She woke early in the little hours of the day, beating the sun for once. She peeked into the next room. Its contents were strewn about, parchment littering the cold stone floor. There was no one there. The woman tiptoed to the window, her curls flattened and disheveled from her rest. She peered out through a small crack in the curtains. The sun threatened to rise above the horizon. The woman inhaled loudly. Maybe it was later than she thought.
Shedding her red nightgown for a black sweater with a red-and-gold paisley scarf and jeans, she dashed as quietly as possible to the door, pausing for a last glance over her shoulder. A man sat on the bed she had just inhabited.
"Good morning," she greeted stiffly.
The man's lips turned up slightly at the edges. "Can't say I approve of the scarf," his silky voice said.
The lady in the doorway flinched. "Sorry, I – "
"No need to apologize," the man dismissed.
"I wasn't apologizing for the scarf." The woman whispered.
The man smirked. "I know."
She flushed red at the implication. "You mean to say last night – "
"It was no mistake."
The woman said, "You don't regret what happened?"
The man's face hardened. "Do you?" he asked stonily.
No!" she cried. "Of course not. I just thought – "
"That is the problem. You think too much," He said softly, standing and walking over to where she still stood in the doorway. Gently, he took her face in his hands. "I have never made a better decision, Hermione."
She flushed darker at the memory of the previous night. She couldn't look at him without remembering how blissful he had made her feel, how respectful and selfless he had been last night. He had been surprisingly gentle and inexperienced. When he cried out she had known that, although she hadn't planned on being there that night, she definitely didn't regret it. "Thank you, Severus," she whispered.