A Sad and Happy Story

Break out the tissue box, lovies, and make sure it's full.

This is SO not where I had imagined this chapter going, by the way. You have no idea how I have agonized over this chapter. Stupid characters, hijacking my plot! Who do they think they are, anyway?

Chapter Nine

Hermione was eternally grateful she did not encounter anyone on her way back to Gryffindor tower, and was even more grateful that she was not currently on speaking terms with anyone who might have interrogated her under normal circumstances. She realized that things were really going her way when she remembered that one of the perks of being head girl was having a private room with private bath—and what she was about to engage in was perfectly private.

She did rather wish that Severus had just taken her there against the door, but maybe there was something to waiting. Besides, she didn’t fully know where he stood, they had spent more of the evening snogging than talking. What talking they had done was rather intense, and upon reflection, she wasn’t sure he was ready for that type of relationship just yet. Hadn’t he shown her most of the evening that he didn’t fully trust her?

But damn, he had felt so good against her—and they had both been dressed.

Dropping her clothes on the way through her bedroom, Hermione went straight to the tub and started the tap, upending a bottle of perfumed bubbles.

While waiting on the water to fill the tub, Hermione dragged a brush through her wild hair. Everything seemed so sensitive right now. The tug of the bristles on her hair reminded her of Severus’ impassioned grip on her when they were kissing.

The tub was full, bubbles practically spilling out the top. She gasped when her skin made contact with the hot water.

***
He hadn’t planned on doing it, hell, he knew it was wrong. But he was so damn worked up, and it really was her fault…

Severus reached to his nightstand and retrieved the mirror he used to spy on the students of his house; a necessary tool of the trade when one was head of Slytherin House. He was quite sure it would work on anyone in the castle, as he had monitored the, er, activities of others in the past.

Tapping it sharply with his wand, he said, “Hermione Granger,” and was instantly struck breathless by what he saw.

There she was, partially obscured by bubbles, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth deliciously wide open, breathing harshly. One hand alternated between teasing her nipples and running her fingernails lightly over her belly, the other hand’s activities were obscured by the bubbles but evidently it was giving her a great deal of pleasure.

That magnificent creature, that darling girl had feelings for him. Bless her boldness. The object of his affection arched her back and moaned; Severus felt his cock twitch. If she kept this up, he might not even have to touch himself. He could not imagine what it would be like to actually be with her.

All the same, she looked close and there was no logical reason for her to be alone. Suspending the mirror directly in his line of sight freed his hands as his legs fell apart. One hand got a firm grip on his cock, the other cupping his balls. He listened to her pants and whimpers as she got closer; he could see her hips rising and falling rhythmically, and kept pace with her.

He was amazed at how long she kept herself on the edge, obviously wanting to prolong her experience—Severus knew that given the chance, he could give her prolonged pleasure, and not at the price of delaying her orgasm. He would worship her body, make her come until she felt positively boneless. He would learn her body and know what brought her to the heights, fast.

He saw her hands were now together, both between her legs. How he would have loved to be that hand, those delicate digits embedded in her sex, bringing her pleasure. When she came, she cried out his name to what she assumed was her empty bathroom, where it resounded off the steamy tile; never would she have guessed that at that exact moment, by that simple action, she had triggered what was likely the most intense climax Severus had ever experienced. His entire body shook with the force of his ejaculation and he was instantly exhausted, falling asleep just after cleaning up after himself and putting the mirror away, not feeling the least bit guilty about his spying. He was the head of Slytherin House, after all.

***

“Oh, Severus,” she sighed, slipping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his shoulder, “I so love you.”

He awoke with a start, bringing the lights up just enough to discern that he was actually alone. It was not a good feeling; he felt… empty. The dream had been so real, and as he slowly returned from dreamland, he noticed the evidence of his second orgasm of the evening. Cleaning himself up, he started thinking.

He was very attracted to Miss Granger—Hermione—damn, it had all happened so fast. He had always had a bit of a soft spot when it came to her. No one, he noticed, went out of their way to be kind to her; her own friends could be exceedingly cruel. Well, he knew just how that felt—it sucked, and he vowed in his sleepy state to always protect this dear young woman whenever it was in his power.

Even if she changed her mind and found a handsome, happy, younger man. He had endured heartache before, and could do so again. What mattered—and he understood it this time—was that -she- be happy. He had not understood this before; that was what stood in the way of his friendship with Lily. He had been unable to accept that she…

His chest tightened; it hurt to feel. He had forgotten. Not that Albus hadn’t hurt him—that was different.

Severus checked the clock. Five thirty. Damn early, especially for one who was used to late night haunts, but not unmanageable and he needed to clear his head anyway. After dressing and making a few brief preparations for the day, he headed out the door to walk the corridors of the castle. The unseasonably beautiful morning outside called to him, however.

He was walking on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest when another figure came into view. It was smaller, feminine. It was her.

“Miss Granger,” he addressed her sharply.

“Good morning, Professor,” she said, smiling coyly, “Is that how it is, then?” she asked with a wink.

“Miss Granger, surely you know—as you know everything—that even the head girl is not permitted on these grounds at this time of day. I wonder why you have decided to disregard this particular rule?”

“Well, Professor, it is a most interesting tale. You see, my friends have all been right arses lately. Normally, that would bother me a lot more, and this would be a walk to relieve stress. As it is, I have a wonderful new development,” she laid careful emphasis on that word, “in my life and my walk is to relieve an entirely different form of stress.”

“Miss Granger, it would be in your best interest to explain to me right now why I should not deduct points from your house and assign you a detention,” Severus snapped.

Hermione could tell he wasn’t playing around, and was hurt and confused at the same time.

“Severus,” she said, approaching him more closely and laying her hand on his arm, “what is going on?”

She looked appraisingly into his eyes. He sighed, revealing nothing. Hermione, resourceful as ever, transfigured a good sized rock into a bench and led him to sit beside her.

“I thought,” she said carefully, “that you had some manner of regard for me; that you wanted to be with me. I know that I want to be with you for—”

“For until some handsome young man with sunshine and daffodils for a personality sweeps you off your feet and you want nothing to do with an irritable, ugly old man.”

“Well, I was going to say for as long as you will have me.”

“It always starts that way,” Severus was vaguely aware that he had stopped making sense, but that didn’t stop him, for some odd reason unfathomable to him, “I have to know,” he continued hoarsely, “I have to know it won’t be like last time…”

“Oh, Severus, is that what you think?” Hermione was caught between grieving with him and desperate feelings of exasperation—why couldn’t he just let himself be loved?

In the early morning light, Hermione could see Severus hang his head, and she could see his shoulders shaking. She reached over to embrace him, but when she pulled him to her, he somehow ended with his head on her knees as he continued to cry.

Hermione supposed he had never had a chance to properly mourn the loss of that particular relationship before—and he really did need to do that before he was ready to be with her—and was desperately trying to come up with something to say that affirmed his expressing emotion but which was also comforting. She ran one hand through his hair, alternately stroking his hair and massaging his scalp while the other hand made what she hoped was soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“Hermione,” he croaked, words muffled by her knees, “what must you think of me? You—you must know I am not—I am not—I am… damaged…”

Hermione’s mind was reeling. She was desperately trying to recall the words of priceless wisdom Mr. Weasley had given Professor Lupin over Bill’s hospital bed… something about young and whole men not necessarily staying that way… but Professor Lupin had not received those words well and she doubted whether Severus would respond differently. They would probably both deny it, but they were very much the same—sad, lonely men with unfortunate pasts which in others’ eyes might make them less lovable, afraid to let the few who would love them in. What -could- she say to him?

“Severus,” she began, carefully, “I have to tell you something. I—I haven’t been perfectly straightforward with you.”

He stilled; it was very clear that she had his full attention now.

“I told you before that I had fancied you for a while. I have, but there’s more than that. I know this sounds a bit premature, but I would not be saying it if it were not true. Look at me,” she helped him sit up and used her sleeve to wipe the tears off his face.

“Severus, I love you.”

He couldn’t breathe. It was as if the weight of the entire world were pressing on his chest.

Sensing his feelings, Hermione guided him until his head was back in her lap, where she held him and comforted him as best she could.

Leaning close over him, she whispered, “I love you, and I will stay with you for as long as you will have me.”

She was surprised to hear him speak.

“That, witch, will be a very long time, or else I am a fool.”

After several more precious minutes, they rose, embraced, and parted company to walk back to the castle separately so as not to arouse suspicion. They both knew very well that now there was no going back.



A/N: *sob*

PS: I know, I know. Wrong Weasley. Too damn many Weasleys.