Strengths and Weaknesses

X-posted at the SSHG Exchange and at the Archive.




Title: Strengths and Weakness
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fanfiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: PWP, Romance
Warnings: Adult content, adult language, dubious consent
Summary: From the recipient’s Prompt #2. When a lab accident sends Hermione Granger to the Hospital Wing, an angry Severus Snape wants to teach his lover a lesson she’ll never forget!
Author’s Notes: Special thanks to melusin_79" for beta-ing this attempt, and for being so thorough! I hope that the recipient of this fic enjoys this ficlet as much as I did in writing it!





For cavalaxis...



Strengths and Weaknesses


The sound of shattering glass filled the air, and the winter birds congregating on the snowy windowsill took flight at the harsh sound. A keening cry filled the air next, followed by a whimper and a choke. Inside the pale, winter lit room, a female figure huddled on the floor, unruly chestnut curls falling over a tear-stained face. The woman, Hermione Granger, aged twenty-seven, cradled her right hand in her left and glanced about for her wand. Another explosion, and she knew that her wand was surely blown across the room and lost amongst the menagerie of glass, pieces of cauldron and viscous potion. For all she knew, her vinewood wand was melting in the acid that had manifested and caused the cauldron to explode.

"A-accio…” Hermione coughed and was quickly confronted by her wand floating, unscathed, just before her face.

She had been lucky, having ducked behind the stone dais that served as a lectern for the room in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was her own room, the one that she had claimed three years before when she had been appointed as Horace Slughorn's replacement. No one had used the room in decades, being located in a generally unused wing of the castle. It was her retreat and her laboratory: warded, protected and very much like the Room of Requirement. Only one other person knew the exact location of the room, and that person came bursting into the chamber, face as dark as a storm head.

"What in the seven hells is this!” the voice exclaimed, but Hermione did not look up. Instead, she began to heal the oozing gash in her right palm, her left hand shaking as she held her wand. She had noticed that her coughing had brought blood up from some internal wound and was dripping off her chin, but Hermione Granger knew she could manage.

Pounding boots moved closer, and Hermione could smell a mixture of wood smoke and sandalwood wafting from the figure at her side. Her hands were pulled outward and away from her body, causing her to wince from a stabbing pain in her left side. The hands that held her palms upward were larger than hers, calloused from years of use, and beautiful to her eyes.

"Severus… I… I'm fine, just let me get this mess cleaned up and I'll…” She trailed off, her voice scratchy from the fumes she had inhaled just before the explosion.

"You are not fine, Hermione. Sit there and I'll take care of this. Then, you're going to the Hospital Wing.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but began coughing violently instead, blood filling her mouth and making her retch. She leaned back against the wall behind the lectern, glad that she had managed to duck before the flying glass had cut her even more badly. She could hear Severus Snape, Professor of DADA, cleaning up the glass, bottling some of the remaining potion splattered on the worktable, floor and walls, cursing under his breath as he viewed the smouldering pit where the majority of the cauldron's scraps had burnt down into the stone floor. He Charmed the windows open to siphon out the acrid scent of burnt wood, stone, glass and clothing from the room, the stench being too powerful for the strongest of freshening Charms.

Severus returned to Hermione's side, watching her body convulse as she coughed, noticing that her silly white Muggle lab coat was tinged red just under her left arm. He cursed and cast about for something to create a Portkey. Finding a bent silver ladle and placing it atop the stone lectern, Severus uttered the appropriate spell and gathered the shivering Hermione Granger into his arms. She was by no means light, but she was small and soft in his arms. She was shorter by a head compared to his height, her hair still as unmanageable as when she had been a schoolgirl, but shorter, giving a mature aspect to her still girlish face. He shifted Hermione's weight in his arms to grab the ladle. With a quick breath, Severus felt the pull and let himself and the woman in his arms be taken into a swirl of magic.

* * *




When Hermione awoke, it was to find an angry, dark face hovering at her right side. It was dark outside the large windows, and only the lamp on the bedside table lit Severus' face. Screens surrounded the bed. Hermione sat up suddenly, out of sorts and discomfited by Severus' expression.

"Severus?”

"What were you thinking, Hermione? For Merlin's sake, the variables and ingredients of the concoction you were brewing could have blown up the whole damn castle, not just a cauldron and some phials. Did you learn nothing at all in your years here?” he growled, the furrow between his brows deepening to the point that it seemed like the deepest, darkest chasm into Severus Snape's mind.

Hermione scowled at Severus' intonation at the word ‘concoction' and turned her eyes quickly away. It galled her, absolutely galled her, to hear Severus speak of her abilities as if she were still a first-year. She was a Potions mistress, for Merlin's sake; she had surpassed Severus by becoming the youngest in Wizarding history!

"You should have placed a ward up to prevent you from getting a piece of the cauldron lodged in your lung when it exploded. You should have had a fucking window open at the very least or a venting spell at best. Poppy had to reconstruct your lungs! You breathed in the toxin; so much that it was melting your lungs slowly from the inside out. If it had not been for the ward we placed on the lab to alert me of an explosion, you would have died a slow and painful death!”

Hermione pulled her knees up under her chin and hugged her legs. She knew what Severus was saying was true, but she knew she could have dealt with it. She had been in the process of healing herself when Severus had come bursting into the makeshift lab. Hermione did not need Severus, of all people, to deride her for the mistakes she knew she had made and would, and could, eventually remedy.

"Look at me, Hermione. I want to see your eyes and know that you understand what I am saying!”

Hermione gritted her teeth and turned her head to meet Severus' onyx eyes.

"I understand you, Severus. Do not treat me like some petulant child!” she breathed malevolently, her lips trembling in her ire.

"I don't think you do understand, Hermione. What you did was careless, and nothing short of idiotic. And for what? The gruel that I scooped up from the wreckage was useless… Unless you intended to burn a hole from the top turret of the castle down to the lowest dungeons.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She knew, now, that she could not use fluxweed as a substitute for true pennyroyal and she would have to find another mint to use….

"You are not listening to me, are you?”

Hermione's light eyes swivelled toward the man sitting on a low stool to her right. She wanted to slap that sour look from his pallid face.

"It was an experiment, Severus, an experiment. Surely you remember what that is?” she whispered, her arms trembling even though she had them wrapped around her folded legs.

Severus sat back slightly on his stool, his lip curled in a silent snarl. His eyes glittered in the lamplight, and Hermione's instinct flashed ‘danger'. She had only sensed danger from Severus once before… long ago when their world was darkened by the existence of one of the most abominable wizards the world had ever known. But that time was gone, and Hermione knew Severus Snape as someone who only flirted with danger, but no longer lived it. She knew she had probably said too much, but she could not swallow her words back inside now.

"A foolhardy endeavour. If I had known you were suicidal, I would have had someone from St. Mungo's take you and place you next to some of your former classmates in that padded ward they now haunt,” he hissed.

Hermione sat up straighter, her arms no longer holding her legs. The words cut her deeper than the glass or bits of sharp silver cauldron from the explosion. She turned slightly in her narrow hospital cot, and as quick as a striking snake, slapped Severus Snape as hard as she could, knocking him from his seat and onto the stone floor. With no thought of her wand, Hermione was on her feet, her plain hospital gown falling to her ankles. She stood over the dark man, who was rubbing his jaw and sheepishly casting glances up at the witch standing over him.

Mentions of Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Charlie Weasley and their permanent interment at St. Mungo's were taboo, as were mentions of Ronald Weasley and his apparent inadequacies as Hermione's former lover. It was no secret that Hermione felt responsible for the torture and subsequent madness of her friends at St. Mungo's, especially Neville Longbottom, who was now in the same ward as his parents, Confounded to the point of madness during one of many skirmishes during the War.

Severus knew he had scraped the bottom of the barrel for a retort painful enough to make Hermione Granger lash out physically. But it did not make everything all right again; no amount of slapping, hitting and screaming would make her feel less stung at Severus' attempts at chastisement.

Hermione, mastering her anger only slightly, sat on the edge of her bed again as Severus climbed to his feet. She did not look at him, did not acknowledge him, and that was perhaps the truest blow of all. Severus sat down again on the stool, his eyes searching her face, but his own face not softening in apology or reconciliation.

"You are to stay the night here. Madame Pomfrey's orders. I will tend to your lab—”

"No.”

Her simple one syllable retort was laced with malice, and Severus took pause.

"No?”

"No. I do not want you poking about my private lab. I can tend to it later.”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, and it was then that Hermione realized he was not dressed in his customary robes, but a simple white shirt and soft black trousers. The shirtsleeves were rolled up his forearms and a tinge of blood, possibly hers, stained part of his left sleeve. The faint indentation of where the Dark Mark used to be was barely visible in the lamplight, but Hermione did not want to think about that now.

"I do not ‘poke about,' Hermione.”

"I just don't want you in there.”

She missed the wince that crossed Severus' face.

"Suit yourself. But don't expect the elves to help you either. I told them not to aid you from now on.”

"Why?” Hermione breathed, her eyes meeting his.

"I warned them that the lab, your lab in particular, could be dangerous to them… and anyone else who might wander inside. You will probably have a hard time locating it tomorrow since the elves have the predilection to ward and seal off any rooms that a student or professor might accidentally wander into and possibly lose their lives.”

Hermione felt her hand rise again, and the force behind it seemed doubly strong compared to the previous strike. And as her hand flew, she cursed under breath, but her hand did not fly far and the anticipatory sting of her palm striking Severus' hard, and slightly grubby, unshaven cheek did not come. Instead, her wrist was crushed in a vice-like grip as Severus held Hermione's hand just inches from its destination, as if he were simply plucking her hand out of the air. Hermione winced and retaliated, her other hand flying. It, too, was caught and Hermione was trapped.

The sudden shift of weight, the sound of the stool clattering to the floor and the sensation of the bed pressing into her back, had Hermione breathless. Severus leaned over her, pinning her arms to the bed on either side of her body. She could feel the weight of her head dangling over the side of the narrow bed and she felt dizzy. With a wrench, her body was pulled up and repositioned so that she lay correctly on the bed. However, the addition of Severus' weight on top of her prone body was not exactly comfortable. Hermione had pressed her eyes shut just after her attempt at striking Severus' surly countenance, but as she felt him shift above her, his bony knees forcing her own apart, she bit down on her plump lower lip and opened her eyes. Resisting, Hermione struggled to free her arms, which were still pinned on either side of her head. When her attempts proved futile, Hermione jerked her legs, pressing her knees together with all her strength, ignoring the pain of Severus' knees digging into her lower thighs.

"Get… off… me!” she panted, thrashing her head as she felt her anger begin to evolve into something akin to mania or panic. It was a familiar feeling, panic, but it was not the irrational panic one has when faced with unfathomable fear. It was like mania, a sudden rush of adrenaline, but with no irrational elation. It was a feeling Hermione could only remember having years before when the War was at its worst and she was at her darkest.

With a sudden rush of blood to her brain, the reptilian brain, the seat of aggression and instinct, switched on. Magic crackled across her skin, and Hermione felt Severus' grip tighten on her wrists as her innate magic stung him at every point that he was touching her.

Hermione grunted as the momentary lapse of her consciousness allowed Severus to fit himself between her thighs. She gritted her teeth. As he lifted himself to look down into her reddened face, he was smirking…the bastard was smirking.

"I will not, and you will not, move me. You will not strike me. I have never struck you,” he purred in a menacing whisper, his eyes shimmering with restraint.

Refusing to look too deeply into his eyes, Hermione bucked her body, biting her tongue in the process and immediately tasting the coppery tang of blood. It was that taste that brought her back to herself; why she was fighting, why she was angry.

"Your… your words stung enough…” she breathed, the bloody flavour becoming less and less poignant.

"I'm sure.”

Hermione met his eyes; the restraint still evident in those onyx orbs, a light moving somewhere deep inside. He was still angry… So was she.

"You are hurting me.”

"Get over it.”

"Get off me,” she uttered in a mechanical monotone.

"No.”

"I'm not playing around, Severus,” Hermione whispered, her eyes flashing in the lamp light from the bedside table.

"Neither am I.”

Hermione huffed out a breath; it was a deadlock then. She wanted Severus to leave her alone, leave her to her own thoughts and to tend to her own hurt pride. And Severus only wanted to rake her over the coals and remind her time and again that she had erred. Why did he do this to her? Hermione supposed it was just Severus' way of asserting his so-called ‘dominance' over her. Oh, she had learned early on that Severus would never concede defeat in any manner nor would he ever play nice just to make her feel better. He was acerbic, confident and at times cruel when it came to academics, study, experimentation and theory. He had never been afraid to tell her in no uncertain terms that she was wrong.

"Really, Severus, you are hurting me,” Hermione whispered, the pain from his knees slowly spreading her thighs bringing unbidden tears to her eyes.

"Shall I reiterate, Hermione? Get over it,” he mocked, his eyes clouding slightly as he finally insinuated his hips against hers.

"Why are you doing this, eh?” Hermione snarled suddenly as the intimate position of his hips against hers made the strange form of panic rise up in her again. "To teach me a lesson?”

Severus bared his crooked, wicked teeth in a feral smile, and with no preamble whatsoever, bucked his hips against hers. Hermione grunted involuntarily, her eyes flashing a mixture of anger and fear.

"A lesson?” he purred. "Perhaps.”

Hermione licked her lips nervously. "You are no longer my professor, and you have no right…” she trailed off as Severus bucked again, harder this time so that the hospital cot's metal feet scraped the stone floor.

"I have every right!” he growled, his ebony hair swinging about his sallow cheeks, brushing Hermione's chin.

Hermione stiffened and cast her eyes about. As far as she knew they were alone; there were screens around the bed and the only light came from the lamp by the bed. All the noise of their struggle, their raised voices earlier, had not brought Madame Pomfrey out to investigate. She could not reach her wand since her hands were immobilized by Severus' unusually strong grip, and even if she were able to summon her wand… then what? Stun him? Hex him? Hermione's breath became laboured, her chest rising against the fabric of the gown twisted about her upper body in an uncomfortable wrench of cotton and threads.

"I did not ask you to help me, or to even bother to put wards on the lab. It is my lab! I knew what I was doing. I knew the risk and I was handling it when you burst in like a hysterical chi—”

Hermione's lips moved; but her voice was stoppered as Severus' lips moulded over her mouth in a violent and silencing kiss. She forced her eyes to stay open, seeing only Severus' dark brow, and whined loudly from the back of her throat. She swore to herself that if Severus' lips or tongue entered her mouth, she would bite them off and worry about the consequences later. But he kissed her soundly and slowly pulled back, putting more weight upon her sore wrists.

"I saved your life.”

Her brow furrowed at Severus' soft words, words tinged with a breathlessness that made them all the more poignant. She had heard those words somewhere and at some time before, but the exact memory was lost inside the ether of her brain.

He leaned closer again, his lips running over her left cheek, and Hermione allowed herself to shut her eyes. Severus had not released her hands, and she knew he wouldn't until he was sure she would not fight him. But the fight was not out of her yet, and would not be for some time. Hermione was not one to forgive or forget very quickly. She was insulted, horribly, and it did not matter that Severus had kissed her, or that she could feel his hardening flesh against her core.

"I was fine… I was managing…” she growled, turning her face away so quickly that Severus' nibbling lips were now busy kissing her hair.

Severus sighed into her hair and into the pillow beneath. It was a sound of exasperation and frustration.

"You were not.”

Hermione growled aloud and bucked her hips this time, startling Severus so that his grip was literally crushing the tiny bones in her wrist. Another Stinging Hex rippled through her body, nearly dislodging the man, causing him to instinctively press his weight down harder to maintain his dominance.

"I swear by Hades I will hex you, Hermione Granger, if you do that again!” he thundered, his nose only a centimetre from her cheek.

"Do it! Just get the hell off me!” She yelped as the pain in her wrists was beginning to cloud her vision and her mind.

"No! Not until you listen to me, Granger. Not until you understand what I…” he began strongly then trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if he no longer had the strength or the will to continue.

Hermione's breath caught as Severus' hands released her wrists and he moved to kneel between her thighs. The movement startled her, but before she could open her mouth to deride him again, she squeaked in shock as Severus grabbed her hospital gown with both hands and rent the fabric apart, the fabric tearing from hem to collar. The momentary freedom of Severus' grip allowed Hermione to sit up, her hands upraised to push at Severus, but went no further as she suddenly found herself exposed, nude below the dark thunderhead that was Severus Snape and his anger.

With one large hand, Severus pushed Hermione down onto the bed, his fingers curling around the curve of her right shoulder, the tips of his fingers digging into her shoulder blade, causing her to cry out. With his free hand, Severus ripped at his clothing, jerking off buttons so that they pinged to the floor until his chest, wide and pale, was exposed to her wide-eyed fear. Another bit of Severus' exposed flesh brought about a mixture of fear and wonder from Hermione. He was panting, his lips trembling as he held her down with one iron-handed grip and held his weeping, hard cock with the other.

"What are you…? ” Hermione began breathlessly, and then swallowed thickly as Severus stroked himself once and then moved to push his trousers down further from his narrow hips, not bothering to kick off his boots.

His eyes were strange and alien to Hermione, damp but burning with a hellish fire from deep inside. Shuffling on the bed so that the springs protested at his weight, Severus lay against her again, his scalding flesh resting against the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

Hermione's blood was boiling, but not so much from anger any longer. It had been his eyes… and his body… and his reaction to her anger that had caused the shift in mood.

Releasing his bruising grip from her shoulder, he gathered her effortlessly into his arms, pressing kisses into her neck. Hermione's fists were clenched and pinned to her sides in his embrace, but slowly, ever so slowly, as the fire of his kisses reached her muddled brain, her fists opened and her right hand slid around his ribs to rest on his back under his ruined shirt. He was shaking, but from what, Hermione simply could not deduce.

When their lips met, she sighed, and finally, the anger began to melt, slowly. As he hummed into their kiss, one hand disengaged from his embrace and moved between their hot and sweaty bodies. Their anger had literally warmed them from within, but the fire was changing, burning uncontrollably from something akin to anger, but much different. Hermione's hips jerked as Severus' fingers found her centre, the foreign touch causing her whole body to tighten and her core to dampen with anticipation. A flick of a pad of his finger caused Hermione to writhe and gasp, breaking the hush of the Hospital Wing. A half-formed thought that they might be caught passed through her mind and disappeared like a wisp of smoke. It did not matter, not as Severus kissed her shoulder and moved against her with overwhelming need and surprising tenderness.

"Severus… ” Hermione whispered as he kissed her jaw and moved so that she could feel him just at her entrance, his member pulsing against her most sensitive of flesh.

"A lesson… Granger,” he breathed as he raised himself slightly above her, his hair curtaining his stony face in shadow.

"Wha— ?” she began, but whimpered as he thrust inside.

Her hands found the ruined fabric of his shirt at the shoulders, and her fingernails dug in, ripping more of the fabric and the skin underneath. His intrusion was exquisitely painful, stretching her flesh and her nerves. Severus gritted his teeth as he fell into a rhythm, grasping her hips to keep her from ever trying to pull away.

"A lesson of who is right,” he rasped, "and who is wrong.”

Hermione grunted as he pounded against the walls of her womb. She tried to lift her upper body, but the fabric of his shirt ripped free from his shoulders, and Hermione was left with fistfuls of white cotton. She tried to pull her hips away, anything to keep the humming sensations in her body from overtaking her. She would not surrender to him, not when he was the one who was in the wrong. But her body was betraying her, and Hermione knew that she had never had much control over it when her mind was so set on one matter or another. Severus Snape, and only Severus Snape, had ever been able to make her lose control of her mental faculties. He was unlike any man she had ever had or would ever know. That was why now, with his belief that he was right and she was wrong, Hermione fought to keep control and not lose herself in his power to confound her mind by using her body against her.

It was not working.

Dropping the pieces of Severus' shirt on either side of the narrow cot, Hermione could feel her abdomen tightening as Severus' angle shifted and the sensation sent sparks of light shooting behind her eyelids. Her voice trembled in throaty pants, and she could feel sweat gathering between the cot and the small of her back. She was losing, and slowly. It did not matter.

"Open your eyes, Granger,” Severus barked.

Hermione winced as the thrusts became more forceful and demanding. Her eyes flickered, and her vision was full of his face, his hair and the sweat rolling from his brow and dripping from the end of his crooked, distinct nose.

"The lesson is this…” he began, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, gathering the fleshy globes into his elegant and exacting hands. With hard and stinging pinches, Hermione's eyes dilated and her attention was set on his thin lips absolutely. "I am no saviour, no hero, but I would save you from anything…”

Beads of sweat fell onto her chest, her chin, her lips and she could taste him. He tasted of salt, of potions, of man and of something intrinsically Severus Snape. She knew his taste, and she yearned for it.

"Only you… from even yourself… ”

Hermione fell over a cliff; she was hurtling toward the bottom, and the thrill and the rush of the fall made her cry out for him. He could only respond with a whimper, suddenly losing his rhythm, pulling free of her and nearly tumbling over the foot of the cot. Catching himself, Severus gazed down at his quarry and a lopsided smirk graced his lips. The lesson was far from over.

Hermione, recovering enough to miss the familiar warmth and weight of the man who was now kneeling at the foot of the bed, opened her eyes, scowling. The words he had uttered were just beginning to sink into her muddled brain, and the anger was beginning to seep in again. She did not need him to save her; she did not need anyone to save her. It was a lesson she had learned during the War; she knew she had only herself on which to depend and only herself to thank for her survival. How dare Severus Snape try to play the hero?

"Bastard…” she panted, instinctively closing her knees and moving her arms to hide her bared breasts.

"Untrue, Granger. Why resort to petty names? Can't the brightest witch of the age think of something more witty?” he cooed, moving to land on his hands and knees over her, his thick, pitch-black hair falling about his surly face. He was radiating fire, and neither his resolve nor his cock had waned.

Hermione did not answer, but began moving to slip from beneath Severus, to her wand and eventually away from him. But again, her plans were thwarted as he took hold of her by the upper arms, taking advantage of her enraptured state and the seeming boneless malleability of her supple body. With a twist and a grunt, Severus manoeuvred Hermione upon the groaning cot so that he held her against him, her back and torn gown pressed against his sweaty chest. Pushing her forward with a rough motion, Hermione found herself in the most vulnerable position yet. She scrambled to crawl away, but Severus caught her hair and tugged just hard enough to make her freeze. He would not hurt her so maliciously, but he would use enough force to guide her so that she would not hurt herself.

"Now, Granger, the lesson is about to continue, and you will listen to what I have to say.”

Hermione took a cleansing breath, aware that Severus was slowly pushing the back of the useless gown aside so that her skin met his, her bare buttocks moulding into his hips and onto the stiff protuberant flesh twitching between them. His breath was ragged against the shell of her left ear, and he startled her by licking the patch of sensitized skin just below her ear lobe. Pushing her hair to the other side, Severus repeated the action, his hands running down her sides as he leaned over her to grasp the notch of her hips and pull her closer, impossibly closer. Pulling back slightly, Severus entered her again, gently. Unwillingly, Hermione groaned, filled again.

"As I said,” he began, thrusting once, "only you… only you, Hermione.”

Hermione arched her back as he entered her again, sliding inside as if it were the only place he had ever belonged. His words echoed in her ears, in the large room, causing even the flame of the lamp to flicker, so honest and so powerful were they. And Hermione's mind could only form one word, one word that would eventually travel to her swollen lips.

"Why?”

Severus pulled her backward so that she was almost perched upon his lap as he thrust upward, holding her so close to his body she could feel the violent tattoo of his heart against her back.

"Why?”

He did not answer; he had heard clearly, but said not a word. Instead, he demonstrated the best he could by kissing her neck, by caressing her tender breasts, by biting into her shoulder and licking the tender mark until it only tingled. Hermione could only hold onto the band-like arms about her torso, falling to meet his thrusts, relishing the sound of their flesh meeting and parting.

Turning her head, she met his lips in an awkward and brief kiss, sucking on his lower lip. They moved slowly; Severus pulling away, falling to the cot in near exhaustion, his eyes urging her to continue their lesson, their argument. Hermione straddled his narrow hips and continued, savouring the sight of Severus' cock sliding into her body. He was beautiful to her; he always had been so despite what so many people said or thought. And her anger slipped away again, lost in the maelstrom of her feelings.

"Hermione… ” Severus whispered, a hand caressing her cheek as she rose and fell upon him, eyes shimmering in the lamplight.

Quickening her pace, Hermione met his gaze and tauntingly pinched his flat, right nipple. Severus gasped, and the sour scowl returned to his face where before he had expressed only passion and pleasure. Grasping her hips, he thrust upward causing Hermione to pinch harder.

"You… you didn't answer my question, Snape.”

Severus snarled and pulled her down to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, using the leverage to thrust upward into her soft form.

"You are the one who is wrong, Granger, and I don't have to answer to you!”

Hermione was beginning to feel wrung out, the combination of the intense coupling and the ebb and flow of her anger leaving her exhausted. She tried, with the last of her available energy, to wriggle free of Severus' hold, to no avail. Hermione was not one to give up, no matter the situation or the odds, so she opened her mouth and bit down into Severus' chest. Apparently, Severus' constraint snapped, and Hermione relinquished her hold when Severus pulled insistently on the hair at the back of her head. Two things seemed to happen at once, after which Hermione found herself on her back, flattened to the bed. First, Severus, by some manner of astonishing speed and strength, had flipped them around on the bed, he on top and in control. And secondly, he thrust and spilled himself inside her, all the while roaring in his completion and frustration. He collapsed upon her, taking her again in his arms.

"I…I don't want to fight you anymore, Granger,” he panted into her ear, his cock twitching inside her and shrinking so that he was no longer joined to her in the most intimate manner.

Hermione sighed heavily. "Conceding defeat, Snape?”

Severus said nothing for a few moments and then squeezed her painfully. "No, you insufferable witch, I am not! Must everything be spelled out for you?” he spat, not bothering to move, but to speak into her hair.

"Yes, Severus… Spell it out for me.”

Severus, again, said nothing, disengaging his embrace and pushing her boneless body to one side of the cot so that he could lie beside her, his trousers about his booted ankles, only the rolled cuffs of his torn shirt still attached to his upper body.

"Do you realize that I thought you were going to die?”

Hermione shut her weary eyes. So, this was it?

"I, foolishly, thought for a moment that I would lose you.”

Tears, exhausted, rueful tears were drowning her eyes behind their lids.

"I thought that if I had got to you sooner that you would not have to die or even have to lie here in this damned uncomfortable cot. I wanted you back in our bed — no Pomfrey flitting about, no cot springs in my arse, just our wide, soft bed in the privacy of our room… You in something more attractive than a hospital gown…”

The tears escaped from the corners of Hermione's eyes, and she had no energy to wipe them away.

"You and your experiments. Never a thought for your own safety… Crusading for the betterment of humankind. And I thought Potter had a martyr complex.”

Hermione laughed and opened her eyes to find his gazing at her with a fire that had somehow been brought under control. Fear had banked the fire, his fear of losing her. They had survived the War; he had redeemed himself, she had found her life mate, and they loved each other desperately.

"Severus…” she whispered.

"You are such a Gryffindor, Granger, sometimes it makes me retch,” Severus said with such sarcasm, that if she had had the energy, Hermione would have hit him. But as it was, Hermione could only stare at him and smile.

"And you are such a control freak.”

"One of my more endearing qualities.”

She snorted. "You picked the wrong woman to try and control, Snape.”

"So I have, but that does not excuse the fact that…”

Hermione sighed and threw a weak arm over her eyes, smacking her lover in the head in the progress.

"Ouch, enough!

"Enough of your lording over me, Snape. I appreciate the concern, but you need to know when to trust me,” she retorted, not bothering to move her fingers from burying themselves in his damp and thick hair.

"Trust… new concept for me,” he muttered.

"Shut up."

Severus chuckled softly, kicking off his trousers and boots, using his now bare feet to manoeuvre the forgotten cot blanket over them. He had half a mind to Charm the cot wider or Transfigure it into a true bed, but he could not think to Charm the lamp out. And slowly, with familiar practice and habit, Severus folded himself around the woman he loved. He would never say in words that he loved her nor would he admit that his reaction to her accident had been a bit overblown. Severus Snape was, and always would be, a man who admitted to no weakness, but he knew, in his deepest and perhaps darkest of hearts, that his greatest weakness and greatest strength lay by his side. And so they slept, their clothes torn, their bodies and brains shutting down into a contented sleep.



~Fin