Unlikely Connections

A/N: Ladies and Gents: I really have no good explanation as to why it’s taken me so long to update. I could go through with you all the very tumultuous things that have gone on in my life; I could explain everything that has kept me from my computer. And they’d all be true; I just feel that it wouldn’t be enough. But when it comes right down to it, there’s a big reason why I just couldn’t sit down to write this chapter: I’ve been planning it for so long, I’ve put so much love and effort and thought into it that I didn’t want it to actually come to fruition. Because I knew that if I wrote it, the time left on this piece of fiction would be so scant that it would be nearly done. And I’ve loved the dance that this story has taken me on so much that I just couldn’t bare to write it. But I had to… for many reasons. First of all, I think I would be hunted down and beaten to death by legions of angry fic fans if I abandoned this story completely. Second of all, this is (quite literally) the chapter you’ve been waiting for since day one. The one thing you knew would happen since that first detention happens tonight. Can you smell the lemony freshness in the air? That isn’t just Mr. Clean, babies. ^_^ So despite my deplorable absence, I hope this goes a step towards making it worth it. And to set the mood, here’s a tidbit of music from one of my favorite musicals (Wicked) that I think exemplifies this moment perfectly:

Kiss me too fiercely;
Hold me too tight.
I need help believing
You're with me tonight.
My wildest dreamings
Could not foresee
Lying beside you, with you wanting me …

And just for this moment,
As long as you're mine,
I've lost all resistance
And crossed some borderline!
And if it turns out
it's over too fast,
I'll make every last moment last …
As long as you're mine.


Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Mambo

Mambo - “The mambo is written to music in 4/4 time, but some of these beats call for the partner to hold. The first step on every 4/4 beat has no movement, followed by quick-quick-slow beats. Mambo is characterized by the hip movements that it entails. While moving forward and backwards to the beat, dancers "sway" with the hips, creating a fluid motion that flows with the music. The mambo can exist in different forms. One form, the triple mambo, is so fast that the beat is accelerated to three times its normal rate.”

Severus stalked his personal office in a tear of frenzied temper and bloodlust that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Objects were broken beneath his hand before he even realized they had come into his grip. He cut a wide swath of destruction from the door to his desk, and as he stood in front of his window, overlooking the cliffs above the Black Lake, a wordless howl of fury tore from his throat as he swept a neatly stacked line of ink bottles from the sill onto the floor with a deafening crash. He beat both fists against the rough stone window treatment until his knuckles were bruised and oozing blood.

Only after he had sublimated his rage by destroying most of the possessions in his outer office did he stop to regard what he had done. He stared at his gently bleeding fingers as he allowed his panting breaths to slow. He could afford neither this distraction nor these emotions in his current position. Seeing her helpless, shrieking in pain and misery and fear, had set something loose within him and only the agony of knowing what was at stake had kept him from sweeping her into a crushing embrace. Severus knew, though, that despite all these confusing instincts that he had thought long dry within him, despite the now aching need to prove (if only to himself) that his ardor would not be the death of another bright witch, despite all of his sudden desire to protect her, the one extravagance he could not allow himself was tenderness. Not towards her, not towards anyone. His love was death. His life was death.

Severus collapsed in a splay-legged heap in the middle of the lush rug covering the floor of his office and gazed towards the large mahogany desk. The small scroll of paper he had received the previous night from a very conspicuous eagle owl rapping at his window was the only thing on its top that had not been disturbed. He had looked at it only once, but the words were branded to his memory as if he had just seen them, and it was only his anger and determination that had kept her from seeing them too.

Most honored friend,
Mistakes have been made in festival arrangements but measured responses have already been set into motion. Discussions will follow the convenience of The Most Respected of our dinner society. Ensure the proper placement of holiday decorations in your current lodgings.
Respectfully,
L. A. Malfoy

Severus’s heart seemed to have flowed into his knees as he remembered the short, carefully worded lines. To any but himself and perhaps Dumbledore, the lines would have seemed an apology for a poorly handled dinner reception, but Severus knew it for what it was. The meaning couldn’t have been plainer: Voldemort had become aware of at least some of the reasons behind the mistakes at the Halloween dance (“festival arrangements” as Lucius had said) and that something was already being done about it. The fact that Severus knew nothing of these “measured responses” certainly spoke very ill for him as well as Potter and quite possibly Granger. The light stress on the letters “T,” “M” and “R” may not have even been picked up by most, but the code that Lucius used was an old standby for their leader – “The Most Respected” … T. M. R. meaning “Tom Marvolo Riddle,” of course. A handy way of indicating that Lord Voldemort wanted to speak to him without using less subtle words. That particular code for his name, however, had fallen out of use long ago, as the Dark Lord didn’t care for being reminded of his former mortal identity. No doubt Lucius was still riding high on his triumph at their last meeting where Severus had been badly beaten. The statement regarding holiday decorations could only be met with an educated guess, but after years of training in the service of the Dark Lord, Severus was reasonably certain that this meant that he was meant to ensure that Potter stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday break.

“So it shall be Christmas, then,” Severus said aloud, his voice ragged. The attack would happen at Christmas. Potter was to die at Christmas, and most likely himself as well. He had a little less than a month to prepare those who needed to be prepared to face the end of the world. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and something like relief painted his exhaled voice as he dropped his head to his hands and allowed out the stinging tears behind his eyes.

*****

Hermione tried as hard as she could to focus on the long, displeased diatribe rolling consistently out of the mouth of her Head of House. Struggle as she may, she could not focus on what McGonagall was saying – something about duty and discipline and behaviors befitting the tradition of honor in her House. Whatever she was saying was correct, Hermione knew that, but her mind kept straying to the dungeons and Severus Snape. His manner had been so cold. How was it possible that this man had, not more than a few days ago, been so warm and receptive against her lips? He had not declared any feelings towards her – he had even fled Dumbledore’s office at the statement of her feelings for him – and yet, when he had kissed her, she had felt some small stirring of his heart. She knew it had been there. And yet, there in the classroom, there had been nothing but unforgiving cruelty.

But he, too, was right. Well, sort of. She had, in fact, been making a spectacle of herself, and forcing herself to abandon her own lifestyle normality had not disguised or disappeared the incident, it had only made it more apparent. However grossly inappropriate the method in which he had expressed these opinions, the essence of his argument was correct. She could not sequester herself. She could not hide from any and all contact. Removing herself from Ron’s influence was one thing – a thing she firmly believed was healthier for her – but removing herself from everyone’s influence only served to keep cutting the wounds of her body and their friendship even deeper. She heard and felt Harry begin to mumble in frustration next to her, and without thought, she put a hand to his arm and patted him reassuringly. He laid his hand over hers gently, but tension was rife in his body.

She calmly accepted McGonagall’s assessments and punishments for the situation. Seeing as how Ron had really done nothing wrong, she could not really punish him, but she did remove him from Advanced Potions. He would sacrifice a chance at a N.E.W.T. in the subject as penance. He would continue to serve his detentions with Snape, as would Harry, though McGonagall made certain that, given the hostility practically screaming between the two of them, they would serve on opposite nights. Hermione, she declared, would be removed from any and all classes she shared with Ron. Seeing as how she was so far advanced in most subjects, McGonagall decided that she would arrange it with Dumbledore and the Ministry that Hermione be allowed to test out of any subjects she felt comfortable in, and in those that she wished to continue, she could arrange private study sessions with the professors at their discretion. McGonagall suggested that she and Harry take lessons together, the only statement for the entirety of the hour they spent in her office that temporarily removed the scowl from Harry’s face. Though he did not grimace anymore, his whole being still thrummed with friction. Hermione did, too.

Hers was a different sort of tension though. Hermione Granger decided then and there that the only way to mend her wounds was to thrust herself back into the waking, living world and let experience and animation be her medicine. One man – a boy, really, but the actions were that of a man – had hurt her; another man would heal her. Tonight.

*****

Harry’s foot was bouncing off his calf as his whole leg shook underneath the table. His quill tapped loudly against the spine of his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He’d only made it a third of the way through his assignment that was due tomorrow, but he could not stop himself from glancing up at the door to her room for the thirty-fourth time since they had returned from McGonagall’s office. She’d been in there for three and a half hours, and Harry could hear all sorts of odd noises coming from inside, punctuated by strange periods of deafening silence. She had barely spoken on the way back from their Head of House’s office, but she hadn’t look distressed. On the contrary, Hermione’s face had been completely serene, marked only with that look of eager determination and anticipation that he’d come to know and dread so keenly. With so much preparation going on in her room now, Harry could only guess at what she was plotting, but he was certain that whatever it was would make him heartsick. He knew Hermione too well.

It all made him far too nervous.

Another half-hour passed and by 11pm, Harry felt so anxious he thought he might sick up. The puttering behind the door had stopped completely and now there was only silence. And Harry began to have this horrible feeling of embarrassed anxiety deep in his belly, and he found it thoroughly disconcerting and disorienting. He knew, disconnectedly, that he had nothing to be nervous about. Despite his roiling anger regarding their classes today, it didn’t make him anxious. And he couldn’t really pinpoint where this feeling was coming from, it simply was. He slammed his book shut and began to pace.

No sooner had he crossed to the far window in the common room than he heard the creak of the door. He didn’t need to turn to see that Hermione had entered the room; he had felt her the minute the door swung to, but he turned anyway, even though he was afraid of what he might see. His blood rushed to his face and his heart droppped away.

Hermione had begun to walk as stealthily as she could towards the portrait hole, but stopped when she noticed Harry watching her. So few people were in the common room – less than five, including the two of them – that he knew her panicked look was for the lack of a distraction to aid her escape. He walked to her quickly. Close up, she looked even more beautiful than she had from a distance. Her hair was piled at the back of her head in a similar tumble of loose curls to the one she had worn to the Halloween dance – that seemed, oh, so long ago – and she was clutching her traveling cape so tightly closed that she looked as if she might tear the cloth. Harry noticed a light shimmer of something sparkly blue at her eyes and a peach glisten at her lips. Her face was the only thing revealed to him, but he knew, instinctively, that the rest of her looked just as beautiful. His stomach plummeted so quickly into his feet that he felt a shock like vertigo.

“You’re going to him, aren’t you.” It wasn’t really a question.

Hermione blanched and clutched the cloak tighter. “I don’t know what you mean.”

For sport, Harry let her finish her sentence before he shook his head, sighing heavily. He could feel how tight his voice must sound. “Hermione, please, let’s not insult my intelligence by being coy. After that display today, your quietness in McGonagall’s office, the way you jerk away from every man’s touch but his—?”

“And yours,” Hermione said quickly. Eagerly. “Never yours.”

Harry continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Let’s not pretend it’s not obvious, at least to me. You’re going to him.”

Hermione didn’t answer, but she sighed and her shoulders dropped. She didn’t need to answer; it was as good as an affirmative. Something raged deep in Harry’s chest and his war with it marred his face. Hermione shifted from foot to foot. Now that she had finally had this epiphany and gotten up the courage to follow through with this, she knew it was the right path. Knew she had to do it. But how could she stand it if it hurt Harry?

Harry’s face petrified. “I won’t tell you not to, Hermione. That’s not my place and I won’t try to govern your life. But I won’t tell you I like it, because I don’t. My feelings on that haven’t changed and they won’t change. I won’t tell you not to go. But I’ll tell you that if he makes you cry, I’ll make him cry.”

Hermione flinched. Harry felt sick with anxiety.

“I … He ….” Hermione floundered before falling silent.

“Hermione, don’t—. He’s not—” Harry started, but couldn’t finish. He tried again. “Be caref—”

He couldn’t stand it. He turned away from her for a moment and slammed his balled fists against the top of his thighs. Anger flooded his throat, but he could feel that damn fear, hot and shaky, in the back of his chest and deep within the pit of his belly. “Hermione, I … I—”

A hand touched his shoulder tentatively. “I know, Harry.”

He swung around so quickly that Hermione recoiled in fright. “No, Hermione,” he said, his voice hard but not cold. “No, I really don’t think you do.” After a momentary look at her stunned face, Harry clenched his fists again, then stalked over to the table where he picked up his wand and, without a backward glance, walked swiftly to the portrait hole and out into the castle. A few moments later, when Hermione had recovered herself, she slipped quietly up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. She thought she might be ill with guilt as she cast a quick silencing charm, stole into the room and fished as swiftly as she could in the truck at the end of Harry’s bed. Withdrawing his Invisibility Cloak, she backed out of the room as stealthily as possible and then heaved it over her before dashing out of Gryffindor Tower, her throat aflame but her steps purposefully moving towards the fourth floor.

*****

Severus Snape sat at his desk, restlessly tapping the end of his quill against his cheek as he scanned the third year essay in front of him. His silver-framed reading glasses slipped down his nose and he jabbed them back up with a jerk of his hand. After dipping the nib into a well of red ink, he slashed a scathing comment across the assignment in front of him, venting his spleen and the as-yet unaccounted-for anxiety on the hapless student who’d dared to turn in a sub-par project. His foot tapped on the floor and the quill resumed its beat against his cheek. His glasses slipped down again, and this time he grunted as he pushed them back up. This essay was abysmal. Fool child. When his glasses slipped a third time, he growled in frustration, yanked them off his face and heaved them across the room, where they collided with a bookcase and hit the floor in a tinkle of breaking glass. He practically vaulted up from his chair and walked over to where they lay, drawing his wand as he went. A heavy sigh escaped him.

“Reparo,” he said gruffly, and then, “accio.”

The repaired glasses leapt back into his hand and he scowled as he pocketed them in the front of his robes. Everything was making him jumpy and he thought he might run mad with the energy. Severus crossed to the couch and had just sunken into its depth when a small, tentative knock graced his door.

“Whoever the devil it is,” Severus snarled as he tromped to the door, “had better have a damn good explanation for disturbing me at this—”
When he heaved the large mahogany door from its resting position, he stopped short. Severus leaned forward and glanced either direction, but the hall was completely lifeless. He made to step out into the corridor but knocked against something soft and heard a small, “oomph!”

Severus snapped his nerves to iron and set a bored look on his face. “Why, Miss Granger, to what do I owe the felicitous pleasure of your presence at such a wholly unpleasant hour?”

Hermione’s hand appeared in mid-air and yanked the hood back away from just her face.
“Let me in, will you?”

He smeared a look of mock surprise and contemplation across his features and leaned against the doorsill. “I really don’t think that would be the wisest course of action at the moment, Miss Granger. Given the situation in today’s class and the fact that it is well after curfew might lend itself to quite the wrong opinion, should anyone happen to—”

“Oh, you can have your fun and torture me once I get inside,” she said in a harsh whisper, “just let me in, burn you, before someone sees!”

A small tick in his face was the only thing to belie his calm as he stepped aside smoothly and allowed her to enter. But Severus’s throat was pounding as he turned his back to her and carefully shut the door. His stomach heaved. Something was about to go very wrong; he could feel it.

When he turned, he immediately knew what would go wrong. Hermione Granger was standing in the middle of his office, Potter’s invisibility cloak splayed on his couch, and she was brushing back her traveling cloak to reveal what could only barely be called clothing. His heart rocketed from its normal location just behind his sternum to a cavity just behind his nose and his palms began to sweat. He damned himself for acting like a fool teenager, but whether due to the lateness of the hour or the stress of the day or maybe even his own damnable connection to the girl, he just couldn’t help it. As she dropped the thick wool cloak, his eyes took in the whole sight of her: Her lean legs looked miles long as they peaked out from under the nightgown that could, at best, be called translucent. The filmy creation was a dusty, French blue that set off her pale skin, mahogany eyes and honey hair to a gleaming radiance. A fine line of deep blue satin ribbon ran along the neckline as well as tying under her breasts and it was clear to him that the material had been made sheer to exhibit the typical kind of racy undergarments that any Muggle woman would wear to incite her husband’s passion. Miss Granger wore nothing at all. And Severus damned his pulse for racing out of the gate as his eyes scanned the dark pink nipples and the dusting of hair at the meeting of her thighs, just visible. Something would, indeed, go very wrong because if she had her way, something would soon go very, very right.

It took of all his energy to keep his face placid. “Put your cloak back on and get out.”

Hermione flinched as if struck, but did not move from her spot. “You don’t really want that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

Her eyes scanned slowly, deliberately, down his body and stopped for a long moment at his groin. When she looked back there was a shaky triumph there. “No.”

Severus didn’t deign to follow her gaze, didn’t even acknowledge that it had been there. “Enticing the body takes no talent, Miss Granger. You will not have what you’ve come for and cheap tricks are beneath you. Take your cloak and leave before you bring something down upon yourself that you could neither handle nor desire. Leave.”
His words stung, but she forced herself to cross the divide between them and stare up into his eyes. Severus folded his arms across his chest as she neared and she knew, instinctively, that he was creating a purposeful barrier between their bodies. He was far more discomfited than he let on.

“I’m not leaving, Professor. I’ve come for something, but not only what you think. I won’t leave until I’ve gotten it.” Hermione took a deep breath. “You can give me what I need and I can give something back to you, too.” She allowed her breast to brush his arm as she leaned in closer to him. “I want you to make love to me.”

Severus scoffed and, because he could not calmly face what was in her eyes, he stepped around her and spoke as he navigated the room to the couch. “We have discussed this before, Miss Granger. I am not a patient man. I’m not gentle, and I do not make love. You deserve all these things, especially after your unfortunate incident.” He turned with a flourish and seated himself on the long leather couch, gracefully setting one of his long, lean legs across the other. “So go get Potter to patiently make gentle love to you, and leave me the hell alone.”

“I want you.”

She crossed to him and stood resolutely at his knees, her hands planting themselves on her hips. His eyes moved across her lazily, but even he knew that his composure was transparent, his desire painfully evident. “And you want me,” she said fiercely.

“Incidental and easily overcome,” he responded smoothly.

He didn’t try to deny it. She smiled. “You love me.”

“I love no one.”

Again, Hermione flinched as if struck … and in a way, she felt it. But she knew what he was doing, and refused to let it work. “Is that what you believe, or just what you’ve told yourself to justify pushing people away?”

This time it was Severus’s turn to twitch. His face snapped and his posture changed as he dropped both feet to the floor and hunched at the shoulders, his elbows resting on his knees. He ran a hand through the front of his lank, straight locks. Severus Snape suddenly looked like what he was: a haunted, hunted man who battled daily with death and doom. “I cannot love, Miss Granger. Even if I felt those things that had long ago died within me, I would never be able to allow myself to feel them. No one else will die at my hands. Not if I can help it. I can’t give you what you want.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” His voice was ragged as he spoke and his eyes were tormented. It tugged at Hermione to see it and she longed to stop him, but she knew that what he was about to say, to experience, had been decades in the coming and he needed to release it.

“You don’t know what you ask of me, Miss Granger. You seek to act on what you want with your body, but you don’t consider what it will do to your mind. Your heart. You’re a child who is becoming a young woman and you don’t know how to handle what you’ve been given; and to make matters worse, you’ve had everything innocent and bright within you ripped away by someone you expected to protect you. You cannot know what the things you ask of me could do to you.”

A hand came up to cup her cheek, only for a moment, before he quickly drew it away. Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but he sped on, his eyes hungrily searching her face now as he stood in front of her.

“Do you even stop to consider who I am? What I do? Have you given no thought to how this could taint you? Do you not know that this horrible act that has been perpetrated upon you, this abomination, is in my past as well? Yet, you ask me to be with you …. What has been done to you, Miss Granger … Hermione,” he said her name with a caress—a harsh one, “I have done this to countless others! How can you not see that I could damage you?”

Hermione was quiet for a moment as his breath ran in tattered gasps and then slowed. He towered over her, his eyes wild, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. She knew he longed to touch her and yet, feared to touch her. As if she would break, porcelain between anvil fingers.

“You won’t hurt me,” she said, in a tiny voice.

“I can’t make that promise.”

“I can.”

Hermione’s voice was so strong. He searched her face with tortured eyes. “How can you know that?”

“How many women, Prof—” She stopped herself short and forced her tongue over the word. “Severus. How many women?”

“What?” He lost his grip on himself as he searched her face and the sadness was agony.

“How many women, Severus? How many suffered what I suffered because of you?”

A tiny, gruff whimper escaped his throat at her words before he steeled his face. “One hundred and sixty seven. Twenty-two of them were children.” He stood all the straighter after his words, as if daring her to pity him. Daring her not to be disgusted.

“And that is why I know I am not in danger with you.”

“Because I have raped over a hundred of women? Because I brutalized children and admitted to it? That gives you comfort?”

“Because you have them all counted,” she said. She took his hands in hers and if he did not recoil, he stiffened beneath her touch. She did not let it dissuade her. “I bet you know each one by name, don’t you?”

“Cataloguing my victims is not a reason to trust me.”

“It comforts me because I know that they are not a trophy to you. You remember them all because you never want to forget them, never want to let what they suffered and sacrificed be in vain. You wear each one of them as a scar on your heart, don’t you?”

Severus shook as he stifled tremors within his chest, bit his lip, as her hands traveled up his arm and lay on his chest to cover his heart.

“Let them go, Severus. Let them rest. You cannot hurt them anymore. More than that, you cannot help them by hurting yourself. Forgive yourself, Severus. Let them forgive you. I forgive you.”

He had begun to shake with suppressed emotion the longer she talked, but when she reached her last sentence he tumbled to his knees at her feet and began to sob. He thrust his arms around her and squeezed at her waist, howling anguish into her stomach. Hermione bent over him, threaded a hand into his long, straight locks and clutched at the strong shoulders beneath the ebony robes. As he grappled with his horror and sorrow, he howled indistinguishable words into her belly and clawed at the diaphanous gown. At first, her holds on him were strong, bruising in intensity to match his emotions, but then faded into tender caresses as he sorrow subsided and he merely kept his face buried in her while his breathing slowed.

And then something changed in his grip around her waist. The energy in his arms that had first been desperation, then despair, changed to tension; his palms flattened against her back and began roaming over her skin. Severus rose up on his knees, turned his face to one side and his breath flowed over her, liquid heat on her skin. Her legs started to gel and her heart to race. Something had gone … right….

She felt as if she was sucking in most of the air in the room as she gasped, mere seconds later. Severus’s mouth was playing against her now, making warm wet trails up her sternum that left the sheer nightgown clinging and cool in the night air. Her heart skipped and tumbled over itself as she felt her nipples harden. His mouth moved towards her breast. When his lips covered her right breast, she let her voice escape her, a wordless exhalation. Her legs were wobbling and she disconnectedly noted one of his lean, strong hands supporting the middle of her back as she wavered; the other gripped tightly to her bottom. Her head bobbed and she clutched at his shoulders.

Without ever removing his hands from her back, she found that he had moved the neckline of her gown and was tracing a line deep on her breast with just the very tip of his tongue. Before she could gather his intention, he darted it underneath to circle her nipple. Hermione moaned. Loudly. The dark blue strap slipped from her shoulder and the nightgown hung loose, falling from her breast and baring her skin to his mouth, now ardently questing for more response from her. He got it. Her hands moved to his hair and she kneaded at his scalp as he nipped and sucked at her breast; a deep rumble shook his chest and her voice matched his in raw instinct and emotion. With shaking hands, she gripped at his shoulders and drew him to his feet.

Severus’s lips took hers before he had even reached his full height and he scoured her mouth with his tongue, searching desperately for something within the dark depths. Hermione felt as if she drowned in a tidal wave; his hands were swift and sure along her body, his body was tense, and she felt the crash of feelings spilling over her head drag her down. She fleetingly remembered that she had come here with this intention, had sought out this exact reaction, and yet she dully registered complete surprise that, now that he seemed to have consented, that the upsurge of emotion and intensity in him was so overwhelming. She gasped as one of his hands slid from her back and slickly maneuvered underneath the gown to slip between her legs.

One long, callused finger stroked at that wonderfully throbbing spot at the apex of her thighs. She arched her back as her voice left her again, crying his name and begging for more. His other hand fisted in her hair, astonishingly nimble within the riot of curls, and he deepened the kiss as he stroked her, sending lightning shocks of pure pleasure shooting through her body. He groaned as she rubbed against him, reveling in his racing pulse and the warm scratch of his robes against her. He cried out roughly and tore his mouth from hers, burying his face in the side of her neck as her hands sought out the warmth. He spoke her name, a gruff mumble of desire and encouragement as her fingers cupped the swelling there, hot even underneath the layers of wool.

“Severus,” she muttered and tugged on his robes, “Severus, off. Take these off so I may touch you. So I may see you.”

He wrenched away from her and his fingers flew to the buttons of his robes. Hermione took his face with both hands and bent him to her for hot, swift kisses, laughing into his mouth as he contorted in an eager rush to comply with both her requests at once.

“Wish—” he said against her lips, tugging open the front of his robes, “wish—” he mumbled each word in between kisses, “I could—” kiss, “go—,” tongues tangled, “more slowly, for you. You deserve it,” her hands helped him yank at the shoulders of the stiff robes to free his arms, “you deserve something gentle.”

“Never mind that,” she said and smirked at him. Frantic as they both might be for each other’s touch, she couldn’t help but spare a moment to giggle. He was tearing at his shirt and eagerly following her commands as if he were a giddy schoolboy, trying to contain excitement over his first grope. It made her throw her head back and laugh.

A menacing grimace crossed his face and he leered down at her. His hands went to his hips in a parody of her own huffiness. “Miss Granger, I’ll have none of this hilarity when it’s in reference to my becoming nude. I find it somewhat offensive.”

She only chuckled louder and then moved to him. Her small hands sought the prominent bulge at the front of the trim black trousers – the only clothing now covering his long, lean frame – and she squeezed gently at his erection. His head lowered and he grunted roughly.

“I shall have to make amends then.”

She stroked the flat of her palm against the hardness there, enjoying the jump of his muscles as she pressed her hand tight against his penis. A wolfish smile etched onto his face.

“Never mind about the gentleness though, I want—” she had started to say something much rougher than her polite upbringing would allow and she hedged her words. “I want us to be together as soon as possible.”

Drawing away from her, Severus raised an eyebrow and sneered. He lifted a hand to brush his fingertips across her breast, drew them up over her shoulder and down her arm to close his grasp around her wrist. “Say it,” he demanded. When she merely blushed and avoided his eyes, he took her hand, slipped it beneath the waist of his trousers and, entwining his fingers with hers, closed her grip around his erection. Hermione felt her cheeks heat. She gasped loudly and stammered. Severus slid their grip, together, in a lazy stroke up and down his penis.

“Say what you were thinking. What you really meant to say.” His voice was quiet, but liquid smooth and Hermione found herself as much seduced by the authoritative, fluid words as the searing, silky skin of his penis beneath her fingers.

“Tell me.” She recognized that tone, the one that brooked no refusal. Her knees wobbled.

“I want—”

“Yes?”

“I want—” Her head was swimming; his grip tightened hers to his penis and she felt her pulse quicken as his strokes became rougher. He was reaching a boiling point as well.

“I want you inside of me, Severus,” she blurted out. Saying the words did not ease her, but charged her on. “I want to feel your body pounding against mine.”

He smiled at her, not unpleasantly but certainly not a friendly or reassuring smile. His other hand sought out her clitoris again and she cried out loudly as they stroked each other in tandem.

“Well, Miss Granger, it seems I was mistaken,” he said smoothly. “You will have what you came for after all. And you shall come for it again.”

The double entendre did not escape her but Hermione could not make herself live outside of the feelings racing through her as he whisked her nightgown over her head and drew her up into his arms. She laced her legs around his back and smiled at the feel of his hands at her rear as he carried her into the next room, groaning all the while as her lips traveled the length of his neck. He grunted momentarily and chuckled as she bit down on his ear lobe.

His movements slowed and his touches gentled, though, as he set her on the edge of his bed. “Are you certain you really want this?” he asked, stroking his hand across her cheek gently.

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “I’m certain.” For a moment, her voice stuck in her throat, but she knew that she had to ask. “Do you want this?”

He laughed gently. “You wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far if I didn’t.”

She blushed with pleasure, but kept on. “That’s not an answer to my question. Do you want this? Do you want me? Like this?”

His face hardened and something of his feelings locked away again. “I know what you want me to say, Hermione, but I can’t say it. I can’t tell you that. All I can offer you is this: You matter. Not just in general or because of Potter,” he clarified, reading the look on her face, “but you matter. To me.” He said the words as if they cost him his life. Perhaps they did. “And because you matter to me, you are here.”

For a long moment, Hermione was silent. This was what he could offer her. No more. But when she looked back up into his dark eyes, burning yet still ebony, she realized that she didn’t need more. Not here; not tonight. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, coming up to release the clasp and buttons along the front of his trousers. Almost without thought she pushed them away, turning her attention to the slightly translucent linen of his undergarments. She could see beneath it the pale and pinkish skin of his erection, could see the pulse of it, the twitch of his muscles as she worked at the buttons. He drew in breath sharply, but not in passion. She could hear it in his voice; he was nervous. Nearly as nervous as she was and it suddenly washed over her that he had been blocking her out of his mind all evening. He had not wanted her to see, to know his true feelings, to know how much he wanted her. Because she mattered.

When his undershorts had been pushed away and he had wordlessly stepped out of them, she saw tautness seize his muscles and she leaned forward off the bed to press her lips into the patch of hair leading down from his belly button. She dropped to her knees on the floor in front of him and allowed her kisses to trail down across his stomach, releasing the nervous squeeze of his muscles as she went. But when she reached the base of his penis and leaned in again, a strong hand at her head stopped her, pulling back gently but firmly on her hair, bringing her away from his body.

“No,” he said quietly. “No, I don’t want that. Never from you.”

Hermione felt as if she had been punched in the stomach and knew it showed on her face.

“No, Hermione,” he said drawing her to her feet. “This is for you. All of it, for you. I don’t want any of that because I don’t want you to take one single moment from your own pleasure.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that his pleasure would bring hers, but he silenced her with a hand to her lips.

“Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that stopped her. She smiled as he picked her up again and laid her on her back on top of the soft down comforter on his bed. He stood over her for a moment before allowing her to take his hand and draw him down to the bed next to her. Severus laid himself next to her and, much to her surprise, made no immediate move to cover her body with his. He propped himself up on one elbow and traced the fingertips of his left hand all across the rounded curves of her body. At first, Hermione merely smiled up at him, enjoying his touch, but as his fingers darted and caressed, swept and retreated, she found herself moving with him, arching into and out of that delicate, maddening touch that was never quite enough. Her eyes dropped closed and all she could feel was that moment and Severus.

He watched her, wordlessly, his heart in his throat. Her head was thrown back, her peach lips open and mumbling loosely as he touched her. Something in him twisted, heaved. Hurt. This unique, striking, beautiful girl was here in his bed, here with him because she wanted him. Loved him. Loved him. And what could he give her in return? Love? No, not that. He could not. But he could give her pleasure. He could give her his hands, his body; he could give her a better memory than the intimacy she’d experienced before. He could give her that.

He rose over her and reveled in the feel of her whisper-soft skin against his. Her eyes snapped open as he covered her, surprise and lust clouding them as they returned his gaze. Her breath quickened and he could feel her fear, a pin prick burning in the back of his mind. With a heaving chest, she stared back into his eyes and parted her legs beneath him. His whole lower body flared in flame as he propped up on knees and elbows, positioning himself at the apex of her body. He told himself to wait, but the hot, wet feel of her against him was maddening all his senses. The firelight flickered on the curtain of straight black hair that fell between them as he threaded his arms under her shoulders and brought her close.

She cried out in longing as his erection brushed her body. “Please, Severus,” she whimpered. “Please.” It was the only word that seemed good enough.

He pushed himself a tiny way into her body and she moaned out, clutching his broad shoulders and digging in her nails. One hand drifted to the back of his head to clutch at the black locks as she wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs.

“Are you certain?” he asked quietly. His voice was rusty, like a gate hinge that hadn’t been oiled in a century.

“Yes.”

“We can stop this now, if you’re not sure. If we’re going to stop, you can say so at any time, and I’ll stop, I swear it. Are you sure you want—”

He was babbling now. Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. Without another thought, she wrapped her legs tighter around him, pressed her heels to the thin rounds of his buttocks and pushed down with all her might. Severus was so taken aback by this sudden burst of aggressiveness that his balance tumbled out from under him and he collapsed down on top of her, pressing his erection all the way into her body in one fell swoop.

Hermione stiffened beneath him. “That … was not smart,” she said weakly. Everything in her lower body screamed now; she felt as if she were being torn apart. To her horror, tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and flowed freely down the sides of her face.

Severus propped himself up again and found the look on her face horrifying. How could she have though he wouldn’t hurt her? He hurt everything he touched. “Are you all right?” he asked quickly. “Tell me, are you well? Hermione?”

Severus made to pull away, but her hands held him at the shoulders, keeping him down on top of her body. “Don’t.” She forced the panic out of her voice. “Don’t move just yet. I’m not a virgin; It shouldn’t still hurt,” she couldn’t believe she was whimpering, “why does it still hurt?”

He brought a hand to her cheek, brushed it down her jaw and gently caressed the top of her breast; much to her surprise, he heeded her request not to move and stayed buried within her body as he stroked her breast.

“You’ve only done this once,” he said and his voice was husky with some kind of emotion. She found herself smiling. “You’re not used to it; especially since your first experience was so harsh. But I,” he trailed off for a moment, his face cracking with embarrassment, “I don’t know how …. I don’t know how to treat this. I’ve never been with someone who hasn’t—”

“Go slow,” she said, cutting across his embarrassed stammering, “and be gentle.”

Severus nodded and pulled her close again, almost in a hug, and buried his face in the curls near her face. He slowly began to draw his hips back away from her, starting a slow, steady ripple. Hermione tried to move with him, tried to soften the thrusts against that tender part of her. She felt the rhythm of his body and sought it, but something about it was still stiff and uncomfortable.

“Go loose and limp a moment, Hermione,” he whispered into her ear. “Relax.” When she let all her muscles sag, he nodded, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her face. “Your body will fight mine less if you just relax… let yourself accommodate me … let your body grow to fit mine …”

His rocking hips picked up speed with his words and Hermione found herself unconsciously undulating with him, not matching his thrusts but complimenting them. His movements picked up speed and she felt his hips meet hers, felt herself arching to meet him and rising off the mattress with him. Her mouth gaped open, her breath heaving. Her panting warmed his cheek and he found himself gasping with her. His blood began to sing as he pulsed into her faster, faster, clutching her closer to his body, savoring the way her breasts tangoed deliciously with his wiry black chest hair. Her fingers clamped down on one shoulder, the other hand fisted in his locks. He pressed harder.

She began mumbling, words, exultations, his name repeated over and over and over again. It fired him, fueled him and he felt that aching hunger deep in the pit of his belly as he thrust into her, arching around her body in a parody of both protection and force. She clenched her legs tighter around his backside and moaned, throwing her head back. His heart was racing. One hand snaked back around to grapple a hold on one of her breasts; she began to writhe beneath him. When her hands came up and pushed on his shoulders, he did not even stop to consider her motives, merely leaned back with the path of her arms and allowed himself to be pressed onto his back as she moved atop him.

Nothing would ever seem quite as beautiful to him as the sight of the young, supple woman rising above his body. As she sank down onto his erection, a small smile quirking the edges of her lips, her hair tumbled down from its place at the back of her head and cascaded around her face as she rocked against his body. One of her small hands came up to cup her own breast and the other trailed down her stomach to caress herself at that thrumming spot of pleasure. Her voice was throaty, crying out in exultation as she rode him. It was all Severus could do to restrain himself from exploding at the sight and ending the evening right there. And in that moment, he didn’t care if he made it through the next month or not; for one glittering crystal of time, he had touched something he had never expected to touch, had gained something he had never sought to gain. And it had been given to him without ever having to seek it: a woman who loved him was here, in his arms, smiling and laughing and pleasuring in his caress. Lily had faded away before he had even gotten the chance to touch her, let alone revel in her like this. And here was this young girl, just on the threshold of being a woman, seeking him out, from emotion and attraction, drawing all the pleasure from him that he could give. Let Voldemort take him now; he would die cheerfully, with a most uncharacteristic smile on his face.

Feeling that signaling tingle build deep within his belly, Severus sat up and laced his arm around Hermione. Turning her so that her back was flush against his chest, he pressed her to him, cupping his hand to her breast and threading one between her legs to stroke her into ecstasy. She was whimpering with each breath, now, begging him for more, begging him for release, and his body responded lightning quick. He crouched up on his knees and lifted her with him, her legs dropping to the bed to prop her up as well, leveraging her body against his. And when she cried out in one long note of final triumph, his body jerked with his own climax and he bellowed her name, a harsh, guttural exclamation. Her arms reached around behind her to clutch at his rear, keeping him close as the last paroxysms of his orgasm died away, her chest heaving with gasps and every muscle in her body twitching.

“Severus,” she muttered over and over. “Oh God, Severus, love … dear one, Severus …”


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A/N : I couldn't let this chapter end without addressing the end of Deathly Hallows. As I said before when book six came out, I will not - I repeat WILL NOT - alter my chosen storyline to become canon. So this fic has gone WAY AU. But you knew that after HBP, of course. But more than that ... I have to address this ...
**** SPOILER WARNING - WHAT I AM ABOUT TO SAY WILL SPOIL DEATHLY HALLOWS. IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE SEVENTH BOOK IN ITS ENTIRETY, STOP HERE!!! ****
*sigh* That done ... As you might have noticed, Severus Snape is one of my favorite characters. And for those of you who have read DH, you may have also guessed that my heart is broken. I have always had a weakness for the silent and tragic suffering hero, and to lose Severus Snape was a blow. It was mildly comforting and strangely gratifying that much of what I had envisioned Snape to be turned out to be reasonably spot on. But I miss him so ... and oddly, I'm glad I HAD procrastinated and HAD NOT finished this fic by the time Hallows came out. I'm glad I still have some piece of him left. For those of you interested, I'm planning on writing a companion piece to Deathly Hallows about Sevvy and where he's gone. So keep your eyes pealed. So to Severus Snape, Half-Blood Prince, I say ye: Requiem in pace aeternum, exanimus virtutis. (And for those of you too lazy to look it up, that means, "Rest in eternal peace, valiant and virtuous dead.") *salutes the bat in black, wherever he may be*


******** A second set of A/N: OMG I just discovered a fan-made video at YouTube that is basically the perfect representation of everything my fics are about. It's a Hermione/Snape video set to the Police song "Don't Stand So Close to Me." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZA4-FaudOQ Look it up, I PROMISE you won't be disappointed cuz, let's face it, if you're reading this fic, you're a Hermione/Snape fan. *giggles* Man, I wish I'd discovered this when I first started writing this fic ...

Continuing in the neverending a/n to this chapter: After receiving a somewhat odd amount of reviews stating support of my choice to continue after Deathly Hallows, I felt I had to comment. Several people (not just on my fic, but several of them here) have been supporting Severus fics because J K Rowling 'got it wrong'/mistreated Severus by killing him. I'm thoroughly puzzled by this. Yes, I am VERY sad that she killed him. But ... and this is a BIG BUT ... let's not forget one crucial fact: it's HER SERIES. Killing him is not a mistake, it's not 'wrong' or injust. It was her choice. And though her choice made me sad ... it's HER CHOICE. And surprisingly, I happen to think it was the right one. I'll say that again for the n00bs, or for the people who will now be mad at me for saying that. I think she made the right choice to kill Severus. The way she had built him, he was not/is not a happily-ever-after character. I'm sorry that many people don't like that; really, I am. It made me sad too. But that doesn't mean it wasn't the right choice. Regardless of my feelings, however, I intend to continue to write Severus as I see him. /rant