Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from books and/or movies is J K Rowling's. The rest is mine.
Rating: R for consensual sex between adults
Mistletoe and Wine by Claudia
A response to the WIKTT mistletoe challenge
The Yule Ball in the Great Hall was in full swing, and Hermione had only left the party to use the bathroom around the corner. She stood in the door to the Great Hall, but she couldn't move more than a step forward or backward. Either people could leave the room without being bothered and were locked in a spell only upon entering, or the pranksters had only cast the spell after she had left the Great Hall. Of course, she found a mistletoe above the door.
"Very funny," she muttered, and waved at her friends. Ron shrugged, so they obviously didn't have anything to do with this. He raised his glass to her, then turned back to talk to Harry - who at least had the decency to cast her a sympathetic glance - and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There was nothing to be done at the moment.
The mistletoe prank was one of the school's oldest, and so far in her seven years at Hogwarts, Hermione had managed to avoid it. She sighed. The only thing she could do was wait for the next person to enter the Great Hall. They would have to kiss in order to be released from the locking spell. Let's just hope it's not Filch, Hermione thought, leaning against the doorjamb.
"Is there a reason to your blocking the way?
Hermione turned around and faced Severus Snape.
Had she put him on her list of un-kissable people?
She feared not. Her heart sank. How very funny. They would have to stand here until the spell wore off - which wouldn't happen anytime soon, if she remembered correctly. Instead of an answer, she pointed at the mistletoe above them.
"Very funny," Snape commented. He, too, had managed to avoid the prank successfully so far.
They both looked from each other into the Great Hall. It was magnificently decorated, as always, trees, candles, snow, and all. Dumbledore had enchanted instruments to play by themselves, and people were dancing, and talking, and drinking, and generally having a good time, celebrating Christmas and the start of the holidays. The school would be mostly deserted at the same time the next day.
Unavoidably, people started to notice the pair caught in the mistletoe spell. They turned toward them, telling others, of course. A few dared to laugh at the odd pair, some couldn't quite settle with one expression, but most students looked shocked or horrified.
Dumbledore detached himself from the crowd, goblet of wine in hand, cheeks reddened by spirit and merriment.
"Albus," Severus said.
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Kiss him already!" a voice cried audaciously.
Hermione looked from the crowd to her Potions teacher. He was a brilliant if horrible man. He ridiculed her and everyone dear to her. How could she kiss a man who used every chance he got to make her life miserable?
"We don't have any choice, Granger," Snape said, surprisingly calm.
"I suppose not," Hermione managed. He was right, of course, and the idea of spending a little eternity here with him was less appealing than actually kissing him - briefly, as if he were an unloved relative.
Both of them were aware of everyone's gazes being settled on them. Hermione felt the colour rising high in her cheeks.
Snape took a step towards her, grabbing her bare shoulders. His grip was firm and warm, but considerate. It was and yet wasn't an intimate touch. She closed her eyes almost automatically as he lowered his face to hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, and yet she tilted her head towards him. The more she cooperated, the faster this would be over.
"Does the kiss work if it's neither out of love nor of friendship?" she whispered when his lips were millimetres away from her own.
"Let's hope for the best," he returned.
Then Snape kissed her.
The touch was gentle, almost nonexistent, very soft, and it sent electric jolts through her body. His hair brushed over her skin, and his scent filled her nostrils. He smelled warm and inviting. The jolts reached her lower abdomen. Before she could dwell on it any longer, or even return the kiss, it was over, and he released her from his warm grip. The crowd was cheering as he finally stepped into the Great Hall.
"Come in, or do you want to spend all night there, you silly girl?" he mocked her.
Hermione knew that it would have been better to laugh it off and join the cheering crowd. Although Snape had not bristled at kissing her, quite on the contrary, she was considered the hero of the hour - not because she had kissed the Old Bat, but because she had not been a spoilsport. Yet, she had summoned her cloak, scarf, and all, and had withdrawn to the rooftop cloister adjacent to the library. Few came here, and she enjoyed the solitude of the wintry garden. Contrary to the ceiling in the Great Hall, the sky was clear and starry. It already was a cold night.
She watched her breath evaporate into thin air in small clouds, and inhaled the crisp air deeply. She didn't feel like the hero of the hour. The kiss had stirred something awake in her, a feeling that she had ignored or suppressed or not acknowledged for what it was; but now it had washed over her in all its power.
It was no use denying that the Potions Master was strangely sexy. It was his darkness, she supposed, that was so attracting about him, and maybe his eyes. He had changed in the past years, he seemed to take better care of himself, for whatever reason. His hair and teeth seemed healthier, and he had put on weight, which made his face appear less haggard.
Again, a wave of embarrassment washed over her when she remembered the pleasure she had felt at his kiss. The warmth that had spread between her legs, the rush of adrenaline and whatever else hormones were involved.
"It was mere desire, Granger," she muttered to herself. That was it. Desire, and nothing more. Hormones.
She put on her woollen gloves. It was getting colder. The snow in the court was glittering in the milky light of the moon, and no sound could be heard up here. She was far away from the frolicking crowd in the Great Hall. Just what she needed for a while.
But the damage was done. She should have entered the Great Hall with Snape. Now everybody thought that she was the hero of the hour who took everything too serious. But that was the way she was made. And she wasn't the type to boast with having kissed Snape. If anything, this whole affair had done nothing but wreaked havoc on her carefully ordered world.
And yet, it had only been a kiss. An empty one, exchanged for the sole purpose of shaking off a silly spell. Everyone had had to kiss somebody else in order to shake it off. She hadn't been the first one, and she certainly wouldn't be the last one.
A sound of soft footfall woke her from her reverie. She turned, but in the shadow of the cloister could only see a tall dark figure moving towards her. His steps were accompanied by the soft tingling sound of wineglasses.
"Ah, there you are." It was - quite unmistakeably - Snape's voice. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Hermione raised her chin. "What if I did?" She felt strangely brave.
"Then I would leave instantly," Snape replied. "But I was hoping to share this with you," he continued, putting the glasses on the low wall that separated the cloister from the garden. From the depth of his robes he produced a bottle of red wine.
"Why would you do that?" Hermione challenged him.
He opened the bottle with a quick tap of his wand. "As I said, I wanted to share the silence up here with you."
"Why me?" Hermione watched him pour her a glass.
"Because you are not the kind to delight in the usual Christmas follies - spiked eggnog, cursed candy canes, Peeves' singing, you know what I mean."
Despite herself, Hermione laughed, accepting the glass Snape was passing her. "I prefer Christmas calm and festive," she said, opening up to Snape. She just hoped he didn't lure her into a false sense of security just to deduct a thousand house-points for accepting the wine.
They touched glasses, and without a toast, sipped at the wine. It was a heavy, silken red with a lovely texture and bouquet.
Thus, they shared the silence for a while.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione turned towards her teacher. She hadn't realised how close he had come. A wave of excitement rushed through her.
"I would like to kiss you again."
It was a real kiss this time. He took the glass of wine from her and put it on the wall, next to his. Then he cupped her face in his hands, and looked at her long before he lowered his lips to hers. Her cheeks were cold, but they had a lovely tinge of red. Just like the first time, the force of the contact was almost overwhelming, and pleasure spread in her as soon as their lips met. He was gentle, not forcing her to do anything she didn't want.
"Me too," she said when they separated. Hermione gathered her courage and touched the wizard, reached out to embrace him. He encouraged her by drawing her closer to him, into the warmth of his greatcoat. She yielded gladly when he forced her lips open and his tongue slipped between her teeth to explore. He tasted deliciously of wine, and of something that was uniquely him. She returned the gesture, exploring, duelling playfully with his tongue.
Both of them smiled as they separated, each of them in their own way. While Hermione had a ready smile, Snape's was more guarded at first glance. Only if you looked him close in the eye you could see it in all its beauty. How kind his eyes could be, Hermione thought.
"Are you seducing me?" Hermione asked playfully.
"Only if you want to be seduced," Snape replied softly. The clouds of his words brushed gently over her skin.
She felt oddly comfortable in the warmth of his body. He just held her, did nothing to urge her into a decision. This was not seduction as she had imagined it. Snape was far too gentle, she always had had the impression of seduction being more aggressive. That it was something physical desire forced you to do, in the absence of love. A classic one-night-stand.
Hermione wasn't sure if that was what she wanted for Christmas. It wasn't Christmas yet, there were three more nights to go, and yet-
She pulled free from his arms, and he let her go. All playfulness was gone. "I have an odd feeling about this," she eventually said, although she had no idea what her words meant. They were merely the expression of a feeling she didn't know. It was like a dark cloud inside her chest, like a distant memory. There was no way for her to articulate this any better. Her eyes settled on the blue hues that separated Snape from the shadows.
He produced something small from some other hidden pocket. When he opened his hand, she saw the tiny Time-Turner in his palm. It looked even smaller than she remembered it. "It is your choice, Miss Granger," he said, holding the device out for her.
It was very tempting.
"But let me say something first," Snape interrupted her thoughts. She met his dark eyes. "I know what I am - and I am in your debt for what happened tonight - including this," he gestured vaguely at the wine and the words that had long since drifted away. "Forgive."
Hermione stared at him. Was he apologising? She considered everything that had happened. As embarrassing as everything had been, including this little scene, there was something at the base of it that was undeniably there, and powerful. There was no use in turning back time, because it would still be there. And it was more than mere sexual attraction or a silly schoolgirl crush.
She closed his fingers around the tiny hourglass in his palm. "There is nothing to forgive," she said, pushing his fist away from her. Hermione met his eyes. Words were on Snape's lips, but she brushed them gently away. His lips were soft and cool.
"Good night, sir," she said, turned, and left.
Hermione's parents celebrated their twentieth anniversary that Christmas, and thus had decided to go on a second honeymoon. The night that their daughter had kissed a man under a mistletoe was their first aboard a grand cruise ship that took them across the Atlantic ocean to the Caribbean. Hermione had been quite glad for that decision, since she had been looking for a way to tell her parents she wanted to spend her last Christmas at Hogwarts, with her friends.
Together they stood outside the castle, waving after their friends who went home for Christmas. The school would be quite deserted, only a handful of students stayed. Christmas at Hogwarts was special, very different from Christmas at home. There were certain things you had to do, but most of the time was at their own disposal - this included extra days at Hogsmeade for the sixth formers.
Hermione went to the village after the sleighs had disappeared into the distance. Neville had offered her a ride in his sleigh, but she had declined. She needed time to think, and a walk was the best way for her to be alone with her thoughts.
Of course, she had read up on the mistletoe prank. There was no way the spell would release its victims unless they shared positive feelings for each other and admitted to them publicly – the idea was, of course, to get people to kiss. An exception could be made if there weren't any positive feelings; then the spell released its victims immediately, without further ado. Hermione knew that the latter would not have been the case last night.
Did friends kiss the way she had kissed Snape? And she had kissed him, she hadn't merely surrendered to him.
"What are you going to do, Granger?" she asked herself, making her way down the snowy road. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath clouded the clear blue sky.
A little while later, she took refuge in the local bookshop, Quills and Quartos. Scarlet Tumsole, the proprietress, knew Hermione quite well, and she welcomed her literally with open arms. "You look cold, dear," she said, "what a about a cup of tea?"
Hermione smiled at her. "That would be great, thanks." She liked the dark-haired, kind woman. She knew her business well, and Hermione preferred her small shop to Flourish and Blotts of Diagon Alley. It was more cosy, being here felt like returning home, in a way. Hermione selected a couple of fiction and non-fiction books and retreated to a squashy armchair that occupied the corner next to the fireplace.
"Are you all right, love?" Scarlet asked when she put the hot mug on the floor next to the armchair - there simply wasn't enough space for an occasional table, and even if, it would probably occupied by books or stationery.
Hermione looked at her, and for some reason, she felt guilty. But she was also grateful that someone bothered to ask. "I feel a little bit confused," Hermione began. She knew she could trust the bookseller. "The mistletoe prank."
Scarlet smiled. "Oh, dear." She patted Hermione's knee, squatting in front of her. "Anything I can do?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid," Hermione replied. "Unless you know what to do when love is quite impossible."
Scarlet looked at her hard for an instant. The witch seemed to understand what she was getting at. "Ah, I see." A teacher-student relationship was out of the question, particularly in a community as close-knit as the wizarding world - and Hogwarts. "Well, you either bide your time, dear, or you try to forget about him."
Hermione nodded. She had reckoned something along these lines that already. She couldn't afford a love affair, what with the N.E.W.T.s coming up in summer. "Thanks, Mrs Tumsole. It was good to talk about it."
"Any time, dear." Scarlet smiled, rising.
Christmas Eve was as calm and festive an affair as Hermione could wish for. Those few who had stayed at Hogwarts were assembled around a single table in the Great Hall. Dinner was, as always, a grand affair, and the mood was cheerful. Dumbledore was wearing the paper crown he had found in the Christmas cracker he had opened with Minerva, the younger ones were having a good time, and Harry wasn't talking only about Quidditch for once.
Several times during dinner, Hermione felt the Potions Master's eyes resting on her, but she pretended not to notice most of them. Two times or so she met his gaze, and again she was surprised by the gentleness in them. It was hard for her to make Snape's nastiness towards her and this new developed feelings match, but in the end it was clear that he could hardly favour her all of a sudden when he never favoured anyone but Slytherins.
After dinner, she returned to Gryffindor Tower with Harry and a sad third year. The two boys quickly settled in front of the fireplace with the chessboard Harry had received seven years ago from Ron. Hermione tried to settle down in the sofa with the book she had bought at Quills and Quartos the other day, but she couldn't quite concentrate on any of the sonnets.
After an hour of watching the boys and indulging her thoughts, she got up with her glass of wine in hand and took her coat off the hook by the portrait hole.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked.
"For a bit of fresh air," she said. And: "Don't wait for me." The game of chess was nearly finished. The third year had his king in a precarious situation.
"Okay. Good night."
Hermione nodded, and left the Gryffindor common room. Without intending it, she went to the library cloister. She was not surprised to find the blue-hued figure of Snape braced against one of the ornate pillars, staring out at the skeletal rose bushes.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Hermione said softly.
Snape smiled a little, and held out his hand for her. His hand was warm, and she liked the way his skin felt, and how his tapered fingers curled around hers. Funny, they had kissed, but hadn't touched each other's skin before. She put her wineglass next to an already empty one on the low wall. He drew her into the shelter of his greatcoat. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his unique taste unadulterated. His hands were in her hair, under her coat. "Hermione," he murmured into her mouth.
"Yes."
"Stay with me tonight."
On Christmas Day, Hermione woke in her lover's arms. She felt utterly relaxed, yet was aware of every single fibre in her body. She didn't recall every little detail of the previous night, but she remembered well the discovering of his body, his scent and texture of skin. Again, she had been surprised what kind of power she could have over a man when she found the right places to touch and kiss and lick and bite; how very effective feathering her fingertips across the edge of his lowest ribs could be, how ticklish he was behind his ears. She had admired the gentle swell of thigh and hip, the slightly protruding nub of bone there; had counted the spots on his shoulders, had made him arch himself into her.
She still remembered his breath on her skin, and his lips, and his hands as they cupped and curled around her breasts, his teeth on her flesh, the total agony of his tongue swirling around her toes. The sweet shudder of his caresses where her skin was most sensitive, the soft nonsense words whispered in her ear, his nibbling her earlobes. The arch of her body as she forced herself against his tongue, the sheer endlessness of wave after wave of pleasure washing over her, the deep purring sound.
The feeling of being one as they sat up, joined, holding each other, unmoving, just making it last, enjoying, before succumbing once again to the need for movement, the feel of his body cradled by hers, his thrusts and sudden peace, the smile of his body.
She knew now that she had been wrong after the mistletoe incident. This was exactly what she wanted for Christmas - what they both wanted for Christmas.
Rating: R for consensual sex between adults
Mistletoe and Wine by Claudia
A response to the WIKTT mistletoe challenge
The Yule Ball in the Great Hall was in full swing, and Hermione had only left the party to use the bathroom around the corner. She stood in the door to the Great Hall, but she couldn't move more than a step forward or backward. Either people could leave the room without being bothered and were locked in a spell only upon entering, or the pranksters had only cast the spell after she had left the Great Hall. Of course, she found a mistletoe above the door.
"Very funny," she muttered, and waved at her friends. Ron shrugged, so they obviously didn't have anything to do with this. He raised his glass to her, then turned back to talk to Harry - who at least had the decency to cast her a sympathetic glance - and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There was nothing to be done at the moment.
The mistletoe prank was one of the school's oldest, and so far in her seven years at Hogwarts, Hermione had managed to avoid it. She sighed. The only thing she could do was wait for the next person to enter the Great Hall. They would have to kiss in order to be released from the locking spell. Let's just hope it's not Filch, Hermione thought, leaning against the doorjamb.
"Is there a reason to your blocking the way?
Hermione turned around and faced Severus Snape.
Had she put him on her list of un-kissable people?
She feared not. Her heart sank. How very funny. They would have to stand here until the spell wore off - which wouldn't happen anytime soon, if she remembered correctly. Instead of an answer, she pointed at the mistletoe above them.
"Very funny," Snape commented. He, too, had managed to avoid the prank successfully so far.
They both looked from each other into the Great Hall. It was magnificently decorated, as always, trees, candles, snow, and all. Dumbledore had enchanted instruments to play by themselves, and people were dancing, and talking, and drinking, and generally having a good time, celebrating Christmas and the start of the holidays. The school would be mostly deserted at the same time the next day.
Unavoidably, people started to notice the pair caught in the mistletoe spell. They turned toward them, telling others, of course. A few dared to laugh at the odd pair, some couldn't quite settle with one expression, but most students looked shocked or horrified.
Dumbledore detached himself from the crowd, goblet of wine in hand, cheeks reddened by spirit and merriment.
"Albus," Severus said.
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Kiss him already!" a voice cried audaciously.
Hermione looked from the crowd to her Potions teacher. He was a brilliant if horrible man. He ridiculed her and everyone dear to her. How could she kiss a man who used every chance he got to make her life miserable?
"We don't have any choice, Granger," Snape said, surprisingly calm.
"I suppose not," Hermione managed. He was right, of course, and the idea of spending a little eternity here with him was less appealing than actually kissing him - briefly, as if he were an unloved relative.
Both of them were aware of everyone's gazes being settled on them. Hermione felt the colour rising high in her cheeks.
Snape took a step towards her, grabbing her bare shoulders. His grip was firm and warm, but considerate. It was and yet wasn't an intimate touch. She closed her eyes almost automatically as he lowered his face to hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, and yet she tilted her head towards him. The more she cooperated, the faster this would be over.
"Does the kiss work if it's neither out of love nor of friendship?" she whispered when his lips were millimetres away from her own.
"Let's hope for the best," he returned.
Then Snape kissed her.
The touch was gentle, almost nonexistent, very soft, and it sent electric jolts through her body. His hair brushed over her skin, and his scent filled her nostrils. He smelled warm and inviting. The jolts reached her lower abdomen. Before she could dwell on it any longer, or even return the kiss, it was over, and he released her from his warm grip. The crowd was cheering as he finally stepped into the Great Hall.
"Come in, or do you want to spend all night there, you silly girl?" he mocked her.
Hermione knew that it would have been better to laugh it off and join the cheering crowd. Although Snape had not bristled at kissing her, quite on the contrary, she was considered the hero of the hour - not because she had kissed the Old Bat, but because she had not been a spoilsport. Yet, she had summoned her cloak, scarf, and all, and had withdrawn to the rooftop cloister adjacent to the library. Few came here, and she enjoyed the solitude of the wintry garden. Contrary to the ceiling in the Great Hall, the sky was clear and starry. It already was a cold night.
She watched her breath evaporate into thin air in small clouds, and inhaled the crisp air deeply. She didn't feel like the hero of the hour. The kiss had stirred something awake in her, a feeling that she had ignored or suppressed or not acknowledged for what it was; but now it had washed over her in all its power.
It was no use denying that the Potions Master was strangely sexy. It was his darkness, she supposed, that was so attracting about him, and maybe his eyes. He had changed in the past years, he seemed to take better care of himself, for whatever reason. His hair and teeth seemed healthier, and he had put on weight, which made his face appear less haggard.
Again, a wave of embarrassment washed over her when she remembered the pleasure she had felt at his kiss. The warmth that had spread between her legs, the rush of adrenaline and whatever else hormones were involved.
"It was mere desire, Granger," she muttered to herself. That was it. Desire, and nothing more. Hormones.
She put on her woollen gloves. It was getting colder. The snow in the court was glittering in the milky light of the moon, and no sound could be heard up here. She was far away from the frolicking crowd in the Great Hall. Just what she needed for a while.
But the damage was done. She should have entered the Great Hall with Snape. Now everybody thought that she was the hero of the hour who took everything too serious. But that was the way she was made. And she wasn't the type to boast with having kissed Snape. If anything, this whole affair had done nothing but wreaked havoc on her carefully ordered world.
And yet, it had only been a kiss. An empty one, exchanged for the sole purpose of shaking off a silly spell. Everyone had had to kiss somebody else in order to shake it off. She hadn't been the first one, and she certainly wouldn't be the last one.
A sound of soft footfall woke her from her reverie. She turned, but in the shadow of the cloister could only see a tall dark figure moving towards her. His steps were accompanied by the soft tingling sound of wineglasses.
"Ah, there you are." It was - quite unmistakeably - Snape's voice. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Hermione raised her chin. "What if I did?" She felt strangely brave.
"Then I would leave instantly," Snape replied. "But I was hoping to share this with you," he continued, putting the glasses on the low wall that separated the cloister from the garden. From the depth of his robes he produced a bottle of red wine.
"Why would you do that?" Hermione challenged him.
He opened the bottle with a quick tap of his wand. "As I said, I wanted to share the silence up here with you."
"Why me?" Hermione watched him pour her a glass.
"Because you are not the kind to delight in the usual Christmas follies - spiked eggnog, cursed candy canes, Peeves' singing, you know what I mean."
Despite herself, Hermione laughed, accepting the glass Snape was passing her. "I prefer Christmas calm and festive," she said, opening up to Snape. She just hoped he didn't lure her into a false sense of security just to deduct a thousand house-points for accepting the wine.
They touched glasses, and without a toast, sipped at the wine. It was a heavy, silken red with a lovely texture and bouquet.
Thus, they shared the silence for a while.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione turned towards her teacher. She hadn't realised how close he had come. A wave of excitement rushed through her.
"I would like to kiss you again."
It was a real kiss this time. He took the glass of wine from her and put it on the wall, next to his. Then he cupped her face in his hands, and looked at her long before he lowered his lips to hers. Her cheeks were cold, but they had a lovely tinge of red. Just like the first time, the force of the contact was almost overwhelming, and pleasure spread in her as soon as their lips met. He was gentle, not forcing her to do anything she didn't want.
"Me too," she said when they separated. Hermione gathered her courage and touched the wizard, reached out to embrace him. He encouraged her by drawing her closer to him, into the warmth of his greatcoat. She yielded gladly when he forced her lips open and his tongue slipped between her teeth to explore. He tasted deliciously of wine, and of something that was uniquely him. She returned the gesture, exploring, duelling playfully with his tongue.
Both of them smiled as they separated, each of them in their own way. While Hermione had a ready smile, Snape's was more guarded at first glance. Only if you looked him close in the eye you could see it in all its beauty. How kind his eyes could be, Hermione thought.
"Are you seducing me?" Hermione asked playfully.
"Only if you want to be seduced," Snape replied softly. The clouds of his words brushed gently over her skin.
She felt oddly comfortable in the warmth of his body. He just held her, did nothing to urge her into a decision. This was not seduction as she had imagined it. Snape was far too gentle, she always had had the impression of seduction being more aggressive. That it was something physical desire forced you to do, in the absence of love. A classic one-night-stand.
Hermione wasn't sure if that was what she wanted for Christmas. It wasn't Christmas yet, there were three more nights to go, and yet-
She pulled free from his arms, and he let her go. All playfulness was gone. "I have an odd feeling about this," she eventually said, although she had no idea what her words meant. They were merely the expression of a feeling she didn't know. It was like a dark cloud inside her chest, like a distant memory. There was no way for her to articulate this any better. Her eyes settled on the blue hues that separated Snape from the shadows.
He produced something small from some other hidden pocket. When he opened his hand, she saw the tiny Time-Turner in his palm. It looked even smaller than she remembered it. "It is your choice, Miss Granger," he said, holding the device out for her.
It was very tempting.
"But let me say something first," Snape interrupted her thoughts. She met his dark eyes. "I know what I am - and I am in your debt for what happened tonight - including this," he gestured vaguely at the wine and the words that had long since drifted away. "Forgive."
Hermione stared at him. Was he apologising? She considered everything that had happened. As embarrassing as everything had been, including this little scene, there was something at the base of it that was undeniably there, and powerful. There was no use in turning back time, because it would still be there. And it was more than mere sexual attraction or a silly schoolgirl crush.
She closed his fingers around the tiny hourglass in his palm. "There is nothing to forgive," she said, pushing his fist away from her. Hermione met his eyes. Words were on Snape's lips, but she brushed them gently away. His lips were soft and cool.
"Good night, sir," she said, turned, and left.
Hermione's parents celebrated their twentieth anniversary that Christmas, and thus had decided to go on a second honeymoon. The night that their daughter had kissed a man under a mistletoe was their first aboard a grand cruise ship that took them across the Atlantic ocean to the Caribbean. Hermione had been quite glad for that decision, since she had been looking for a way to tell her parents she wanted to spend her last Christmas at Hogwarts, with her friends.
Together they stood outside the castle, waving after their friends who went home for Christmas. The school would be quite deserted, only a handful of students stayed. Christmas at Hogwarts was special, very different from Christmas at home. There were certain things you had to do, but most of the time was at their own disposal - this included extra days at Hogsmeade for the sixth formers.
Hermione went to the village after the sleighs had disappeared into the distance. Neville had offered her a ride in his sleigh, but she had declined. She needed time to think, and a walk was the best way for her to be alone with her thoughts.
Of course, she had read up on the mistletoe prank. There was no way the spell would release its victims unless they shared positive feelings for each other and admitted to them publicly – the idea was, of course, to get people to kiss. An exception could be made if there weren't any positive feelings; then the spell released its victims immediately, without further ado. Hermione knew that the latter would not have been the case last night.
Did friends kiss the way she had kissed Snape? And she had kissed him, she hadn't merely surrendered to him.
"What are you going to do, Granger?" she asked herself, making her way down the snowy road. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath clouded the clear blue sky.
A little while later, she took refuge in the local bookshop, Quills and Quartos. Scarlet Tumsole, the proprietress, knew Hermione quite well, and she welcomed her literally with open arms. "You look cold, dear," she said, "what a about a cup of tea?"
Hermione smiled at her. "That would be great, thanks." She liked the dark-haired, kind woman. She knew her business well, and Hermione preferred her small shop to Flourish and Blotts of Diagon Alley. It was more cosy, being here felt like returning home, in a way. Hermione selected a couple of fiction and non-fiction books and retreated to a squashy armchair that occupied the corner next to the fireplace.
"Are you all right, love?" Scarlet asked when she put the hot mug on the floor next to the armchair - there simply wasn't enough space for an occasional table, and even if, it would probably occupied by books or stationery.
Hermione looked at her, and for some reason, she felt guilty. But she was also grateful that someone bothered to ask. "I feel a little bit confused," Hermione began. She knew she could trust the bookseller. "The mistletoe prank."
Scarlet smiled. "Oh, dear." She patted Hermione's knee, squatting in front of her. "Anything I can do?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid," Hermione replied. "Unless you know what to do when love is quite impossible."
Scarlet looked at her hard for an instant. The witch seemed to understand what she was getting at. "Ah, I see." A teacher-student relationship was out of the question, particularly in a community as close-knit as the wizarding world - and Hogwarts. "Well, you either bide your time, dear, or you try to forget about him."
Hermione nodded. She had reckoned something along these lines that already. She couldn't afford a love affair, what with the N.E.W.T.s coming up in summer. "Thanks, Mrs Tumsole. It was good to talk about it."
"Any time, dear." Scarlet smiled, rising.
Christmas Eve was as calm and festive an affair as Hermione could wish for. Those few who had stayed at Hogwarts were assembled around a single table in the Great Hall. Dinner was, as always, a grand affair, and the mood was cheerful. Dumbledore was wearing the paper crown he had found in the Christmas cracker he had opened with Minerva, the younger ones were having a good time, and Harry wasn't talking only about Quidditch for once.
Several times during dinner, Hermione felt the Potions Master's eyes resting on her, but she pretended not to notice most of them. Two times or so she met his gaze, and again she was surprised by the gentleness in them. It was hard for her to make Snape's nastiness towards her and this new developed feelings match, but in the end it was clear that he could hardly favour her all of a sudden when he never favoured anyone but Slytherins.
After dinner, she returned to Gryffindor Tower with Harry and a sad third year. The two boys quickly settled in front of the fireplace with the chessboard Harry had received seven years ago from Ron. Hermione tried to settle down in the sofa with the book she had bought at Quills and Quartos the other day, but she couldn't quite concentrate on any of the sonnets.
After an hour of watching the boys and indulging her thoughts, she got up with her glass of wine in hand and took her coat off the hook by the portrait hole.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked.
"For a bit of fresh air," she said. And: "Don't wait for me." The game of chess was nearly finished. The third year had his king in a precarious situation.
"Okay. Good night."
Hermione nodded, and left the Gryffindor common room. Without intending it, she went to the library cloister. She was not surprised to find the blue-hued figure of Snape braced against one of the ornate pillars, staring out at the skeletal rose bushes.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Hermione said softly.
Snape smiled a little, and held out his hand for her. His hand was warm, and she liked the way his skin felt, and how his tapered fingers curled around hers. Funny, they had kissed, but hadn't touched each other's skin before. She put her wineglass next to an already empty one on the low wall. He drew her into the shelter of his greatcoat. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his unique taste unadulterated. His hands were in her hair, under her coat. "Hermione," he murmured into her mouth.
"Yes."
"Stay with me tonight."
On Christmas Day, Hermione woke in her lover's arms. She felt utterly relaxed, yet was aware of every single fibre in her body. She didn't recall every little detail of the previous night, but she remembered well the discovering of his body, his scent and texture of skin. Again, she had been surprised what kind of power she could have over a man when she found the right places to touch and kiss and lick and bite; how very effective feathering her fingertips across the edge of his lowest ribs could be, how ticklish he was behind his ears. She had admired the gentle swell of thigh and hip, the slightly protruding nub of bone there; had counted the spots on his shoulders, had made him arch himself into her.
She still remembered his breath on her skin, and his lips, and his hands as they cupped and curled around her breasts, his teeth on her flesh, the total agony of his tongue swirling around her toes. The sweet shudder of his caresses where her skin was most sensitive, the soft nonsense words whispered in her ear, his nibbling her earlobes. The arch of her body as she forced herself against his tongue, the sheer endlessness of wave after wave of pleasure washing over her, the deep purring sound.
The feeling of being one as they sat up, joined, holding each other, unmoving, just making it last, enjoying, before succumbing once again to the need for movement, the feel of his body cradled by hers, his thrusts and sudden peace, the smile of his body.
She knew now that she had been wrong after the mistletoe incident. This was exactly what she wanted for Christmas - what they both wanted for Christmas.