The Conference

Severus scowled at having the door shut in his face and went into his own room the next door down. Gods, he was only trying to say hello to her! Why did she think he was checking up on her? He knew very well that she was an adult. It seemed that she even knew more about the facts of life than he did.

He sat down on his bed and sighed deeply. Hermione Granger had always been easy to take offense to him. He couldn't exactly blame her for being touchy. He had been an absolute bastard towards her during her time at Hogwarts. The truth was, he had never disliked her. While his coldness towards Potter was genuine, it was not so towards her. He loved the way she devoured knowledge as if it were a piece of filet mignon. Although her constant questions were irritating at times, he admired her obsession with learning. The way he treated her had been done out of necessity, not spite. She was one of Potter's closest friends, and he had to keep his image as a fierce Death Eater who hated muggleborns. If only she knew how many times he had wanted to congratulate her on her brilliance and hard work. No, he did not dislike Miss Granger, nor did he think of her as a child now. He just had no clue how to talk to women.

The only experience he had with women were either with snooty purebloods like Bellatrix LeStrange or the poor victims he was forced to watch getting violated at the Dark Lord's revels. Neither were very good examples of the typical member of the fairer sex. If only women knew his secret, they wouldn't be so quick to avoid him. The sad truth was, at thirty-eight years old, he was still a virgin.

He had done many things as a Death Eater, but rape was the one thing he could never force himself to do. He saw the pain in the women's eyes as the men took their turns with them. They all looked like they were praying for death to come take them. He could curse, he could kill, but he just couldn't bring himself to rape. He instead cut himself off from all female company and pretended to be impotent. Unfortunately, it didn't save him from having to watch the women be ravaged, but it at least saved him from having to be one of the assailants. He pitied each and every one of them, silently vowing that he would do all he could to see to Voldemort's destruction. Although the day had come and gone, the memories of those women's tortured looks and the sounds of their screams still haunted his dreams.

It was over now. He could choose a Witch and have a personal life if he wanted, but what Witch in her right mind would want an inexperienced man his age? It was much too embarrassing a thing to tell anyone about, not even Albus. The desire was there, and he understood the mechanics of lovemaking, but the lack of experience would be apparent, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Things would be different if only he could find a Witch he could trust. As the years had gone by, he had become curious as to what normal sex was like. Everyone talked about it like it was the most amazing thing in the world. He wished he could experience that feeling that other people took for granted.

After stripping down to his underwear and putting his used clothing into a laundry bag, he slid under the covers of the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't the sexual act itself that he longed for as much as it was the touch of a woman. He could tell that they were soft, though he'd never touched one of them in a sexual manner. He loved their curves, their graceful walk, and their tempting lips. More than sex itself he wanted to taste a woman's lips and feel her soft skin. If only he could find a woman who would understand his situation. He was looking forward to tomorrow's presentation on sex-enhancing potions. Perhaps the Witch or Wizard who was giving the lecture had some idea that would help him. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life alone in the solitude of the dungeons. He wanted a lover, one who would patiently teach him how to please her, and show him pleasure that he had so long denied himself. If only that woman existed.