robe for her. “I have run you a bath.” He leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, “Complete with bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” Her eyes lit up. “Coffee and bubbles? I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

He laughed at her melodramatic sigh and walked into the bathroom. She joined in his laughter as she slipped on the robe and followed him into the bathroom. If the bedroom was a romantic flight of fancy, the bathroom was nothing short of pure indulgence. A virtual monument to sybaritic splendor. There was a glass walled shower in one corner, multiple showerheads along the walls offered everything from a gentle trickle of water like a summer rain shower to a pulsing massage. A vanity stretched along one wall, several colored glass bottles and jars holding creams and lotions in several decadent scents. There was a warming cabinet holding thick towels and fluffy robes. Even here there were bookshelves, these full of magazines and romance novels of all things. There was a cushy chaise lounge, easily wide enough for two, a small table and lamp placed next to it. There was even a small refrigerator that held perfectly chilled bottles of wine. There were vases of fresh flowers, exotic orchids, irises and lotus blossoms. Music flowed throughout the room from invisible speakers. But the centerpiece of the entire room was the bathtub itself. More a small swimming pool than tub it was easily large enough for four adults. Four large adults, with room to spare. Not that she ever had any intention of sharing, at least with anyone other than Sev. Carved in black marble it was sunk into the floor with steps on one end. A bench circled the inside of the tub and there were jets all along the bottom and sides of the tub. A whirlpool bath, Wizard-style. And on steroids. Hermione loved it. And at the moment, it was filled to the brim with steamy water and fragrant bubbles. She let a small moan of pleasure escape and then she dropped her robe and virtually dove into the water.

She sighed as the hot water soothed muscles she didn’t even realize ached. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the rim of the tub. She had always loved taking Saturday morning bubble baths, a pleasure she had to forgo except on holidays while she was as school. At least until she became a prefect. She had thought the prefect’s bathroom was the most luxurious thing she had ever seen. Right up until she walked into this den of hedonistic pleasure two months ago. She had never wanted to leave. That first night when Severus brought her here, she took one look at the sheer beauty that was this room and turned to him stunned and said, “Take me I’m yours! Just please let me always have access to this room!” She smiled at the memory, remembering her shock when he had thrown back his head and laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, deep and rich, almost musical, and it sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

Severus picked up his own cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching her put her back in the and wondering what she was smiling about. She was a wonder to him. Sometimes he had no idea what she was doing with him; but he was not about to question his good fortune. He watched her throughout the war, not seeing the little know-it-all student, but a woman with an inner strength and courage that left him awestruck. He saw her endure hardships that would have broken powerful wizards; that she did so with grace and dignity was not missed by him. He watched her bind her own wounds and then tend the wounds of others with great compassion. He watched as she comforted the dispirited, those crushed by the weight of the war. He also watched as she cried her own tears in silence. And alone. The youngest Weasley boy, the one who should have been her shoulder to lean upon, her fiancé, instead leaned on her. They all did. And she supported them all, going about it quietly and with no complaint.

After the war, when the final blow had been struck, when the last Death Eater had been captured, Ronald Weasley dumped her. They were too young, he said. And she agreed. They were better friends than lovers, she knew that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had. And deeply. He told her he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. Then, less than one month later, he showed up at that stupid party of George’s with a brand new wife, named Ginger, of all things.

Severus stood in the shadows, watching Hermione as usual. She was having a good time, and he thought how wonderful her laugh sounded. He was trying to work up enough courage to speak to her when Weasley walked in with a stunning blonde on his arm and announced to the gob smacked crowd that he had married. He then proceeded to introduce all those gathered to his new wife, Ginger. Ye gods! What a name! Severus watched Hermione move forward to congratulate the couple, quite graciously, then move off into the shadows herself. He watched the emotions play across her face - anguish and humiliation. He knew she thought herself lacking in someway. His lack of courage faded away, driven off by his anger at her self-doubt. He led her to an empty room, somehow wanting to talk to her, to tell her, convince her, just how worthwhile she truly was. Then, their lips met and all thoughts of talking left his fevered mind, burned off by the desire he felt for her, the desire he could feel coming from her. Desire for him. He had taken her against the damn door.


When she asked him why, he had simply told her that she was his. Hadn’t intended to tell her that; he meant to say something suave and carefree. He sat there looking at her holding his breath, terrified she would hate him for what he said, what they had done. She just looked at him and asked to borrow his shirt. At his confused look, she quirked one brow high and told him she was not going home with him with a ripped blouse. He knew he was gaping at her like a fish when she laughed at him. He struggled to close his mouth, feeling his own lips beginning to turn up in a smile.

“Give me your shirt, Sev,” she said as she leaned over to kiss him. “Then take me home with you.”

And he had. He slipped his shirt over her head, capturing her mouth with his as her head emerged from the top. Severus thought it would be worth walking through the center of the party without a shirt just to see the look on Ron Weasley’s face, and he was not disappointed. The red head and his new wife were standing in the living room across the hall from the study when Severus and Hermione walked out the door, hand-in-hand.

“I’ll get our coats, shall I?” Severus asked, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Hermione’s temple.

Ron looked between Snape’s bare chest and the oversized, black t-shirt Hermione was wearing and began making gasping noises that soon had everyone asking him if he was alright. All he could do was mutter something incoherent about snakes and t-shirts, wiggling his finger in the direction of the hall. He let out a squeak as Snape walked by, still shirtless holding his and Hermione’s coats. The others looked up, noticing the shirtless man for the first time. And seeing a snake tattoo on his shoulder blade as he moved to help Hermione with her coat. Severus met Harry’s eye as they walked toward the door. Harry smiled, walking over and giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek.

“Nice shirt, Mione,” he laughed.

“I don’t think Weasel-boy likes it much,” Draco smirked from his position behind Harry.

“Ron’s likes and dislike’s are no longer my concern, I’ll leave that to Nutmeg over there,” Hermione said with a smirk. With that, Severus put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and apparated them to his home.

He looked at the woman lounging in his tub, a smile playing across her face and felt his heart swell. He walked over to her, shedding his robe as he went. He slipped into the tub behind her, gathering her into the strong circle of his arms.

“What are you smiling about, Witch?” he growled, nuzzling the side of her neck.

“Was I smiling?” she looked over her shoulder. “Must have been having naughty thoughts about someone tall, dark and handsome.”

“I’ll give you tall and dark, but handsome?” he laughed.

“OK. Sexy then. Devastatingly so,” she turned in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Says you, maybe.” He slid his hands up and down her back, enjoying the feel of her silky skin under his fingers.

“Says Ginny.”

His head snapped up, “What? The Weasley girl?”

“The Potter girl now, but yes. As well as Luna. And Lavender, Cho, Tonks. Oh, and Molly. And…do you want me to continue?” She looked up at his shocked expression and chuckled.

He was staring at her dumbfounded. Sexy? Him? She had to be having him on. He knew what he looked like. Granted, the pasty, greasy look was able to be dispensed with after the war and he was no longer completely repugnant; but he held no illusions about his appearance. He was most certainly no Lockhart. He may have been a world-class twit; but even Severus acknowledged he was a handsome twit.

“Sev, you may not have traditional good looks, but you are undeniably sexy. You are mysterious, witty and the most intelligent human being I have ever met. Not to mention you have a voice like liquid sex. You could read arithmancy problems and make a woman lightheaded. In fact, the word is, the night of George’s party, there were quite a few flushed faces at the sight of your bare chest. The tattoo topped it off by the way.” She moved around behind him to trace her fingers over the design.

He shivered as her tongue traced the path her fingers made. Like lightning he spun around in the tub, splashing water over the edge and onto the floor. His mouth captured hers in a searing kiss. He didn’t care who thought what about him, all he knew was that she wanted him. Thank Merlin!

“Sev,” she sighed, eyes closing as his fingers slid down her side, moving across her stomach to probe gently between her parted legs.

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes pinning hers as he slipped his finger into her welcoming heat. “I want to see your eyes as you go over.”

He had told her the truth that night; as far as he was concerned, she was his. And she always would be, if he had anything to say about it.

“Oh Merlin, Sev. Yes, yes yes. Yes!” She screamed, shuddering in his arms as she found her release. He lifted her hips, holding her above him as he moved up, driving himself into her. He loved the way she felt, so hot and tight. He knew he wouldn’t last long, he reached his hand between their bodies, stroking the hard little nub to bring her with him.

“Again,” he demanded. “Come for me again, Hermione. Now!” He drove into her furiously. “Mine!“ He roared, as he lost himself in her, feeling her clench around him, as she climaxed for the second time.

“Yours!“ Came her answering cry. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, gasping for air.

“I love you.”

~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~

I want to thank everyone for their kind reviews of “Mine.” This was supposed to be a one-shot, I know. I truly intended it to be, but I was asked for more and I wrote this on the plane back from New York. I was lucky enough to see Equus, and yes, it was brilliant! Once again, I feel like I must say that I am not a Canon Nazi, so if anyone seems out of character, it is because I needed them to behave the way they do in THIS story. I hope you like this little addition to “Mine.” The story seems to have taken on a life of its own in my overworked mind. As always, reviews are appreciated.