Hermione pulls it off

Hermione sat on the swing and moved lazily to and fro. Severus was inside cooking a special dinner for her. Periodically she could hear a stifled yelp, or a muttered swearword as he wrestled with the Aga.

It was almost as temperamental as him.

Severus had decided that he liked holidays, and had stayed on at the cottage. He’d asked a house elf to pack up some of his clothes, and had them flooed here. Apparently Albus wasn’t happy at being deprived of his babysitter for the summer. The tone of his Owl, demanding an explanation for Severus’s whereabouts had been quite petulant.

Severus’s reply had been as masterly a piece of equivocation as she had ever been privileged to witness; and being a friend to the boys meant that she had quite an extensive experience of lying to Albus.

Severus had confided in her one day that there would be more holidays for him in the future, regardless of whether he and Hermione remained ‘an item’, as he put it; adding, such an ugly Muggle term.

Girlfriend and boyfriend were equally unsuitable, certainly on his part. Hermione wouldn’t mind being called his girlfriend, but he found it an unacceptable reminder of their age difference.

Lovers would be more appropriate, but as yet inaccurate, although they had come close, so very close, on many an occasion. She had a feeling that by tomorrow it would be an epithet that they would be entitled to use.

She hadn’t moved in with Severus, not at first, being content to drop by for lunch or dinner from time to time. Gradually she had stayed longer and longer, until one day she simply hadn’t left.

There had been separate rooms of course. Nothing had been said, but an agreement had been reached nonetheless: they were going to take things slowly. Slowly, but surely. That first day, he’d followed her into the kitchen to watch her make tea. He’d been distracted by the sight of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her shirt; she’d been distracted by the urgent way he’d pressed her against the fridge and kissed her; they’d both been distracted when the kettle began to whistle.

They’d ignored tea in favour of the sofa and continuing what they’d started, although Severus had been very careful to keep his hands above the waist from then on. Not that that was a disadvantage; he’d discovered hitherto unknown sensitive spots behind her ear, in the crook of her elbow, and on her wrist.

It had taken her a while to build up the confidence to subject Severus to the same kind of scrutiny. It was one thing to say that she was an adult, and that he was ongeonger her teacher; it was another thing entirely to raise shaky hands to his buttons and plant delicate kisses on his neck.

Oddly enough he hadn’t deducted house points for her temerity.

As her confidence had grown, her investigations had become more thorough. She’d been surprised to find that he was a little shy about removing his shirt, but he overcame that quite nicely with the right encouragement. She’d found his hesitation endearing, and it completed the transition in her head from Professor Snape to Severus. She’d never really known Professor Snape, but she was coming to know Severus rather well. He was irritable, he was cynical, he was occasionally sentimental and underneath that carapace of Slytherin worldliness there was a decent human being.

It was hard to think of Professor Snape without his clothes; his swirling robes were as much a part of him as his sneer. But it was increasingly easy to think of Severus without his clothes.

She just hoped he was a good cook. He was attempting some roast chicken thing with lemons out of Delia – watching him insert the lemon had been a sight she hadn’t wanted to dwell on too much. She’d headed outside when she found herself watching him rub herbs and oil into the skin of the chicken with a wholly unseemly interest. Watching his fingers massaging and probing the chicken had definitely turned her mind to where those fingers would be better placed.

The sounds coming from the kitchen had died down to a muted clatter and the sound of running water. It was probably safe to return.

She headed back inside. Severus had his back to her, and was washing his hands in the sink. He turned at the sound of her soft greeting, and gestured ruefully at himself. “I lost the battle with the tap.” The front of his shirt was soaked and was plastered to his skin. She could see the tracery of his ribs, the sharp points of his nipples, and the faint suggestion of chest hair. Suddenly she could see the attractions of wet tee shirt competitions.

“Severus,” she asked, her voice suddenly very husky, “when will dinner be ready?”

“In about an hour. Why, are you hungry?” He was aware of her intense observation of his chest – he had to be, she was practically drooling – but the only sign was a faint flush on his cheeks.

She nodded. “Oh, yes.” She paused a moment to let the implications sink in; she didn’t mean chicken, even lemon roasted chicken as per Delia’s strict instructions. “Let’s go to bed.”

She supposed that there was a chance he would say no; but it didn’t look like he was going to. He looked predatory: it was the kind of look that had made Gryffindors tremble across crowded classrooms. She was trembling herself, a little, but from entirely different reasons.

His reply, a slow, sibilant exhalation of ‘yes’, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She held out a hand to him, and was fleetingly amused to notice that her fingers were trembling slightly. His hand closed round hers; his hand was cold and wet and she gave a startled squeak.

He was startled, softening into rueful amusement, and theck tck to that hawkish look. She gently tugged on his hand, and moved towards the stairs. She had no intention of rolling around on the kitchen floor; it was too cold for one thing. He followed her obediently, making no sound, into his bedroom. She was sleeping in her parents’ room, and it would have felt wrong to take him in there. This was her room, though he was sleeping in it now, and she felt at home there.

She took one of the towels off the radiator where it was dry “I “I think we need to dry you off a bit,” she said softly. She flipped the towel over her shoulder, and began to unfasten his buttons. He stood there, whilst she peeled off his damp shirt, and then began to move the towel over him in slow, wide circles.

The only movement was the flickering of his muscles, and the rise and fall of his chest. She dropped the towel, and move closer to him, her fingers tracing the path the towel had taken. This they had done before, but it still fnew:new: different this time, because this time it was only a stage in the journey and not the end.

And then Severus was wrapping his arms round her and kissing her deeply, and somehow again it was different. It was more exciting, and more frightening; Severus was no longer the safe, comfortable partner she’d been cosying up to of an evening; he was dark and mildly menacing and altogether thrilling. It was like a rollercoaster ride – her stomach was certainly doing strange loops – where terror and excitement were all rolled into one.

She’d never done this before, and she’d always liked to practice things to make sure she wasn’t going to make a mistake; judging by the way Severus was pressed up against her though she was doing alright so far.

Severus raised his head to look at her, his concern fading when he saw the misty-eyed look she was giving him. He leaned against her, and she backed up towards the bed, the edge catching at her knees. She went down with more of a thump than she had intended, and couldn’t help but giggle at noise made by the protesting springs.

He smiled at her, and her insides took another turn; and then they were sprawled on the bed in an untidy heap, and she wasn’t quite sure how they had got there, but his hand was under her blouse and he’d done that trick with her bra again – she could tell she was going to be spending a small fortune on underwear if this kept up – and the buttons were free and his mouth was … oh…. his mouth was moving down her neck in nipping kisses until he cao reo rest on her breast.

There was a brief pause, probably to give her time to object, but she had no intention of doing that, not when he could do so many interesting things with his mouth. Her hands slid into his hair to hold him there, and she arched upwards to meet him.

He gave a little snort of laughter, which travelled along her flesh, and then he bent to work lazily tonguing at her nipple, teasing it to a peak, and then gently biting down. It felt like it was connected directly to her groin, and every movement of his lips sent shivers of pleasure through her.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to be doing though; it seemed to be selfish to be simply lying there, but there were limits on what she could reach without dislodging him. Was sex performed on some sort of rota basis – five minutes of you lying back and being pleasured, and then swap places? Surely something more was required from her than the occasional mewl of pleasure and a death grip on his head?

Cautiously she relaxed her hands, and began to move her fingers through her hair. He hesitated, and for a moment she thought she’d done something wrong, and then he made a noise she’d never heard from him before. Something between a grunt and a moan; he liked that. Suddenly she was determined to find out what else he liked.

She moved slightly, he looked at her anxiously to see whether she was uncomfortable; her broad smile reassured him, and he allowed her to turn them both so they were lying side by side. She wriggled down the bed, until they were face to face; seized by some odd impulse, she dropped a kiss on the hooked nose, before getting back to the serious business of kissing.

This time she was in charge; it was her tongue investigating his mouth, her lips moving over his neck, her hands stroking his chest but it was his mouth that was making muted cries of pleasure. It was amazing to be able to bring such pleasure to someone through a simple touch; just think how good she’d be with a bit of practice.

She couldn’t help but smile at that, a wicked smile full of promises for the future. A smile that was matched by the one on Severus’s face when he looked up to see why she had stopped doing what she had been doing so well; a smile that hinted at promises about to be fulfilled sooner rather than later.

His hands moved along her back, annoyingly slowly, then slipped beneath her waistband moving in gentle circles, signalling his intent; she murmured her appreciation. Encouraged, he moved down and began to peel off her trousers, taking her knickers with them She felt a fleeting disappointment that her underwear, so carefully chosen and so hopefully worn, had been disposed off so abruptly, but then his head had dipped between her thighs and his mouth was busily raising her to fever pitch.

She had no time to be embarrassed, no time to be anything but bloody grateful for what he was doing, and then her attention was completely absorbed by the first faint fluttering, the rising excitement, and the sudden wash of sensation over her entire body. She was vaguely distracted by a loud thump, and when she recovered enough to pay attention to the rest of the world, she realised that she’d kicked Severus off the bed.

Any tendency to laughter was stifled as he stood and began to unbutton his fly. Her mouth was dry, and her breath a little short, as he eased down his trousers to reveal his naked body.

She was relieved to see that he wasn’t enormous, and that it wasn’t a funny colour, or covered in blue veins. It was just pink, and soft to the touch, and Severus’s faint look of concern had been replaced with one of open-mouthed bliss as she tentatively explored. He liked her thumb moving round his head; he liked her finger stroking the underside; he liked her cupping his balls and gently rolling them in their sac; there didn’t seem to be anything he didn’t like.

Is this what they meant about having someone by the short and curlies?

She suspected she could ask Severus to give three hundred points to Gryffindor at the moment and all she’d get is a weak, sighed, yes. Her snort of amusement penetrated his blissful state. He eyed her with amusement tinged with suspicion, and then slowly leaned forward forcing her back against the bed.

He nudged her legs apart with his knee; she overcame the urge to press them tightly together, that justjust silly nerves. He loomed over her, reminding her of Potions Classes, and his dominating presence there; she felt a rush of something travel up her spine, half fear, half passion, and altogether overwhelming. He was pressing against her, ando heo her, and carefully moving further into her.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, and then, almost gingerly, he began to move. It felt, peculiar, was the only word to describe it, andn shn she was concentrating on the feel of his muscles flexing in his back, and the sensation of something almost-but-not-quite happening, and watching Severus pull some very peculiar expressions before he slumped down on her to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hmmm,” came the contented reply from somewhere near his shoulder.

“I’ll do better next time.”

She looked up into his anxious face, and smiled. “I shall look forward to that immensely.”

He smiled faintly, and kissed her softly. He opened his mouth to say something – presumably something tender and at least vaguely romantic – “Shit! The chicken!” He jerked upright, scrambled over her and dashed down the stairs without stopping to pick up a dressing gown.

Hermione lay on the bed for a few seconds staring at the ceiling before she gave in to the overwhelming temptation to burst into fits of giggles. When she’d calmed down sufficiently, and was longer shaking with laughter, she collected their dressing gowns and headed downstairs.

She thought the sight of a naked Severus, clad only in ovengloves, and peering suspiciously at the roasted chicken was one that would live with her for a very long time. It was such a shame she’d never be able to share it with anyone.

“Is it alright?” she asked, biting on her lip.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I caught it just in time.” He took his dressing gown from her gratefully and began the process of carving. “I hope you’re hungry?”

She just smiled at him, fully aware that she looked totally besotted, but he didn’t seem to mind the dopey look.

She barely noticed what the chicken tasted like.

By the time they made it outside the sun was kissing the horizon and the moon was rising. The setting sun had dyed the sea red and purple, and the wind was gently stirring in the trees.

“Did you like it?” he said softly.

She nodded then rested her head on his shoulder. “The whole evening has been wonderful,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t the nerve to ask her.

An arm came round her shoulders and squeezed her tight. He sighed. “I have to go back to Hogwarts soon,” he said.

“I know. And I’ll write and tell you how much I miss you, and you’ll invite me down for a weekend or you’ll come and see me, and at some point we’ll have our first argument and you’ll storm off to the dungeons to sulk….”

“… and you’ll come and hammer on the door until I let you in…”

“… and we’ll kiss and make up, and eventually you’ll get the nerve together to ask me to marry you and I’ll say yes…” - the arm tightened still further –

“… and we’ll set up home together in the dungeons…”

“… until we have children…”

“… and we’ll grow old together…”

“…. and be disgustingly happy.”

“Do you think you’d like that,” he asked cautiously.

“I think so,” she said, “eventually, don’t you.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Eventually.”


The end – really, finally and absolutely and without fear of sequel. Hermione and Severus will be returning soon in A law to Herself, A Snape is for Life, It started with a Book, blah blah.


ETA: A/N Joan you are in fact wrong to criticise my use of the word epithet. If you\'d looked it up in the dictionary you would see that the primary meaning of the words is a description applied to someone - hence lover - and \'insult\' is only it\'s secondary meaning and is derived from the primary meaning.

I choose my words very carefully.