LMinuMinute Crisis

Last Minute Crisis   Last Minute Crisis by Quillusion A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating- real life has been hectic with the holidays. But now just about everything's ready, and it's even snowing outside! Currier & Ives would love the view out my window right now. Anyway, for those of you reading on ff.nehis his is the 'edited' version of the chapter. The scenes left out of the 'fade to black version' will be available in the full version on aff.net (adult-fanfiction.org) or Whispers (gryffindor.nu/wiktt). You can find my works on those pages by doing a search for Quillusion or for the work title. I'd give you the links but you know how ff.net is.     Chapter 3   The trip down the dungeon hallway was incredibly short to Hermione; she'd felt Severus take only twenty or so steps before he stopped in front of a large carved panel in the wall. It was midway between two torches, and she could barely make out the images in the carving; it appeared to be a representation of Moses parting the Red Sea. She would have found that surprising when she was younger; it had not been until the fifth year of History of Magic that she had learned all about the wizards and witches whose lives were so well known to those followers of the major religions of the world. She'd found it ironic that, in centuries not too long past, the members of many of those religions had so violently lashed out against witchcraft and wizardry, completely unaware that many of the founders whose faith they honored so staunchly had shared the abilities they now reviled.   She could feel the wards around the carving, but a moment later Severus had said the few short words that released them and she was too busy staring at the figures in the panel to mentally pick over his password. Moses, standing on the stony shore of his eternally parting Red Sea, stepped aside and nodded to Severus. He cast an interested look at Hermione, but Severus growled softly,   "You've already got your own. Leave off."   Moses laughed silently and waved them toward the path between the towering waves, and then- with mind-bending suddenness- the entire scene became three-dimensional.   Massive, impossibly still granite waves hulked over their heads, somehow seeming to heave like real waves without any motion whatsoever. She could hear the incongruous sound of sand under Severus's feet as he stepped off the flags of the hallway, and a moment later the four edges of the backside of the panel became visible over Severus's shoulder as he moved forward. Hermione's brow furrowed a little as she stared at the rapidly vanishing dungeon hallway on the other side of the portal, almost as if expecting Pharaoh's army to charge through after them. But the portal closed without event, and suddenly the waves around them shifted into real, bulging walls of water.   Hermione sucked in a deep breath of surprise at the change. As she looked up, she was even more startled to discovered that the walls did not go up to reach the water's surface. Rather, Severus was carrying her through a tunnel of water; the inner face of the tunnel's walls was a soft, glassy green whose surface flickered with dappled patterns of filtered sunlight and shadow. They must be under the lake. As if in confirmation of her thoughts, the giant squid cruised past, doing a barrel roll along the wall in what almost seemed like a greeting. Severus chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against her ribs as she leaned into his embrace.   The tunnel seemed longer than it actually was, and a moment later they were indoors again, this time in a dimly-lit sitting room. Severus had got his wand into his hand somehow, and with a few softly muttered words he brought the lighting up a bit to reveal what Hermione realized must be his private rooms. They were comfortable looking, not totally neat but not unbearably cluttered- and there were enough books to make her palms itch.   "I hope you don't mind coming here," Severus said softly as he crossed the room, the silk of his voice sliding down her spine and making her shiver. "I thought my rooms would be closer."   She thought of her little rented room in Hogsmeade, on the third floor over a tiny family-owned jewelry store. "Closer is good right now ," she murmured, warmly aware that he hadn't put her down despite having reached what she felt certain was his bedroom door.   "How much closer?" he asked in a velvet murmur, one eyebrow lifted suggestively. &nb Hermione laughed, momentarily speechless at the discovery that Severus Snape did, in fact, know how to flirt. And that he was flirting with her, even under these odd circumstances- as though he wanted to make up for those circumstances, wanted her to feel cherished, courted... desired for who she was, rather than for convenience or necessity. rea realization clashed with everything in his carefully cultivated image, and she knew she'd been right, all those years, to think there was more to him than met the eye- or the mind. She wondered what else he kept so carefully hidden. You do realize, Hermione, that I am a virgin- not an innocent. There is a difference.   "Now there's something I think we need to explore a little more thoroughly," she demurred, feeling her cheeks flush as she answered both his question and her own internal musings. With that, she reached out a hand and gave the doorknob before them a turn. She pushed the door open with the slow deliberateness of ceremony.   "Shall we?" she asked softly, conscious of the irony of inviting him into his own bedchamber.   "Indeed," he replied, his voice husky, and the velvet of his voice swirled around her like the waiting darkness into which he carried her.   Severus had set her down on the bed before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the dimness; he moved through the darkness of his room with the ease of long knowledge, and by the time she had acclimated enough to make out the faint shape of him in the dark, he had conjured a fire in a large stone brazier that stood in the center of the floor.   "It's Flooproof," he remarked, gesturing to the brazier and its ornately carved scrollwork.   "I like it," Hermione answered. "It sheds more light than a hearth, too."   "All to the good," he murmured, coming to stand before her, hands momentarily in his pockets to hide his nervousness. He drew one hand out to slowly, gently trace the contours of her face with a deft finger, and she shivered and tilted her head into the caress.   "You are lovely," he breathed reverently, and her eyes flew open with surprise.   He meant it- that was plain. His aspect was unguarded, his features gilded with only the faintest hint of nervousness, and a faint, deprecating smile touched his lips at the startlement he read on her features.   "I don't imagine you ever thought I could have anything complimentary to say about you," he said softly, almost regretfully. He drew his hand back from her face, his expression bleak. "Even if you had, I don't suppose you would have expected that." His voice dropped so low she almost didn't hear his last few words: "Or wanted it."   And that's when she realized the truth of it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice- and suddenly und understood his hesitancy, the brittleness of his manner with her in the lab this evening- and the meaning of a thousand small and uncharacteristic hitches of hand and voice over the past year.   Oh!   No wonder he was nervous. To be so laid bare, so vulnerable to careless devastation before the woman he loved... this must be the finest form of agony to Severus Snape.   Hermione felt a sudden flash of insight, her mind suddenly and instantaneously grasping the disparate threads of the matter and finding them woven into a whole cloth whose darkness shrouded her eyes and kept her from seeing the truth that lay before her, carefully hidden.   She realized that if Severus really did have any hopes of a future with her, he very likely thought that tonight would put an end to them. He was bound to see her acceptance of him now as motivated by pity- an emotion for which he could feel nothing but loathing. And she knew him well enough to understand that he would quietly bury any hope of loving her as an equal, rather than risk a relationship born of such humbling origiSmalSmall wonder that a man whose other relationships were all defined and constrained by his sense of d obl obligation, and honor should wish for a chance to give and take freely, without thought of recompense or repayment. And now he was afraid that, after tonight, Hermione would relegate him to the role of debtor in their relationship- the same role he played in all his other attachments. Simply because he believed she had no stronger feeling for him than that.   She smiled. Severus Snape, for all his brilliance, cunning, and keen observational skills, had all the mental agility of a postage stamp when it came to matters of the heart.   "Come here," she said, catching his hand in hers and gently drawing him to sit next to her on his bed.   His frame was tense as he sank hesitantly onto the mattress beside her, but his countenance was calm; however much he might be regretting his last words, he was going to stand behind them. She wondered, for a brief instant, whether he would have asked her for this tonight, had she not offered. She thought not. He had the courage to face pain, torture, death, and first year Hufflepuffs- but she sincerely doubted he could have mustered the nerve to ask for what she could now admit she had wanted to give since she had returned to Hogwarts as an adult.   She'd deliberately overlooked that little truth for the last twelve months, careful never to disturb the quiet ideas taking gentle root in the back of her mind. She hadn't wanted to endanger the fragile friendship that had sprung up between them, an exotic flower blooming where once she had thought to find only stone and ash. It had seemed plain to her that a former student would never interest the Potions master- certainly not a Gryffindor, much less the know-it-all he had barely tolerated in his classroom for seven years.   Never in her life had Hermione Granger so enjoyed knowing she was wrong.   She turned a little on the bed to face him, aware that she had paused long enough in thought for the conversation to stall, and knowing as well that he would fear that she was groping for polite words of negation.   "I've never expected any overt praise from you," said Hermione softly. "At first because I thought you would not give it. Then, later, because I knew you could not." He closed his eyes at her words, jaw muscles clenching, and gently pulled his hand away from her- but she did not let it go, only allowing him to pull their clasped hands from her lap to his. She paused, waiting until he opened his eyes and met her gaze again before she went on.   "It was years before I understood that the harsh standards you seemed to set for me alone were the best compliment you could give. Even your remark about my teeth looks different when viewed in hindsight. I didn't know at the time that you were keeping up appearances, as it were, and I certainly had little appreciatior Slr Slytherin wit." She quirked a smile up at him. "And who but the Head of Slytherin could have come up with such a double entendre so quickly? It was so subtly done that it took me years to realize that I'd missed half the point of the quip."   Something flickered across Severus's face for an instant before he brought his expression back under control, and Hermione felt her chest tighten at the sight. She felt a sense of triumph in that moment; she'd been right to look for a double meaning in the words, just as she'd been right to look for one in the man himself. But had she interpreted his subtlety correctly? She pressed on.   "You said that you saw no difference- because nothing that really mattered had changed, to your way of thinking. You're not a man to set much store in physical appearance. And in all the years I've known you, that remark is the only one you have ever made about anyone's looks. That's what made me rethink what you were really saying. Your insults are always aimed at intellect, at ability- and as often as you made disparaging remarks about my participation in class, I can't help noticing your disdain never carried over onto my transcript." Her eyes sparkled with amusement.   "So perhaps I wouldn't have expected a compliment from you, Severus. Least of all to hear that I am beautiful in your eyes. But then, all of the best gifts I've ever received have come as a complete surprise to me." She paused, quirked a smile at him. "Even when they were wishes granted at long last."   His eyebrows rose at that, and she saw the faint spark of hope kindling in his dark eyes.   "Hermione," he breathed. He swallowed audibly. "I..."   "Severus," she said softly, when he didn't continue. "None of the other women you told me about were Gryffindors, were they?"   Stunned, he shook his head in mute answer.   She smiled, a sultry expression he'd never seen on her features before.   "I thought not."   And before he could gather his wits to reply, she leaned into him and brought her mouth up under his to catch him in a warm kiss full of all the things he would have squirmed to hear spoken aloud.   He held her close, but she could feel the restraint he exercised over himself while his sharp mind rechecked its work for the seventh time, unable to quite believe the conclusion to which it had come. Willing to wait until he was sure, she eased her hands up his back to the nape of his neck, where she slid curious fingers into the dark warm silk of his hair. Cradling the base of his skull in her palm, she felt the delicious heat of him engulf her, and wondered how anyone could have thought this man cold-blooded. Or greasy, she mentally added as she sifted the satin strands through her fingers. There was some oil at the roots, but nothing unusual. She sighed with pleasure and pressed a little more against his mouth, still soft and gentle on hers.bsp;bsp; It was her movement that finally broke the deadlock in Severus's mind. Her body fitted up against his with a natural ease that even his knotted-up wits couldn't mistake; she had meant what he thought she had meant.   Not just for pity's sake, then. Not because it was necessary to save the Order's plans. Not even because it was necessary to save him.   &#t bet because she wanted to.   Hope and desire flared in his eyes for a bright moment, and she saw it when he broke the kiss to look down at her, felt it in the way the tension melted and his body relaxed into hers.   "You're sure," he murmured, and it wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.   The faint curl to the corner of his mouth was minute- but she saw it plain as day, and shivered with anticipation.   "Well then," he said, and she blinked. This soft, velvet rustle of sound that drew her nerves out so finely was only a hair's breadth off from the menacing tones she thought of as his Detention Voice. But the effects were worlds apart.   That could fuel more than a few fantasies, she thought faintly as he slid one hand down to the small of her back to draw her closer. His other hand came up to cradle her jaw, lifting her chin and tilting her head so he could brush her hair away from her eyes.   This time, it was he who brought his mouth to hers. And for all they'd touched lips twice, this was their first kiss- for Severus no longer hid himself from Hermione behind a wall of reserve, or duty, or insecurity. He took everything she offered him, and in return poured all of his tightly leashed passion, regret, anguish, longing, and hope into a kiss that turned star-bright and white hot within seconds.   It was several minutes before Severus came back into himself, and then he wrapped his arms around Hermione, pivoted on one hip, and lowered her slowly back to lie upon the comforter. His hands were shaking, but he didn't think she'd noticed; he wasn't sure if it was from fear, excitement, or arousal. He wordlessly urged her up to lie on the bed properly, following her moves and bracing an arm on the bed to keep his weight off of her. He broke the kiss for a moment to gently untangle her hair and spread it across the pillow, his fingers wrapping sensually in the warm curls.   Merlin's teakettle, he'd never expected this. Never even dared to hope for it. He could only remember one other time in his life when he'd felt so lucky, and even that situation had involved the merciful withholding of pain rather than the giving of pleasure. Fate was not in the habit of being kind to him, but he was beginning to think that the fickle creature had merely been saving up all of its benevolence to bring him this moment.   And it was worth it. She was looking up at him now, her expression soft, and he felt his mouth curl again in the not-quite-smile that had become so common when she was around. He didn't know if she knew that, but he meant to tell her. Later.   His gaze traveled down her form, from crown to soles, and he felt suddenly like a starving traveler admitted to the king's table. He hardly knew where to start. But the small bit of his mind that was watching the clock whispered a soft, worried reminder; like Cinderella, he must leave at midnight to make his appearance at Voldemort's side, or be revealed for what he was- and the consequences for him were far worse than pumpkinhood.   Severus found that none of that really mattered at the moment. They had at least an hour, and surely there was time enough in that span for him to give, and find, a little pleasure. An electric rush of anticipation skimmed along underneath his skin, and he shivered a little at the feel. Leaning in again, he found her mouth with his.   When Hermione gently tugged on his hair to break the kiss, he found himself gasping for breath, hands trembling, hips shifting against her.   "Clothes," she murmured, and the newness of the situation reasserted itself in his mind. He let her sit up, watched for a moment as her hands settled on the buttons of her robes. Then, suddenly eager, he got to his feet and shrugged out of the outer robes he always wore. He tossed them over a chair, took her robe from her and did the same. When he turned back to Hermione, he found her studying him intently.   She was smiling, her gaze traveling down his form, and he suddenly wondered what she thought of him. He glanced down at himself, seeing only the dark fabric of the same sort of clothes he'd always worn. Very standard wizard attire, but it must seem so odd to Muggle-born eyes. He raised his head again and looked into her face, and was startled to see a gleam in her eyes.   "I have to say, Severus," she said contemplatively, "as hard as it is for a lot of men to understand, there is something decidedly sexy about the buttoned-up repressed look. It's so... enticing. It suggests that all the buttons and cloth are needed to restrain the power of the passions within. And it practically screams 'come let me out.'"   He didn't truis vis voice, so he simply arched an eyebrow again.   Hermione was kneeling on the bed now, and she moved closer to him with a soft sigh. "I remember the first time I saw you without the teaching robes," she said, her voice rich with memory. "The duel with Lockhart. You came up on the platform just as you are now, without those voluminous black robes swirling round you, and gone was the ageless, sexless teacher we'd all come to expect Professor Snape to be. A stranger was standing in his place, wearing an aura of masculine power and quiet self-confidence the way Professor Snape had worn the robes." She swallowed, warmed by the memory and the echoes of it set off by the sight of the man before her now.   "And then you proceeded to demonstrate, with barely any effort, that you could easily kill Peacock Lockhart in your sleep and without a wand. That you were not just unpleasant, but also very dangerous. A sexy package, all things consid." H." Her eyes glinted. "A lot of us realized that day that we'd never really considered who our teachers were. What their lives had been like before they came to Hogwarts. What they might still be when they were off campus." She chuckled, her hands moving unerringly up to the buttons at his collar, and her fingers found the first one. He tipped his chin up to make her job easier, feeling his heart thud against his chest as his anticipation grew. The first button released silently, and she moved on to the next, her eyes locked with his in an intense gaze.   "I didn't realealiealize it until after I left Hogwarts, but you were the first man I ever really noticed as a man," she said. "And I've never met a man since who could match what I saw that day. You cut a marvelous figure, Severus, then as now- and you would likely have been the object of several schoolgirl crushes, including mine, if not for the truly horrid remarks you so helpfully made whenever the opportunity arose."   She winked at him when she saw the faint shadow of regret cross his face.   "Don't be silly," she said, her voice a low murmur as she undid the sixth button. " I don't imagine you were all that sorry you said it at the time, and it's water under the bridge in any case. You and I are not the people we were then."   "No," he agreed in a satin whisper, his eyes drawn to the lovely line of her cleavage, so temptingly displayed before him as she knelt at the edge of the bed, slowly undoing buttons. She was a woman; that Hermione had been a girl.   He leaned over then, caught her face in his hands, and kissed her- hard, thoroughly, and lustily. He thrust his tongue into her mouth eagerly, tasted her desire and the adrenaline rush of new sensations, and impatiently gathered her to him and laid them back on the bed together.   The whimper he felt rush from her flesh to his shot a trembling jolt of arousal down to his groin, and he moaned aloud with delight. He let one hand slide down her side to the generous curve of her buttocks, catching the muscle and softness in his palm and kneading it, pressing her close against his aching body.   Hermione arched into the touch, grinding her pelvis against his with a gasp of delight. Her mouth was sweet, the taste of her thick with desire, and he almost couldn't bring himself to let her break the kiss. "So much for Slytherin patience," she managed as she reached for the buttons on his coat, still only undone partway down his chest.   "I've noticed lately that Gryffindor impatience does have its strong points," he said, his voice a little unsteady as he brought his hands together to tear at the buttons on the tight cuffs of his jacket.   "Mmm," she agreed, studying the buttons before her. "Likw." w." She murmured a spell that sent the buttons to quickly undoing themselves in order- but then she shook her head.   "Finite incantatem."   He looked at her in puzzlement, and she smiled.   "There are strong points to Slytherin patience, too," she said softly, and slid her hands across his chest to sensually restart the process of undoing one button at a time. "I'd rather touch you."   He laughed. "Turnabout is fair play," he reminded her as he let his hands fall to the side.   She made slow, arousing, torturous work of it, letting her hands touch each inch of him as she freed him from more than just the physical clothing that covered him, held him in. By the time she had pushed the fabric from his chest, he was breathing hard, his pupils dilated to their full reach, his lips parted on a whispered moan.   His shirt was next- the collar of his coat was so high it prohibited the wearing of any sort of cravat or tie- and, mercifully, it had buttbuttons. She finished it off quickly, and then his chest was bare underneath her fingers.   She smiled with delight, letting her hands glide across the warmth of him, smoothing his sensitized skin with gentle palms.   "Marvelous," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss his collarbone, and he threw his head back and hissed softly. She moved the kiss up onto his neck, feeling the faintest roughness of stubble against her cheek as she sucked softly on the tender skin below the angle of his jaw. She flicked her tongue, light as a feather, against the curve of his ear, and was rewarded with a soft whimpering moan.   Oh, yes. Severus Snape was a sensitive man.   Her hands moved to his shoulders, felt the firm swell of muscle as it covered the point of his shoulder and dived down into his arm, curving and arcing lower to where his forearm muscles tensed as he clenched his hands in the bedclothes. He was trembling. &nbs#9;"#9;"Severus," she sighed, the sibilant consonants of his name so effortless on her tongue.   He brought his head up and looked into her eyes, and the naked wanting on those customarily rigid features was breathtaking.   "Hermione," he said, and her name was a plea, a prayer, an offering.   "Yes," she answered, and then his hands were on her, twisting in the fabric of her sweater to pull it over her head, shaking as they sought the clasp of her bra. She sat up, shimmied out of her corduroys and underwear with an impatient flurry of movement, and then her attention was caught and she stopped moving altogether.   Severus had slid off the bed again, his hands finding the front of his trousers, and she watched in fascination as he tugged the button fly open with the speed of habit. He simultaneously toed off his shoes, then in a graceful movement skimmed the black fabric from his legs and stepped lightly out of the trousers. The buttons at the ankle, she noticed, had somehow come undone of their own volition; charmed to release with the fly, perhaps?   She had missed the sight of his underwear and their removal as she mused on the buttons, but felt only the faintest pang of regret as he straightened, apparently having disposed of his socks with equal dispatch. He turned his gaze to her again, and she felt her heart kick into overdrive at the sight of him.   He was not the tallest man at the school, but he was perhaps the most nicely proportioned; the skin over his lean muscles was just barely padded enough to make him look touchable. Good shoulders, tapering over the faint feathering of his latissimus dorsi to a firm-looking waist; silky swirls of dark hair across his chest and belly, narrowing to a faint line until it plunged into the curly thatch of hair at his groin. His legs were long, the soft swell of powerful thigh muscles curving from hip to knee and balancing the arc of his calves. And between those legs....   He did not give her time for further inspection, but came to her on the bed, only the faintest hint of hesitancy in his touch as he gathered her to him againbsp;bsp; Skin on skin this time, hot and immediate, and they both groaned with the pleasure of it. He hastily tore the covers back from the bed and swathed them both in the soft fabric, and she moved close to him to savor his warmth.   "Beautiful," he murmured, and brought his mouth to hers hungrily. He poured his passion over her in the kiss, a libation offered in token of gratitude, anticipation, desire, hope, and something he dared not name. She drowned in it, swam, exulted, and surfaced with a gasp to twine her aand and legs about him in acknowledgement and acceptance.   His mouth dipped lower, traced her collarbone and slid to her breasts, his hands cradling and caressing with a deftness that sent the lash of desire whistling across her skin, marking her with the flush of arousal. He suckled, gently at first and then not so, his long fingers curving across her ribs to tease and soothe in one touch.   "Severus," she managed, her voice thin as glass. "Please." Her fingers threaded through his, and she gently drew one hand from her breast to the warm folds between her legs.   He chuckled against her breast, velvet on satin, and she shivered and arched closer. "All right. I suppose we are on a bit of a schedule- more's the pity." One gentle finger slid between, teasing the curls apart and then the flesh, and she whined with need and pressed into his touch.   "Oh, damn," he whispered shakily when he felt the evidence of her wan. Sh. She was wet, slick with desire, and he slid up the bed again to look down into the brightness of her eyes, glazed with passion.   "Hermione..." he murmured, feathering the lightest kisses imaginable on her eyelids. He smiled tightly at the honest passion he could read in her face, and put one hand back between her legs. He gently pressed one finger up into the warmth of her body, his hands trembling badly enough that he had to concentrate to manage it. She cried out raggedly, her hips shifting forward, knees falling wide to increase the contact. He let his thumb nestle into the farthest curve of her sex, finding the knot of nerves that cried out in silent supplication, and set a practiced rhythm, learning the nooks and crannies that liked it the most. He let his mouth drift back down to her breast, keeping his tongue and lips to the pace his hand had set; and that was all it took.   She came alive under his touch, body twisting and flexing to find his hands, her lips swollen and her hands wild as they sought purchase on his skin.   Hermione fought to keep from going over the edge; it was too soon, there was still so much ahead of them that she wanted to savor properly. She needed to distract him a little. Biting her lip, she snaked her hand down to where the hard length of him was pressed against her left thigh. Closing her fingers around him, she smiled with satisfaction at the rough cry of mingled surprise and arousal that her action produced.   "Damn, Severus, where did you..." she broke off to moan with delight as he delved deeper and found an even more sensitive spot.   "I told you, Hermione," he said against her neck, his voice full of the smile she could not see. "I am no innocent." In more ways than this, he added wordlessly, but pushed the thought aside.   She laughed, her voice husky. "Not entirely, perhaps. And yet..." she tugged gently on his erection, her eyebrow arching suggestively.   He rolled them over a little, taking care to end up in the cradle of her hips, heat on heat, her legs around his waist, his weight on his elbows. He reached down for just a moment to adjust himself, and closed his eyes in delight at the feel of the soft petals of her body clasping the tip of his aching shaft. He was so close....   "Change your mind now if you're going to, Hermione," hened,ned, his voice unsteady as the muscles of her pelvis clenched against the gentle pressure. His hips were arching just a little, the instinctive urge to thrust slowly unraveling the threads of his control.   She answered him without words, her legs coiling around to hold him close, and her fingers reached up and gently, oh so deftly, tweaked his nipples.   "Oh, God," he breathed, feeling his control snap, and with one slightly clumsy thrust he buried himself in her completely.   Tight, wet, hot, maddening. He'd never imagined; he didn't think there could be anything finer in the world. So he was like other men, after all.   The muscles of his throat worked, and he stayed still for a long moment, fighting for control. When at last he could look down at her, she was smiling, shifting her hips a little and locking her legs around him. His pubic bone was pressed against her clitoris, and the movement of her hips was providing her with some very pleasurable stimulation; the sight of her, pleasuring herself with his body, was erotic beyond endurance. He shifted his weight, just a bit, and felt himself fall into the natural rhythm of lovemaking.   She followed his lead, her body moving with his, and her groans and sighs encouraged him to no end. He was awkward at first, taking a few moments to adjust to this new movement, the difficulty of moving and feeling all at once, and he fought down the frustration that came because he was too busy figuring this out to pay attention to her pleasure.   Hermione seemed to sense this, because she raised her hands and touched his face tenderly. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and crooned with delight as he moved, letting him know without words that he pleased her plenty as it was.   This first time, it was too new to last long. He'd been afraid, at first, that he might not manage to climax with sex; after more than three decades with nothing but himself, as it were, he'd feared that the difference would prove too great to overcome. But it seemed that his fears were unfounded. After all, three decades of habit were no match for ten thousand years of evolution. He could feel it building, the tight sensation in his testicles, the faint burn in his belly, and his eyes widened.   "Hermione," he gasped, catching her face between his hands as his body worked desperately againers.ers. "I- it's- ah, Hermione!"   She looked up at him, her breath catching at the sight of Severus Snape in the grip of orgasm. The lines of his face were harsh, etched out in the extremes of sensation, but his eyes were aglow with a fire she'd never seen in them before. His body was tight as a bow, his hands hard around her face, and his voice was like torn velvet as his climax ripped through him.   They cradled one another in silence, letting their breathing come back to normal and the mad rush of their heartbeats gradually slow to the soft thump of contentment. Hermione gently brushed Severus's hair out of his eyes when he sat up at last.   "I think that qualifies," she said teasingly, and he laughed.   "I should hope so," he agreed, and snagged his wand off the nightstand to whisper a quick cleansing charm. He frowned a little and turned to meet her gaze again. "Speaking of charms..." he said, and she shook her head.   "No need. I took care of it earlier."   He raised an eyebrow in question, but she did not get a chance to answer him. The clock in the sitting room chimed, and Hermione's blood froze as she counted the chimes. Quarter to midnight.   "You have to go," she gasped, and then in a flurry of covers they were on their feet. Severus cast a powerful cleaning charm on himself and quickly dressed, while Hermione ran into the other room to put a charmed lid on the Eye of Sarudai, which was bubbling quietly in Severus's private workroom. When she straightened from inspecting the brew, he was in the lab with her.   She turned around, and her spine crawled at the sight of the Death Eater robe he wore. The mask was held in his left hand, by one edge, like the unpleasant thing it was. His face, above the collar of the robe, was pale, but composed.   "Are you ready?" she asked, feeling the sudden distance between them like an uncrossable chasnbspnbsp; "No," he replied simply. "I never am. But I'm going." He slowly started to put on the mask.   Hermione was across the room before he could bring it halfway to his face.   "Come back safely," she murmured, and kissed him full on the mouth. "Do what you must- I won't think less of you."   That won a tender quirk of his mouth, and he drank in the sight of her for another moment, cupping her richeecheek in his left hand.   They both saw the ugly darkening of the Mark in the moment before it began to burn, and Severus snatched his hand away from Hermione's face as if afraid the power of the Mark would arc from him to her. He hissed softly, rubbing at his arm, and looked up into her eyes as if asking forgiveness.   "I'll be in the lab when you come home," she said softly. "I'm going to start the first batch of trials tonight. I want that damn thing off of you."   Severus went to the benchtop, lifted the cauldron, and carried it to a door she hadn't noticed before; but of course, he would need a way onto and off of the grounds where no one would see him, for he could not Apparate on the grounds of the school. He turned, just before passing through the door, and pulled his mask on.   It was odd, she thought to herself, to see such warm, achingly soft eyes behind such a cold mask.   Slowly pulling on her own clothes, she moved into his lab and began to assemble ingredients to carry to the main lab for the first set of trial potions.   She waited.   TBC