Surprisingly, She Didn\'t

Status: Work in Progress

Rating: NC-17 for later chapters

Warnings: Adult situations, some language, sexual situations…list may change as story progresses.

Summary: Finding her there had been a surprise, but nothing compared to what happened when she woke.

Disclaimer: All characters/situations/places/events that you recognize belong to JK Rowling and the rest of the legal owners of everything Harry Potter. I make no money off of the writing of this fic, and intend no copyright infringement. I’m only having a little fun. And I would definitely take those two Slytherins home for tea…

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When Hermione woke the next day it was well past dawn. She stretched lightly and then rubbed at her eyes before she sat up. Sniffing, she realized that there was the delightful aroma of fresh brewed coffee tickling her nose. She threw her legs over the side of the sofa, and got to her feet. Padding lightly toward the kitchen, she stopped in the archway at the vision that greeted her.

Severus was there, preparing what appeared to be omelets. His midnight hair was damp and pulled back to the nape of his neck. He was wearing another linen shirt, this one a light grey and left unbuttoned at the top; just a hint of dark hair showing through the opening. The shirt was tucked into a pair of black trousers which enunciated the length of his lithe form. Hermione was entranced by his movements. He was almost gliding as he walked around. His hands deftly added chopped ingredients to the eggs in the sizzling pan. The look on his face was relaxed, and it appeared that there was just a hint of a smile.

The man held himself with a cool confidence; he had a quiet grace in his movements that told tales of years of self-discipline. Hermione felt something tingle deep within her belly. Her musings were interrupted by a low voice filled with sarcasm and mirth.

“Good morning, Hermione. Would you like a cup of coffee or do you prefer to stand in the doorway getting microscopic amounts of caffeine through your olfactory senses?” He removed the now finished omelet and set it gently on a plate before he turned to look at her.

She blushed slightly and then looked toward the ground as she started to walk, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. He took his turn watching her as she pulled a mug from the cupboards and filled it with the aromatic brew. His nightshirt was once again dropping off her shoulder and her legs stretched bare below the hem, long and shapely, down to her dainty feet, one of which was rubbing her calf lightly. He considered her smooth skin as he watched her. He’d heard her coming down the hall, but hadn’t taken notice of her appearance in the entryway, and it seemed to have paid off. She had watched him move about as he made breakfast and obviously enjoyed it. To be perfectly honest, that naked flesh in front of him was thoroughly tantalizing, as young and smooth as it was, and if she decided she wanted him in the future, even if he did help her along to that decision, he certainly wouldn’t refuse.

It was time for the next move.

“Hungry?” He set the freshly made omelet in front of her as she sat with her mug at the small table. He was skilled as a cook, it wasn’t far from potions after all, and he’d harvested the vegetables from his garden this morning. He had no doubt the food would soften her heart toward him, at least for a short while.

“Thank you for the coffee, Severus, and the food,” she said softly, mixing in the milk she’d just added to her coffee. “I thought you didn’t drink caffeine?”

“I don’t, but Draco does. While I’d like to take credit for being thoughtful, I’m afraid I can’t. This is routine. Draco is an abysmal cook, so instead he runs the errands.”

“Oh,” she said quietly and then dug into her omelet. Severus sat across from her and watched as her eyes closed while she chewed the first bite.

‘Excellent,’ he mused to himself. He continued to watch her eat while he sipped at his tea, peppermint, of course. He couldn’t help but be impressed by her, actually, and the way she was eating. He knew she had to be starving. She’d been here just under twenty-four hours and had eaten very little in that time, as far as he could tell. And though she was eating quickly, she was methodical and polite about it. It showed good breeding and remarkable self-control.

Once she had eaten a good portion of the fluffy egg dish, she placed her fork on the edge of her plate, delicately wiped her lips with a napkin, and then sipped at her coffee again.

Hermione cleared her throat after swallowing her sip, and then made eye contact with the dark man across from her for the first time that morning. While she’d been eating, she had carefully considered the words she would use to tell him about the memory she had regained the night before.

“I remembered something else last night, after you went to bed,” her voice was soft, and yet unhesitant.

She watched his eyes narrow slightly before his expression cleared and then he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh?” he said, his tone light, though she knew he had to be battling an intense curiosity and at least some anxiety. “And?” he added.

“We were in, I don’t know, some sort of infirmary, I think.” She studied his expression closely as a look of confusion was added to the mix.

“We?”

“Mmm,” she agreed, and then sipped at her coffee one more time. She reminded herself quickly to remain calm. It wouldn’t do to rush this. She had the upper hand, and not only did it appear as though he couldn’t think of a time in which they might have been in the infirmary together, it also seemed as though he had no idea the bomb she was about to drop on him. She had remembered his mark, had learned that the enemies they were fighting were named Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and had also gleaned something about the people she cared about. Having had time to relive this memory several times, she had taken note of the others who were there with her. A sea of redheads surrounded her, and they were all gathered around a boy with dark messy hair and round glasses lying in a bed; the older man, Dumbledore, had called the boy Harry. And the man Severus had begrudgingly shaken hands with, Sirius, had made himself known only after transforming himself from the shape of a large shaggy dog.

Yes, she certainly knew a lot more than Severus could possibly imagine after only one memory. So many things were easily implied and deduced from that memory. In fact, she was enjoying watching the man try not to squirm. She could almost hear his brain whirring in a desperate attempt to recall the event she had remembered.

“There was a ministry official, a nervous man, I believe Dumbledore called him Cornelius Fudge.” She fell silent as she sipped at her coffee and observed his response to her words. Would he call her bluff? Would he be able to tell that she really had no idea who these people were aside from what she had recalled?

Severus tried desperately to remain calm. He hadn’t heard anyone refer to Albus in years. He and Draco no longer spoke of what had happened that day on top of the tower, having come to an understanding about those events some six months after arriving. And Fudge, he hadn’t heard of him in years either. What was this moment she spoke of? Could it be just after he had killed Albus? But no, she had said we, so she certainly couldn’t have remembered that. He wouldn’t have been there, and she certainly wouldn’t be so calm right now if she had. He racked his brain, what could she possibly have remembered that would include…oh.

It was one of those moments, one of the many memories from his life for which he despised himself. He prided himself on self-control, of body, of mind, of emotion; it had been drilled into him from the very beginning of his life. He had never quite grasped it, never been able to make his father proud. Under most circumstances, he was the epitome of cool control, but he sometimes reached a point when his emotions got too high, when he battled everything that mere humans felt all at once – anger, pain, frustration, hate, loyalty, but most of all, overwhelming guilt – at that point, he always lost control of himself. He would act rashly, idiotically, and say and do things that he would never normally do.

He recalled this moment now, the very night that the Dark Lord had regained physical form. Potter had gotten off lightly, Crouch had been killed, and Fudge had been just as incompetent as always. He had shown him the Mark and attempted to explain to him what he knew to be true. He had hated himself afterward; he always did when he lost control. He would wallow in guilt and self-loathing, wondering why he could never get it right, why he always fell short of expectations, his father’s, his own. The darkness would always claim him in the days following these events.

That was why he had paled when Albus turned to him. He knew what his Headmaster wanted, what was being requested of him. He also knew that he would need to be incredibly mindful of his actions after this loss of control; the Dark Lord’s circle and demands would be easy to lose himself in while he was in the clutches of the darkness. How easily he could give in to what the Dark Lord wanted.

“Yes, I remember now.” His mouth suddenly felt dry, so he took a large swig of his tea. He closed his eyes for a moment, warring with himself to remain in control.

Hermione had been prepared to take this as far as she could, to force him with the threat of the information she had remembered to get him to tell her more of what he knew, but watching his face, the play of emotions, but mostly that look of regret and defeat that had settled on his features just before he closed his eyes, had changed her mind. This man might be cunning, intelligent, conniving, and dangerous, but he was still a human being. She couldn’t bring herself to torture him when he was already so low. After all, though she knew next to nothing about him, she did know that he truly hadn’t treated her badly, even if he was trying to manipulate her. Instead, she decided to use this quiet moment to do something else. She took a deep swallow of coffee and then made her request.

“May I see it?” Her voice was gentle, non-demanding, and held nothing of pity, disgust, or fear.

Severus had no need to ask what she meant. He was still for a moment before giving in to her request. He unbuttoned the cuff on his left sleeve, rolled up the fabric, and extended his forearm. He closed his eyes again. After a moment, he felt her touch. Her fingers were warm and soft against his skin, and the hairs on his arm rose in response. His muscles tightened automatically, preparing for the searing pain, but none came. No one had ever applied a gentle touch to this mark, and he reveled in the new sensation.

Hermione studied the mark, this skull with a snake, as she gently stroked her fingers over it. It looked, well, frightening, threatening. Still, she assumed there was more to the fear that it seemed to instill in the people in her memories than would be caused by mere physical appearance. Perhaps, it was the actions of those who bore it. Her memory had been so wrought with varying emotions; she hadn’t yet been able to separate the cause of each one. This man before her had so many layers. In her memory she had been intimidated by him, certainly, but she had also felt respect as he confronted that Fudge character. Her first encounter with him here had been difficult and she had been filled with mistrust of him. In the first memory she had gained of him, he had been so intense, so focused. Here however, as he was now, this was something else. This was a lonely, broken, solitary man who held himself together by will alone. Her heart was twisting with sympathy for him, sympathy that she suspected he would abhor.

“Ah good, Severus, you made coffee…what the bloody hell are you doing?” Draco’s yawn had turned quickly into an expression of shock and disgust as he observed Severus, eyes closed, allowing Granger to pet the Dark Mark. No, shock was not an adequate word to describe what he was feeling at this moment.

Hermione jumped back as though she’d been burned, and Severus’ eyes flew open before he calmly began to roll his sleeve back down.

“Finally, you’re awake. Coffee is ready, but I expect that breakfast is stone cold by now.” Severus deposited his mug in the sink and strode from the room, buttoning his cuff and leaving a half-dressed Hermione in the kitchen with a half-naked Draco.