You Know What They Say about Necessity...

A note from your author:

WARNING! Mild Harry/Ginny fluff in this chapter. Nothing too explicit. If you really can't stand that idea, there is Severus at the beginning and the end for you to enjoy. Thanks as always to my reviewers. "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" is by Elvis Presley.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, JKR does.

Chapter Eight: Are You Lonesome Tonight?


Once again Severus was awake in the dark, almost wishing he was not quite so lucid, because he was once again having to call his sanity and/or state of mental stability into question.

It had started with their time in the library. He hadn’t had a discussion like that in years and years. One simply did not go up to Albus Dumbledore and say: “Well, Albus, what did you think of chapter seven of the Story of O? Pretty randy stuff, eh?”

Not that he only read… how did Hermione phrase it? Character studies with explicit sex? But the principle was the same. He couldn’t imagine discussing books with Albus. Truth be told, Albus didn’t read as much anymore since he’d started writing. And he didn’t read the same sort of books that Severus liked. Whereas, apparently, Hermione… did.

He’d been startled by her choice: Albus had stocked some Philip Roth books at Severus’ request. He did not expect her to read such things, although he wasn’t certain what exactly he was basing this assessment on. She had been surprising him all evening, and Severus hated being surprised.

His right hand stole up to his face, running his fingertips down his cheek before he was fully aware of his actions. In his mind he felt her hand close to his face again. He’d been awake the entire time she was gone, but when she returned he’d found himself suddenly in the grip of a strange awkwardness and had decided to feign sleep. When she had almost touched him it had taken all his willpower to continue the ruse. And her whispered words, telling him to sleep well, had stirred something somewhere inside him that had proceeded to run away screaming in fear.

He jerked his hand away as though it had been burned. Why was he even contemplating this? he asked himself in disgust. She was a healer. She was being kind to an old injured professor. She would have done the same thing with a five-year-old child, or a kitten. There was no underlying meaning behind her actions. It was he who was trying to divine her deeper motives: motives that could not possibly exist. He was Severus Alden Snape, the greasy git, the bat of the dungeons. The idea that anyone so… sweet and good could have interest in him was laughable and impossible.

So that was that. He refused to think about it further, settling down into the bed and closing his eyes, hoping that sleep would be kind and not take too long to claim him.


Harry leaned back against the headboard of his bed, eyes closed, a blissful expression on his face as Ginny fed him a chocolate-coated strawberry. “Ginny, you’re wonderful,” he told her with a sigh.

“I’m glad you know a good thing when you see it,” she answered, popping a strawberry into her own mouth and chasing it with a sip of wine. The room was lit by a few candles, and she watched the shadows through half-closed eyes.

“I’d have to be beyond stupid not to know that,” he replied softly, taking her free hand in his and pressing an impassioned kiss on her palm.

Ginny felt the color rise to her cheeks, and she knew it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. She put her glass down on the nightstand, then took Harry’s glass from his other hand and set it down as well. She snuggled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to his erratic heartbeat as his fingers tangled in her long red hair. She felt calm and indescribably happy.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you,” she whispered finally.

He laughed. “What, do you want to run out the door screaming?”

“Very funny, Harry,” she retorted, lifting her mouth to his. He kissed her long and deep. When it was over she sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said. “I do know what you mean. It’s as if…”

“What?”

“It’s as if I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, then smiled. “Guess that sounds dumb.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she told him, lifting one hand and trailing her fingers down his face.

His expression changed, went from being amused to something deeper. He moved against her and kissed her again, and felt a thrill of desire course through him as she met his mouth, returning the pressure with a hunger of her own. When they finally moved apart, Harry swallowed nervously. He had gotten hard during the kiss. But he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t rush her. He wanted her, yest not not just for her body.

Ginny smiled tenderly at him. She was innocent, but not so innocent that she didn’t know what an erection felt like when it was rubbing against her leg. He really was adorable, she thought, with his hair mused and that faint tinge of color of his cheeks.

“I…” Harry began, having no idea of how to say what he wanted to say.

She giggled and hugged him. “Harry, if you’re trying to tell me you’re randy, I kind of figured that out already.”

“Oh,” he said faintly, not sure if he was pleased or embarrassed. His presence of mind returned enough for him to say: “Ginny, I meant what I said. I don’t want you to think I just want you for your body.”

She sighed. “Harry, we’ve been friends for how long? Years now. The last thing in the world I’m worried about is you taking advantage of me.”

She could see his relief. “I’m glad you know that, Ginny.”

Harry was so thankful she understood. He never wanted to do anything to hurt her. She was so important to him. She had no idea of what she meant, of what it meant to have her in his life. And she wasn’t upset! Now, if he could just get his body to calm down, he could have a wonderful night of holding her while they slept…

Ginny could see he was trying to do the gentlemanly thing and get a grip on his hormones. She wasn’t having any of that, thank you very much.

She moved her lips to his ear. “I want you,” she breathed huskily.

“What?” he croaked.

She trailed her mouth down his neck. “I want you, Harry. Now.”

“Ginny…” he breathed, eyes wide. He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Harry, I’ve wanted this for weeks, and if you don’t make love to me tonight, I’m going to burst!” she laughed.

He gave her a huge smile. “Well I can’t let that happen, now can I?” he teased, his hands moving down and peeling off her blouse. She grabbed it from him and tossed it to the floor.

“Good. For a minute there I thought I was going to have to hit you over the head and drag you into my cave,” she smirked.

“I thought that was my job,” he protested, drawing a shuddering breath as Ginny carefully removed his glasses and put them aside, then tugged his shirt off.

“Not at the rate you were going,” she answered, flinging his shirt down to rest with hers.

“Gosh, Ginny, if you’ve wanted to ravish me, all you had to do was say so,” Harry said innocently. “I’d not have put up any fuss.”

“And you still won’t,” she murmured, eyes sparkling. She let gazegaze travel down him. He had filled out nicely in the past few years, going from a skinny boy to a well-defined young man. His shoulders had gotten broader, and he was slender but not too thin. He had no hair on his chest, but that didn’t bother her: Ginny had never really cared for the hairy-chested bulging muscles kind of guy like some girls did. Harry had just enough tone to show that he was in good shape without it being excessive.

While she was appraising his bare chest, Harry was doing some staring of his own. Ginny’s bra was a wispy scrap of pale blue lace that didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was finally sinking into his befuddled brain that maybe she had planned for them to shag tonight. Knowing that he wouldn’t make the first move, she had assumed the role of aggressor. And he found that it didn’t bother him in the least, especially when she arched her back and all but offered him her breasts as though they were presents to unwrap.

And unwrapm hem he did: her bra was gone, minus one of the hooks as it tore loose in his eagerness to get the bra off her. He muttered a “Reparo” at the offending garment before pulling her against him and drawing one rose-tipped nipple into his mouth. As he licked and kneaded the creamy swells of flesh, Ginny grabbed onto his shoulders to keep herself standing, head thrown back as she moaned her delight.

His lips slid lower, grazing her navel, before stoppiust ust above the button on her tan slacks. He looked up at her, and the glazed expression in her eyes was all the confirmation he needed. He unbuttoned her slacks and drew them down her legs, and as she lifted one leg and then the other he removed them and added them to the growing pile of clothes in the corner.

He knelt before her, light from the candles reflecting the admiration in his eyes as he looked at her, standing before him in only a pair of pale blue lacy knickers. They matched her bra, he realized suddenly, and his libido went into overdrive. She was so pale, so warm and soft. He looked at her closely and realized that she had a smattering of freckles on her shoulders as well as a tiny mole on her right hip.

“Do they… do they turn you off?” she whispered, wanting an answer but afraid of it at the same time. Harry was the first man to see her this close to naked and she was suddenly gripped by fear. What if she wasn’t what he’d hoped for?

“The freckles?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “No. They just make you more beautiful.”

She looked down for a moment, pleased, but suddenly shy. She’d never really felt beautiful, not compared to other girls like the Patil sisters or Lavender Brown. As she’d gotten older she’d decided that, though she wasn’t ugly, she’d never be glamorous and was was her lot in life. Now she knew that she didn’t want to ever be anything other than just Ginny. It was good enough for her, and it seemed to be more than good enough for Harry, so everyone else could sod off.

His thumbs hooking into the waistband of her knickers brought her attention back to Harry, and she grasped his hands and used them to tug him to his feet.

“A bit overdressed, aren’t you?” she kidded him in response to his confusion. Eyes never leaving his, she unfastened his trousers and brought them down and off his long legs. She grinned at the sighthis his red and gold Gryffindor boxers. “Still got that school spirit, I see.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t know I was going to be… entertaining tonight.”

She giggled, and he giggled, and both of them felt some of the tension ease. Harry took her hand and pulled her onto the bed. For a long time they simply lay entwined, kissing and touching. Finally neither of them could stand it any longer, and they finished undressing each other eagerly, hands and lips and arms and legs tangling until Harry wasn’t entirely sure where he ended and Ginny began. One thought kept pushing its way into the front of his mind, and though he tried to hold it back it refused to go. There was no help for it: she had to know. Hopefully it wouldn’t bother her too much.

“Ginny… before we go any further, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“There’s something I need to tell you, too, Harry,” she said somberly.

“You go first,” they said at the same time. They laughed. “No, you,” they echoed each other.

“How about we do it together?” Harry suggested.

“How will we hear each other that way?” she protested, still laughing.

“Well hopefully, one of us will hear the other and be stunned into silence,” he offered. “Come on. One… two… three.”

“I’m a virgin.”

They stared at each other in shock.

Ten minutes later, after laughter had died, relief had settled in, explanations had occurred and surprise had faded, Harry and Ginny were happily altering their former status.

Severus awakened, squinting at the red glow of the muggle digital clock on his bedside table. Three in the bloody morning. He was thirsty and thankful that he’d asked Hermione to bring him something to drink. Mercifully, he felt no pain at the moment. He sat up and took several long sips of the tangy pumpkin juice. He thought about his legs, Hogwarts, Lucius, and everything else he could think of, no matter how unpleasant, to take his mind off of one Miss Hermione Granger.

He scolded himself, berated himself, even gave himself a good mental yelling at. Nothing seemed to be helping. He was about to turn on his bedside light and read when he heard a faint sound outside in the hall.

He tensed, automatically reaching for a wand which wasn’t there, which made him curse under his breath. As he was considering the best course of action, he heard the sound again, and this time it was unmistakaa vea very soft giggle.

He relaxed and sneered at the same time. Miss Weasley, probably going to the lavatory. Doubtless she was freshening herself up after an interlude with Potter. He shook his head. It seemed to be the fate of Potter men to fall for fiery redheaded women. Though Miss Weasley did not resemble Lily Evans in feature, she had very similar personality traits to what he remembered of Lily.

Severus shook his head fiercely, as though to throw the thoughts out by force. He did not want to think about Lily Evans even more than he did not want to think about Hermione. Because to think about Lily was to think about James Potter, and Sirius Black, and Lupin, and Harry…

There was no more giggling now, and he just barely made out the sound of a door closing. They were obviously making every effort to be quiet: had he been sleeping or not had such sharp hearing he would not have heard any of it. He slumped back against the wrought iron headboard and closed his eyes.

To say that he was a private man was almost an understatement. Severus had few he could call friend. Even with those few he was careful as to what he let be known. He guarded his mind and heart with a quiet ferocity, doling out small bits of himself that were really of no great consequence. Albus was the only one Severus would truly confide in, and even with Albus there were many things left unsaid.

What Severus knew with a keen certainty was that in some ways he was, well… lonely. Love had always eluded him, whether because of his general demeanor or the follies of his youth. He was terrified of letting anyone in to hurt him, and so he had long ago solved the problem by being someone that no woman would want to get close to in the first place. It had been easy, all these years, his life a blur of students and spying. There wasn’t really time to even think about anything else. To be close to someone while Voldemort lived could have signed their death warrant, and his, and hadn’t been worth the risk.

Now the Dark Lord was gone and he no longer had to be a secret agent. For the first time since he’d taken the mark, his life was his to do with as he wished. The problem was, he had been alone for so long, angry and bitter for so long, he wasn’t certain if he could be anything else. And even if he could… what was there for him? How could he hope that anyone would want him, love him… when he didn’t even know if he loved himself?

He suddenly felt drained. He wriggled back down into the bed and shut his eyes against everything that he did not want to see.