Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy

Author’s Notes: I know, I know… I deserve a flogging for the long delay. I apologize!

-Chapter carefully beta’ed by the very talented melusin.

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Chapter Twenty Seven - Their Fatal Hands No Second Stroke Intend (Part 1)


By the third day, Hermione was thoroughly fed up with the uncomfortable atmosphere that had become number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

She hadn’t spoken to Harry since their argument in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione couldn’t blame him exactly, but that didn’t mean she was required to tolerate his silence for longer than absolutely necessary.

Hermione had given him all the previous day and evening to cool off—or whatever it was Harry did in order to calm down—before she had finally decided to set aside the time to confront him.

It had been unproblematic for the two of them to avoid each other since she had slept most of the day. Hermione hadn’t been able to break out of the odd sleeping routine she had acquired in the dungeons. After the tentative conversation with Sirius in the kitchen, Hermione had finally fallen into a deep sleep around seven in the morning.

“That had been totally unnecessary,” Hermione said to herself with a frown. Severus shouldn’t have left her alone with him despite his anger. Thankfully, Sirius hadn’t attempted to harass her in any way, but he had wanted Hermione to describe exactly what she’d liked about the room he had prepared for her.

The only reason she’d been able to escape the irritating conversation was due to a need for sleep that everyone in the house seemed to believe she was desperately lacking.

Hermione hated feeling fragile.

Molly still appeared to pity Hermione for her run in with the Death Eaters a few weeks prior and hadn’t interrupted Hermione while she’d slept through most of the day. But regardless of Mrs. Weasley’s good intentions, every hour or so Hermione had been jostled by the continuous reprimand of, “Get back down here and leave the poor girl be!”

Hermione had finally awoken energized on the third day of her stay in this despicable house with the resolve of soothing the tense environment if she was to be forced to stay here another week. Besides, she didn’t enjoy the idea of spending more time than necessary in Madam Black’s very own bedroom. Hermione knew the sheets and duvet had been changed prior to her arrival, but that hadn’t made it any less—weird.

“All right?” Hermione asked Ginny cautiously upon entering the kitchen for dinner. Hermione immediately took her usual seat across from the redhead and noticed Ginny’s despondent appearance.

“Yeah.”

“No, she’s not,” Luna corrected blankly.

Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes. “Shut up, Luna.”

“All right. Can you pass the butter, Hermione?”

Hermione was about to ask the two of them what the devil was going on but instead quickly snapped her mouth shut as the boys made their entrance into the kitchen. Hermione had already rightly assumed that Harry was the reason behind Ginny’s mood, so she didn’t want to make a fuss of it in front of him. But that was only one reason why Hermione silenced herself.

The other reason was shock at the sight of Harry’s split lip and swollen jaw.

Wide-eyed, Hermione shot a puzzled glance at Ginny, but the redhead was already making it a point to look away.

“Butter!”

“What—oh, sorry, Luna.”

Hermione tried to get Ginny’s attention again but was only gifted with a sharp kick in the shin.

Unsurprisingly, Harry had proceeded to ignore her all through dinner. He seemed to be ignoring everyone, actually. He sat at the far corner of the long table concentrating only on his plate. Sirius and Ron would attempt to draw him into a comical conversation from time to time, but Harry didn’t even make an effort to pretend amusement.

Going to be a long, long holiday…

After dinner, Hermione reluctantly succumbed to the weary routine from the summer. After making herself a pot of tea, she retired to the Black family library and surrounded herself with an array of books.

She hadn’t been shocked when no one tried to join her… but she was strangely relieved.

Hermione had always found solace in books when she had far too much on her mind, but tonight she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. Sirius was making an effort not to hover around her, which was both a reprieve and a vexation. She’d seen him act like this before. It was some strange habit of his whenever he knew his previous encounter had been on the verge of barbaric. Sirius would attempt to give Hermione the space he knew was needed… until he did or said something completely inappropriate—again—out of whatever anxious desperation that seemed to constantly haunt him.

Hermione’s face grew hot as that aura of foreboding inundated her. Thinking of Sirius made her think of Dumbledore’s letter, and Hermione wasn’t the least bit eager to complete her ‘assignment’.

What does it even mean? she thought to herself. What did Dumbledore really want her to achieve by befriending Sirius? A friendship? A… romance? Merlin forbid. Hermione would never consent to that. But the Headmaster was obviously in need of some information that he himself couldn’t attain—which didn’t faze her the more she thought about it. Sirius loathed Dumbledore now… so much so that he had completely stopped trusting him.

Hermione sagged into the settee with a weary sigh. She could understand Sirius’ reservations. She certainly didn’t hate the Headmaster, and in many ways she still trusted him when it came to wanting what was best for their success with the war… but a part of Hermione ached with disappointment at her being manipulated into the mission she’d been assigned. A mission that had turned out to be something entirely different from what had been asked of her at the beginning of the school year.

Hermione could see the reasons behind Dumbledore’s worries when it came to Sirius. Harry’s godfather constantly appeared to be on the brink of cracking. His emotions and feelings had been reigned in so tightly, and there was no one he trusted enough to whom he could speak openly. But then again, Dumbledore seemed to require a solution to the very problem he had created.

But at the end of the day, Hermione knew she needed to do something—oh, gods, just get it over with.

Slamming her book shut, Hermione picked up her empty teapot and headed for the kitchen to brew another.

She honestly didn’t want more tea but rather needed a reason to join Sirius in the kitchen. Hermione wasn’t certain, but she had a feeling that he had stayed there after dinner. Since last night, Hermione had noticed that Sirius always either locked himself in his room or lolled about in front of the kitchen hearth.

Head held high, Hermione plowed through the kitchen door. Her movements were a tad forceful, but she needed to guarantee that nothing in her manner revealed her hesitancy.

She missed Severus more than ever.

Sitting by the hearth, Sirius visibly perked up at the sight of Hermione, shooting her a toothy grin. As if second guessing his display of enthusiasm, he promptly straightened out his smile and nodded once in greeting.

Sirius started at the sight of a chair and end-table hurtling towards him from Hermione’s side of the room. Raising his hands to cover his face, he flinched again at the sound of wood colliding with flagstone.

Flabbergasted, Sirius silently watched Hermione place a fresh pot of tea on the table between himself and her new seat.

“Honestly,” Hermione scolded, “you couldn’t possibly think that I’d attack you with furniture?”

By the time Sirius had lowered his arms from their shield of his face, Hermione was comfortably seated in the chair she had Summoned from the kitchen table. Leaning towards the small stand that separated them, Hermione poured herself a cup of tea and nodded her head for him to do the same.

Sirius uneasily rearranged the collar of his robes. “No, of course not. Not with furniture at least… but if you had attacked me, I know I would have deserved it.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment.”

He dared to smile arrogantly. “Only if I’m being punished by your lovely hands, Hermione.”

Hermione snapped her face away, humming in disappointment. “Sirius…”

“No—right. Sorry. And about that time in my office…” The legs of the chair creaked with his endless fidgeting. They both remembered that time in his office very vividly. Sirius had harshly held Hermione to him, forcing a kiss on her that he knew she hadn’t wanted. Who knows what would have happened if Severus hadn’t interrupted?

Sirius clenched his eyes shut, turning his face completely away from her. “I’d apologize if I knew it would mean anything… but…”

“You’ve already apologized a dozen times,” Hermione answered brusquely.

“… Yes… I told you… I don’t know what to do. This isn’t me. You know this isn’t me. I just can’t… stop… Some of the horrible things I think—”

Hermione tsked disgustedly in interruption. “For goodness sake! I don’t want to hear it. You’re a lazy oaf; that’s what your problem is.”

Sirius whipped his face around, dumbfounded by Hermione’s insult and unaware of how to take it.

Slamming her cup on the table, Hermione continued, “If you continuously tell yourself that you’re a horrible person, then it’s just that much easier to act like one. Call yourself something else for a change! And don’t look at me like that; you know I’m right.”

“I…” Sirius shut his mouth and nodded solemnly.

Carefully, Hermione dared to change the subject. “How are things with your… watch?”

Sirius’ eyes widened. “I don’t think we should talk about that.” His hand disappeared into his pocket, shielding his timepiece as if it had just been threatened.

“I think that’s exactly what you need, actually. I already know the fundamentals of how it works. Every turn gives you exactly one hour of—life—and without it, you would…” Sirius’ tension had become so severe, Hermione thought it best not to finish that sentence. With genuine sympathy in her voice, she asked, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Please, Hermione…”

“Maybe… Have you ever thought that someone could help you? After everything you have told me, I wouldn’t even think of recommending you seek the help of Professor Dumbledore—even though that might have been your best option, initially. But has it ever occurred to you that… I… could help you? There has to be some way to rid yourself of this burden.”

Sirius paled. Eyes filled with shock and repressed hope glared back at her. “Don’t you ever say that.”

Hermione reflexively leaned forward. The evidence that she had struck a nerve hadn’t alarmed her; if anything, she was more curious than ever. “Say what exactly? What’s wrong?”

“I refuse to allow myself to believe that… I cannot talk about this. Not to you.”

“Why not to me!” Hermione hadn’t intended for her voice to sound so hurt. It confused her to admit to herself that she actually was. “I would say I deserve your confidence more than anyone else. After everything, you at least owe me that.”

“I know.” Sirius harshly rubbed his hand across his brow, hoping to hide the pain in his face. “It’s just very difficult for me to admit—some things. Not just to you but to myself. And I fear—I fear I won’t be able to live like this for much longer. Things need to… They need to change.”

The more Sirius spoke, the steadier his face and voice became. A recognizably ominous appearance overtook his expression before he said with more conviction, “Things will change.”

“Sirius…”

His brutal features vanished at her gentle reprimand. Sirius was suddenly horrorstricken. “I’m going to bed.” Hands shaking, Sirius clumsily thrust his cup and saucer onto the table where it toppled and crashed to the floor. After a quick, mumbled apology, Sirius hesitated in picking it up before finally turning away to flee the room.

Hermione jumped up from her seat, crossing the kitchen before Sirius could reach the door. “No... Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not!” His hands came up quickly, in hopes of grabbing her arms to stress his sincerity. But before he allowed himself the temptation of touching her, he sighed and forced a reassuring smile. “I’m very tired. Thank you for your concern. But… ”

Hermione wavered, fighting her impulses with the situation presented to her. Shaking her head in pity, she allowed herself to reach out a hand to cradle his jaw.

Sirius’ entire body froze, completely lost as to a proper reaction.

Softly raising his face, Hermione gently asked, “Why are you being so… stupid? You know the main source of your conflict is your inability to speak about your problems and ask for help. Harry is so like you sometimes… I can only imagine what his dad must have been like. I know I can help you… if you’ll just let me.”

Her movements urged Sirius to meet her eyes where a smile and comfort were waiting for him. But Sirius clenched his own tighter instead. He tentatively raised his hand, fingers lightly touching her wrist. His effort of restraint was obvious to them both.

“You know,” he whispered quietly. Carefully, Sirius opened his eyes, training his vision on her sleeve. “My daydreams have been entirely different from what they were ten years ago. I went from spending my days salivating over the death of Wormtail—to imagining glory in assisting the Order in battle against Voldemort—to…”

“Yes?” Hermione urged, very intrigued. They were standing alarmingly close to each other, considering how past interactions had ended every single time the two of them were alone in a room together. But Sirius wasn’t frightening her now, nor were his words dripping with forced arrogance.

“I imagine just being normal. I wouldn’t even mind spending the rest of my life in this wretched house if I only I had someone…. someone to share it with. But I now see that’s impossible.”

“Don’t say that,” she breathed. In her sympathy, Hermione’s body leaned into him slightly, enabling him to smell the tea and sugar on her breath.

Sirius jerked back. “Don’t you dare give me false hope…”

“I’m… not. Regardless of how I may—or may not feel—it’s important to me that you remember I will always be here.” Hermione gently clasped both hands around his jaw once more, hoping to calm whatever rage seemed seconds from building. “Which means you will always possess my confidence… Perhaps if you showed me your watch, I could—”

Within the same fraction of time Sirius’ face had gently leaned into her palm with aching intensity, he’d pushed past her and exited the kitchen without another word.

*** *** ***

Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantle, rolling her eyes with a groan. Her ‘quality time’ spent with Sirius in the kitchen had been hours ago. At nearly four in the morning, she still wasn’t tired enough for sleep.

Usually, reading for hours on end soothed her mind to the point of exhaustion but not tonight, apparently.

At least with Molly spending her nights at the Burrow, there wasn’t anyone here that could scold Hermione for it.

Never drinking that much tea again…

Hermione slouched in her seat, groan slightly muted as she covered her face with a book. She wasn’t the least bit sleepy; this was true. But even if she had been, Hermione would have forced herself to stay awake until a certain someone arrived just before dawn.

Severus… Ugh… I’m acting like such a dolt.

She hadn’t seen him since their first day here—when she had received Dumbledore’s letter. Hermione hoped he wasn’t still angry with her about that. But even if he was, she didn’t care, and she certainly wasn’t going to apologize for it.

She had enough to deal with without worrying over Snape’s unrealistic annoyances.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Hermione couldn’t stop fidgeting as she listened for any sounds in the entrance hall. A deep, humming laugh rumbled in her throat. Rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, Hermione vividly recalled the various instances she had spent lolling in the library last summer while she had waited for Snape to arrive. All that time she had wasted sitting in this very same spot simply for the chance to follow him upstairs.

Stomach fluttering, Hermione smiled to herself as she remembered those first encounters. It was maddening to think that she had even dared to attempt such a thing.

The forgotten book slid down her chest, landing with a heavy thud on the flagstone. Hermione jerked upright at the high-pitched creaking of the front door’s protesting hinges echoing in the entrance hall.

All she could do was sit there, holding her breath, ears burning while whispered footsteps smoothly rose up the stairs.

It was him. She didn’t even bother peaking through the door to double-check. It amazed Hermione that she could easily recognize the exact pattern of Snape’s long-legged stride.

Quick, precise, and yet eerily silent. Like a ghost… Is that how he knew it was me who was following him?

She rose from the settee, the corner of her mouth rising into a smirk. Hermione hadn’t intended to repeat history, but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity such as this. She almost felt like an entirely different person from last summer—largely due to the man in question.

Now there was only one way to find out.

With a swish of her wand, Hermione extinguished every candle in the library before opening the door. Holding her breath, she eyed the discolored ceiling, listening for any sounds of movement in the landings above her.

Mindful of every step, Hermione carefully stalked up the stairs until she reached the second landing. She desperately craved to be finally sneaking up on Snape—no matter how unlikely it seemed.

Except this time her—their—situation was very different. She wasn’t just a nosy student to him anymore…

Her breathing grew shaky as she eased her body down the corridor towards his room. Exactly as she remembered, this area of the house was always agonizingly cold. Wand stiffly raised out in front of her, Hermione wished she had put on her slippers before leaving the library.

Just when Hermione believed she might have the upper hand, halfway down the corridor the floor protested beneath her. Inhaling too quickly, she froze. But Hermione had no reason to fear discipline if Snape caught her. Most likely, he wouldn’t insult her or send her back down teary-eyed and humiliated.

Most likely… Hermione grudgingly admitted to herself. There’s no telling what mood she might find him in.

So what would he do?

Her heart was racing so loud and fast, Hermione feared he could hear her breathing.

Wand hand leveled, Hermione quickly turned the bend before the courage that had brought her this far failed her. Unsurprisingly, the second corridor was completely empty. Empty, dark, and very cold. The only light available was a faint glow that wavered from beneath his bedroom door.

Hermione braced herself for the unexpected. She knew he was right here… probably watching and waiting.

The hair on the nape of her neck raised seconds before a tall, black-cloaked body lunged at her from the shadows. Hermione bent over with a gasp, ducking under his arm and thrusting herself towards the opposite wall.

She smirked, elated that she was finally able to do something right.

His back now facing her, Snape braced his hands on the wall he had initially intended to pin her to. Chin tilted towards the floor, Severus slyly eyed her through strands of his hair.

“Amusing,” he hissed.

Hermione’s smile evaporated at the sight of a predatory gleam in his eye. He wasn’t angry. Apparently, he was humored at her move but determined to win, nonetheless.

Knowing she was watching him intently, Snape took his time to stand to his full height. His deep voice whispered raggedly, “Don’t play with me, little girl…”

“I am not a little girl.”

“Prove it.” Half-way through a slow turn, Snape lunged again.

Back pressed flat against the wall, Hermione was already prepared for such a move. She murmured a brief hex, staggering him for a moment as he collided into a conjured shield.

It wasn’t exactly the hard wall that had once scent Sirius sprawling back on the floor, so Snape easily disarmed it.

Before she was able to completely thrust herself out of his reach, Snape’s arm snaked out, snatching her by the waist. Frustrated at the idea of losing this battle, Hermione whipped her wand up under her chin—right when Severus attempted to wrap a restraining forearm around her throat.

He hissed, yanking his injured hand away. In his pain, Hermione managed to slither her body out of his hold. Breathing heavily, she threw herself deeper into the corridor towards his bedroom door and pressed her back against the wood to keep him in her eye line.

Elation had been Hermione’s preliminary reaction at the idea of managing to hex a man who was known for deflecting the most advanced spells.

And she hadn’t turned into a quivering, mumbling mess, either. Hermione certainly had reason to be proud.

Severus slowly turned to face her, all humor gone. Tilting his head to the side, Snape forced his hair to shield his face as he grandly lifted his arm in the air, turning his forearm over to inspect it. His robes were ripped all the way to his elbow. Pasty white skin blazed in the darkness between folds of shredded fabric. There was a clean red line about four inches long running vertically on his wrist. And blood.

That was when Hermione realized that she had used a Slicing Hex on a Death Eater.

Oh… good God. She hadn’t meant to cut him… had she?

Hermione’s heart escalated in fear again. “Severus?”

Snape steadily raised his chin. His deep set eyes burned in a way Hermione had never seen before. This time when he lunged at her, Hermione was too frightened to move. Snape grabbed Hermione by the arms. With two quick movements, her wrists were pressed harshly against the door as a knee slid between her legs, kicking them apart.

Hermione whimpered and buckled, but Severus easily managed to hold her upright.

His face was too close; Hermione couldn’t quite make out his expression. Snape was breathing heavily from the exertion of the last few minutes; the heat from his skin and breath raised gooseflesh along her chest and arms. Seconds dragged as Severus remained in that position, silently looking down at her.

Finally, Snape edged his face towards her, turning his mouth to speak directly into her ear.

“That wasn’t very… nice,” his hissed, voice dangerously calm.

Hermione’s heart hammered in her throat. She hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do or say. He looked and sounded angry, but his body was painting an entirely different picture...

Snape carefully edged his knee deeper between her legs. The hold on her wrists was almost painful, and he was entirely conscious of it, too. Eyes hooded, Snape continued watching Hermione absorbedly as he pressed his chilled lips against the hot skin beneath her ear.

Hermione’s body immediately began to relax all around him. “Déjà vu,” she breathed.

“That depends,” Severus drawled. “Were you as—aroused—the first time you found yourself in this position?”

Hermione slightly struggled against Snape’s hold, unsurprised when he easily let her wrists free. She leaned into him, edging her hands between the folds of his cloak until she was able to wrap her arms around his lean waist. Snape’s stomach tensed at her touch.

“I didn’t fully recognize it for what it was, then… but yes, Severus.”

Hermione was aware of his body responding to those last two words humming out of her mouth. She drew him closer. “This was where we had our first kiss.”

A dark, teasing chuckle shook in his throat. “You call that innocent peck on my cheek a kiss?”

“It wasn’t the vicious onslaught you bestowed on me in the dark corridors of Hogwarts… but innocent as it may have been… it was still my—our—first…”

“Indeed…”

Snape’s strong arms quickly came around her waist. With a fierce yank, he slid her body up the wooden door until her face was level with his own. Hermione squeaked in surprise and excitement. Her limbs naturally reacted to the position, and before she was aware of the movement, her legs were wrapped around his hips. Face and neck flushed, Hermione couldn’t draw her eyes away from his concentrated gaze, which revealed more then he intended.

Yes, it was her first. Her first sign that she was not only delusional but completely smitten by him. He didn’t understand it, and Snape wasn’t even certain if he cared to… but that hadn’t changed the fact that he’d enjoyed ever moment of it.

“But you must admit—” she whispered, words cut off by a ragged exhale. Snape was no longer interested in reminiscing about the past. Restless hands held Hermione up by her thighs and bum. When those cold lips returned to her neck, Hermione circled his shoulders with her arms, pressing her chest into his neck. “I’ve become a little better at this.”

“Perhaps,” he said gruffly against her skin. “But my previous warning still remains: don’t ever be stupid enough to practice on me.”

“I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me.”

“The fact that you just said that is proof you’re still ignorant of many things.”

Hermione bristled. “How can you say—?”

Extracting a hand from beneath her robes, Snape groaned impatiently and snatched her by the chin. “Hermione?” Jerking her face forward, Snape forced her to meet his serious expression.

“What?”

“Shut. Up.”

In Hermione’s shock, Snape finally allowed himself to do what he had wanted from the moment he’d recognized her footsteps on the landing.

He devoured her.

Hermione gasped a stunned moan against Severus’ eager lips, returning the zealous kiss. With his hardness pressing insistently between her legs, and his hands fishing for any opening he could find in her dressing gown, Hermione easily lost all sense of discretion and auditory perception.

All too soon, Snape drew his upper body away, turning his ear towards the corridor for signs that they had been heard.

Hands digging into his back, Hermione bit her lower lip in aggrieved patience. She brazenly jerked her hips forward to recapture his attention.

Snape whipped around to face her, his eyes narrowed.

“As you know… I-I have my own room… now,” Hermione whispered nervously.

Sliding his hands up her waist, Snape pulled back slightly to grin down at her. He stroked the outline of her jaw with the back of his index and middle finger. “Are you inviting me, Miss Granger?”

“Anytime you wish it, you are invited… but not now…”

Severus stiffened at her hesitation. Misunderstanding her meaning, he harshly narrowed his eyes once more.

Noticing this, Hermione’s thighs clenched around his hipbones in earnest. “What I mean is… I no longer share a room…”

Snape’s serious expression melted into a cunning smirk.

“… So no one will miss me,” Hermione continued. Pausing to catch her breath, she forced herself to spit out the remainder of her innuendo. “If I am gone… for any stretch of time.”

Smirking suggestively, Snape drawled, “And what have I told you about tempting me, Hermione?”

“I’m not… tempting you. That is…”

Snape extended a dexterous finger to her neck, slowly twirling a curl around his index finger. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Before Hermione had time to give him a definite nod of approval, the bedroom door was thrust open from behind her. She instinctively tightened her legs and arms around him at the loss of leverage, but Snape already possessed a good hold on her.

He easily carried Hermione into his bedroom, kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot.

Unconcerned with the ceremonious tour that she half-expected, Snape walked straight to the four-poster he had never used.

Hermione released a nervous laugh as Severus playfully tossed her on the bed. The moment she was flat on her back, he wasted no time in unbuttoning his robes. They both paused when he mindlessly reached for a cufflink that was no longer there.

“And those were my good set,” Snape muttered, arching one brow.

Hermione made a move to inspect the injury she had caused him.

“Don’t fuss.”

“At least let me clean it!”

“Later.” Feeling her eyes still on him, Snape paused in the removal of his shirt to send her a teasing look. “Not afraid of a little blood, are we?”

“Of course not.” Not knowing what else to say to fill the silence, Hermione blurted, “I was afraid you were still angry.”

“I am,” Snape responded simply.

“You don’t seem angry with me.”

“I never said I was.”

Hermione jerked to stand before him, annoyed and confused. “I don’t understand. You’re angry but not with me… assuming we are discussing the Dumbledore letter incident… ”

Snape loomed over her, one hand roughly yanking at the ties of her dressing gown. “Hermione,” he said in the same exasperated tone he had used in the corridor.

“Shutting up,” she sighed, limply sitting back.

Severus chuckled throatily, forcing away her sour mood as he edged her to lie back against the bed.

Hermione exhaled from the pleasure of finally being alone with him like this, her arms wrapping around Severus’ bare shoulders. She mewed loudly as he pressed his body weight against her.

This was exactly how she’d imagined spending the hols at twelve, Grimmauld place.

By the time her dressing gown and nightdress were tossed impatiently to the floor, Hermione was a mumbling mess. Fingers gliding through his hair, Hermione’s back arched as Snape licked and nipped down her collarbone, dipping between her breasts. “Severus,” she groaned, voice full of need and brave enthusiasm. “I want… I want to see…”

“What?” Severus responded fervently, nipping at her ear in encouragement.

“I want to watch you…. stroke yourself.”

Snape stilled for a moment, but Hermione knew by the twitch of his cock against her inner thigh that the request excited him.

“Is that all?”

Hermione wiggled restlessly against him, nails raking down his chest and hip bone. “I couldn’t stop thinking of it, really—in the dungeons. Listening to you shower and wondering what you were doing…

Severus raised himself on his elbows. Slowly removing a stray curl from her forehead, he smirked down at her. “What do I get out of it?”

Hermione smiled, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Whatever—”

Snape interrupted her with a slender finger placed gently against her bottom lip. “Do not speak without thinking. Choose you next words very carefully, Hermione…”

“I am.” She swallowed. Breathing heavily, Hermione eagerly licked at the pad of his finger. “Anything. Whatever you need, Severus… I’ll do it.”

Burning, intense eyes held her gaze.

“Anything,” she repeated more insistently, lifting her shoulders off the bed to kiss him roughly. “I’ll do it.”

Some time later, those were the exact words Severus repeated to himself as a deep, guttural growl escaped him while he issued on her naked flesh.

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Author’s Notes: This was short, only two scenes. Much more to come, of course. I must thank and apologize to those at Potter Place, especially Livvy, with recommending this story for the Wish List. Technically, the twelfth day of Christmas isn’t until the sixth, so I’m not that late!

-As usual, I send all of my gratitude to my beta and mentor, melusin, for her time and assistance with this story. Now for some shameless pimping: I also want to congratulate her brilliance at winning two slots over at the SS/HG Awards for “What Goes Around” and “Cuckoo in the Nest” on LJ. The 4th Annual OWL Awards have begun, and I recommend all to check out her stories eligible for nomination as well as the many incredible authors archived. Link: http://owl.tauri.org/users.php?uid=8210

-Chapter title taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book ii. Line 712.

-Next Up: Chapter Twenty Seven - Their Fatal Hands No Second Stroke Intend Part 2: In Hermione's attempt to confront Harry, she learns much more than she could have ever expected. Always one to settle old scores, Severus visits an old 'friend'.