Rippled Flower

They had settled in for the night, and he was drifting off when he heard it. A small sigh of pent up frustration and Severus knew that sleep was not going to be forthcoming. Sure enough, Hermione restlessly shuffled within his grasp and he fought the urge to tighten his grip. It would do no good; he knew from experience. She'd only continue to move and he, in spite of the short time that they'd been sleeping in the same bed, would not be able to rest until she was still.

Her mind was a wonderful thing, but one of the unfortunate drawbacks was that it was especially active at the most deuced difficult times. This was true most nights, and he couldn't help the exasperated air of resignation that crept into the words.

"What is it, Mione?"

Her small frame stiffened, and he instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say. Still, there wasn't much to do but wait for her response.

This too came with due speed.

"Why do you still call me that?"

Severus was startled into chuckling, so taken aback by such a simplistic request for an explanation on a subject he had long since come to accept. Begrudgingly so yes, but it had been no less difficult for her.

She was most definitely not amused by his laughter, and attempted to jab his stomach with a bony elbow until he calmed down long enough to drag her bodily to him. In this position the most harm Hermione could inflict was minimal, unless she wished for a Pyrrhic victory.

He absently stroked her skin in an effort to soothe her as the question she posed swirled in his mind. Once upon a time, when she had seemed like the strangest creature he'd ever had the misfortune to cross, back in the first year of their unique relationship in her introduction he had been given leave to call her that.

Looking back Severus could see that the true purpose for this was to tether her grasp on sanity more firmly. That was the crux of her reasoning; however, neither of them could have ever imagined it would turn out quite like this. But it had. And he'd yet to find something that could encompass and explain all of what Hermione was asking of him.

Nonetheless….there was this inexplicable feeling that it'd all turn out in the end. And so Severus began.

"For much the same reason you call me Prince." This admission was accompanied by a soft growl, but he continued.

"Because you can get away with it." And here was warm amusement.

"Because no one else dares to..." Especially since his beloved had started to call her freckle faced friend "Ronniekins" until he had desisted. Likewise Severus had been taunting the other part of the little trio and was becoming quite attached to the term "Boy Blunder".

In the darkness Severus could make out the slight form of her head as she tilted it, that all too familiar gesture she always made when gravely regarding something. Somehow the words seemed to reassure her, and she settled against him. Soon, the slight tension which had held her so stiffly, dissipated. In minutes she was asleep, secure in the knowledge that all was right within the world.

Still he waited, unsure of whether he was truthfully finished. It wasn't until she was truly asleep before he felt comfortable whispering into the darkness, "...but mostly because dear heart, you, are my one, my only."

A/N: I offered a sacrificial lamb for this end result. ^____~ It does Hagrid's three headed dog proud.

One day I was pondering on Hermione's nickname and whether or not Severus would ever call her that. In this instance he does but the odds speak the opposite. Nevertheless hope you enjoyed it.