AN: Apologies for the delay. This chapter needed to be extensively rewritten at the last minute. Thanks go to Dressagegrrrl and Whitehound for their beta skills, but a very special thank you goes out to Hebe GB who stayed up and held my hand when I had finished smashing my head against the keyboard. Lub you, Duck.

And now, may I present: Lemons.

Hermione watched her husband's back disappear into the crowd as he headed towards the bar. Her eye caught again on the Scamanders as they made another turn on the dance floor. She tried not to feel envious of the obvious affection between the couple. Luna seemed to glow from within as her husband cradled her in his arms.

She heaved a huge sigh. What a mess this had all turned out to be. Guilt rolled over her in waves as she thought about Harry's angry ambush again. Ginny had been rather contrite and by the hangdog look Harry wore, Hermione was sure he had received a rather nasty lecture from his wife for his interference. She felt extremely uncomfortable for having spoken out of turn. She hadn't had the courage to speak plainly and openly to Ron herself yet, but had blabbed their personal business to his sister and set him up to get lectured by his oldest friend. It wasn't that Ron didn't deserve a lecture, but it would have been better coming from her.

The timing couldn't have been more wretched. She had never opened up to Ginny about the state of her marriage despite years of knowing looks or encouraging comments. The day she finally had was the day that Ron seemed to be trying to reach out to her. Of course he would get a face full of wrathful St. Harry, the Belatedly Concerned.

She looked up as a chair pulled out next to her and a glass of wine was placed in front of her.

"Hey, there. How're you doing?" said Ginny after she had sat and leaned closer.

"Alright, I guess."

"I am so sorry, Hermione. I don't know what I was thinking. Harry noticed Ron was acting funny. He seems off, you know? And so I told him there were some personal things going on. I had no idea he would react so badly. Honestly, you would have thought Ron had cheated on him."

"Well, to Harry's mind he did in a way," Hermione said. "Harry has always needed us to be who he thought we were. To suddenly not be would seem a betrayal."

"I can see your point on that," she said sadly.

They sat, quietly sipping their wine, thoughts far away from the frivolity around them.

"Well, I must say, Ron's been remarkably well-behaved tonight. You two actually seem to be getting along better than I've seen in years."

Hermione dabbed at her eyes to stop the glitter of tears that had sprung up at those words.

"I know. He was really amazingly mature when I apologized for telling you. He was so calm, and he promised we would talk. I really feel as if perhaps we can. Without all the screaming and petty drama."

Ginny reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"That would be a start," she said. "Do you think there's a chance you two could fix things? I mean after all these years and everything that happened…"

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't know. Honestly? I'd call it a success if we could get back to just being friends. More than that? I'm really willing to try, but I'm not going to beg for the moon."

"Well, I won't pry or interfere or let Harry even have an opinion while you two work through this. I'll be here for you if you need to talk, but no more blabbing for me. I've learned my lesson."

Hermione gave her a wry grin and bumped her shoulder against the other woman's.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Gin. It's tempting fate!"

They laughed.

"Speaking of tempting fate, do you know how good you look in that dress? I'd be envious if I hadn't helped pick it out."

Hermione grimaced.

"You don't think it's too much? I feel a bit silly in it now."

"No! You look marvelous! You've been getting not-so-subtle stares from a lot of men all evening! Why feel silly?"

"Well, I dressed for revenge, didn't I? Remember? 'Let's dress for your imaginary lover'? With Ron being so unusually attentive and, well, unRon-like all evening, I feel just a tad conflicted."

"Well, he appreciates it, whatever your motivation was."

"Do you think? He hasn't said anything at all. I'm just grateful he didn't launch into his patented 'Mione, why are you trying to look like something you're not' speech."

Ginny flinched at her brother's words. He had frequently made comments about how frumpy his wife was, and now it seemed he had done his best to ensure she stay that way. Ginny would bet her eyeteeth that he was insecure enough to feel threatened if his wife looked too good.

"Well then, I'd take tonight as proof he's trying, at least. He not only hasn't insulted you, he was practically undressing you with his eyes when you both first came in."

"Really? I thought it seemed…different."

"Oh yeah, I can't say I've ever seen him look so…intense before." A familiar ginger head caught her eye. "Right, there he is now. I'm going to fade away and give you two some privacy. I want an owl at some point tomorrow," Ginny hissed in her ear. Hermione turned her head to see Ron gracefully dodge a couple of clumsy dancers holding the drinks he had left to fetch in a singular display of solicitude. She looked down at the glass Ginny had brought her, uncomfortable that he should return to the table and see she already had one. Surprisingly, her glass was empty again. She looked up and saw him coming nearer, an intense look on his face: she gave him a small smile, unsure of herself. The smile he gave her in return made the small hairs at her nape stand up. It seemed predatory. She fumbled with her fork, spearing the small cake that had appeared at the table and mangling it in her sudden nervousness.

"Your wine, madam," he said in a raspy growl.

"Thank you," she said, reaching up to take the glass from him. She gulped at it to cover her flustered reaction to seeing that lookagain.

He stayed standing, sipping at his own drink before setting it down on the table. She saw it was mineral water and not his customary ale.

"How is your throat? Is it hurting still?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Would you care to dance?"

She couldn't stop her eyes from widening in surprise. A look chased across his features as he watched her reaction and she feared he would take her surprise for an insult.

"Yes!" she blurted out, struggling to stand up before he could rescind his offer. He stepped back and took her hand to steady her on her feet before he led her to the dance floor with a warm hand on her back. She again felt the strange jolt that shivered up her spine when he touched her. She had never felt anything like that before tonight, but now it had happened for the third time.

They found a bit of clear floor, and he gathered her into his arms and commenced a simple slow box step. They moved together stiffly. Hermione felt her hand tremble in his and tried to take a few breaths to hide her confusion.

Ron's steps were sure and confident. Of course he had danced with other people at gatherings, as had she, but it had been so long since they had danced together that she was surprised at his skill. He had never before managed to pull off the almost possessive air he had as he held her now. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his palm pressed gently across the small of her back, allowing herself to enjoy the feel of it. Opening her eyes again, she saw his ridiculous robes and felt petty for wishing he looked better. His thumb caressed the skin of her back and, startled, she darted a glance up at him. He stared down at her with barely an expression at all except for an unfamiliar, smoky look in his eyes. He looked away and guided them around a Ministry official dancing with the Headmistress. Sinistra nodded to them both, giving them a look that said she was pleased with their actions. Hermione stiffened, but Ron stroked a hand down her back to soothe her. She glanced at him again, and he gave her an odd little smile, almost an aborted smirk, before spinning her away from their employer. Neville and Hannah danced past, and the two couples exchanged greetings before moving away from each other. She was so swept up in her enjoyment that she was caught up short when the song ended. Sure that he would finally take the time to leave her and go hang out with his cronies, she was surprised to feel him gather her closer when the next song started.

Perhaps Ginny had been right. Perhaps Ron really did want to use this night as a way of showing her he wanted to reconcile. He was definitely showing her a new side. He'd been patient and attentive in a way she had never seen him act before. She closed her eyes again and gave in to the pleasure. There would be time enough tomorrow to talk. He said himself they should just enjoy the evening. What would be the harm? With a deep breath, she cradled her head against his shoulder and felt his answering caress as he gathered up and enveloped her hand in his. He rested his chin gently against her forehead.

The evening passed by in a blur of touches and strokes almost too light to be felt if not for the tingles that shot across her skin every time.

They constantly caressed each other when they danced, and when they sat to rest they still touched. A seemingly innocent glide of fingers across flesh as she sat or stood; a firm thigh pressed against hers under the table. The only time they separated was when he would leave to get her a new glass of wine or to slip off to the lav, always coming back smelling of mints as if hoping this time he might get a kiss. He never left her side, brushing off everyone that came expecting to easily lead him away from his wife as usual.

She had to constantly shut off the niggling voice that tried to make itself heard in her brain, something that was easier to do after the amount of wine she had consumed took control. The only time the voice was completely still was either when her eyes were closed or when she was staring into his now openly passionate gaze.

They were back on the dance floor for the third time. After two hours of his constant, seductive touch, Hermione and her wine decided it was time to kick things into high gear. She boldly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest, rewarded by an instant hiss of breath and hands that ghosted down the curves of her arse. Too long. It had been entirely too long. She let out a soft moan, and he pulled her tight against his hard length.

She heard a softly whispered 'oh, yes' and realized it had come from her.

His roughened voice growled in her ear.

"We are done here."

Her belly flipped at the commanding tone in his voice just as the niggling voice broke free of the wine's control and started up again, only to be slapped back into silence by her now all-consuming need for sexual fulfillment.

She looked at him and nodded, allowing him to take her hand and lead her off the dance floor and out of the hall.

Phineas Nigellus Black had finished his limited patrol of the dungeons, limited by the fact that there weren't a large number of portraits hanging along the corridors down there. He eventually met up with Minerva, Albus, and Violet in the entrance hall, where they had agreed to meet in Weeping Willa's portrait. Willa graciously left them to it and wandered off.

"Anything?" Dumbledore asked as soon as he stepped into the frame.

"No sign of him or anyone else stirring about," Black reported.

Minerva sighed.

"I thought for sure whatever was going on with the boy had something to do with this evening," she said.

Violet piped up, "Now, Min, you don't know that it doesn't, only that we haven't figured it out yet. None of us have seen him since this morning. That doesn't mean he's not in danger. It means we can't find him if he is."

"Severus always hides during these functions," said Albus. "He did so as much as possible when he was a teacher here. It certainly isn't going to be different now that he's here under such a cloud. And our esteemed colleague, Aurora, doesn't want him around either."

"Well, we haven't seen anyone else lurking about looking suspicious. I would say we are still at square one," sniffed Phineas.

"I just can't help but feel time is running out," added Minerva. "We need to find out what's going on before something terrible happens that we could have--"

She fell silent when the sounds of the party suddenly grew in volume as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. Ron led Hermione out into the hall, pausing to pull her close to him as soon as the doors swung shut again, and kissed her passionately. Her hands clawed up his back and the portraits blushed at the sound of her throaty moan. Without breaking the kiss, he backed her up against the wall lifting her arms up over her head and holding them there with both hands as he bent slightly and pressed his body against her.

Minerva coughed delicately and the man froze, pulling his wife away from the wall possessively before looking around with a fierce scowl on his face. When he spotted the overcrowded portrait, he sneered malignantly before taking his blushing wife's hand and leading her away, up the stairs.

"Well," said Albus after the sound of smothered giggles faded away. "That was unexpected."

"Rather," said Minerva, intently inspecting a painted seam on her sleeve.

Violet just shook her head, having seen worse in her time as a portrait. Teachers got up to the most shameful things in the little room behind the head table.

Phineas Nigellus Black stared at the place the amorous couple had occupied, feeling like there was something important he was missing.

Hermione stepped through the portrait hole into her quarters with her husband close behind her. A brief moment of lucidity forced its way past both the wine-haze and the lust-craze, and she stood stock still, just two paces inside their sitting room, wondering why she suddenly feared that having sex with her husband might just be the second-worst decision of her life. There was a wrongness screaming at her for attention, but she could neither name it nor fight to stop it. It had started with all those little touches, a small touch only setting off a small alarm. But those kisses they had shared downstairs, those drunken, drugging, passionate kisses she had never had before, those kisses had claimed her, bonded her, branded her. Those kisses were setting off a shrill alarm that had only keened louder as she got more distance. She had the distinct feeling that, like some Muggle drug, she would sell her soul for more of those kisses, and that there was something wrong with that.

She closed her eyes as she heard him behind her, felt his robes sway against the silk of her gown. His deep, unsteady breaths spoke of a barely controlled desire. She felt she was close to an understanding, as if a great truth was circling the room, waiting for her to reach out and catch it. She scrunched her eyes shut even tighter as she heard him heave a deep sigh. It would take no effort at all to turn to him and say no. She could tell by the way he simply stood there that he understood there was wrongness here. She heard it in the labored breathing that was a blend of passion and grief. Both his and her own. She kept her eyes shut, searching for the truth that was so close, not turning, not moving away.

She heard the rustle of fabric as he lifted an over-starched sleeve. His hand gently, ever so gently, caressed her spine. When she felt the feather light touch upon her back her eyes fluttered open and she let her breath stream out as her head dropped back. The incredible pleasure she found in his simple, electric touch smothered her thoughts. Truth and clarity scurried off the playing field, realizing the odds had shifted and the game was lost.

"Touch me," she whispered.

"Yes," he replied, hoarsely.

He stepped closer and placed both of his hands on her shoulders before ghosting them down along her sides.

"Yes," he said again into her ear as his hands slid along her satin flesh, and fingertips slipped under the drape of her gown, conquering the outer curve of her breasts. Her arms reached back, and her hands slid into his hair. His breath was ragged in her ear as his hands surged forward and encompassed her breasts.

"You're wearing a charm," he whispered roughly.

"Yes."

"Take it off."

She leaned her weight back on him as she brought one leg up and slid her hand under her gown to pull out her wand.

"Finite," she whispered like a plea.

The natural weight of her breasts dropped them into his expectant hands, and his moan was so quiet she almost missed it.

"Perfect," he said.

More than one charm had been cancelled, and the long ribbons that had trailed elegantly down her back all evening slid to the sides. Keeping the palms of his hands on her breasts, he used his fingers to push the fabric away, causing the top of her dress to slither down her body and settle low around her full hips. He kneaded her flesh as his lips settled on her shoulder, her neck, the delicate shell of her ear.

Hermione was lost in sensations and feelings she had never thought possible outside of the realm of dreams. Her conscience hissed and spat when she remembered exactly which dreams, but she forced it to the side and closed her eyes, chasing sensation.

He whirled her around and pressed her back gently up against the door, staring at her with an almost pained wonder on his face. Her hands came up and clutched at his face, slanting her lips across his as her tongue slid hungrily into his mouth. He moaned, louder this time. His hands clenched around handfuls of her hair and it seemed to her as if their souls tried to merge through their kiss. His hands slid to her shoulders, and he tore his mouth away from hers, allowing a feral growl to escape as he bent down and took one of her breasts into his mouth.

Hermione gasped as she felt the tremors of his body as he kissed and licked, suckled and, oh Merlin, bit her lightly all over her breasts. He molded them together, rolling his face between them in ecstasy. The need filling her was almost overpowering, and her hands started to scrabble with the buttons and ties of his robes.

*

Snape was overwhelmed by his need. From the moment he kissed her, just outside the Great Hall, his angry negation of her as anything but Weasley's woman withered and died, leaving only his complete and total awareness of Hermione behind. Never in his life had he ever wanted a woman this much.

She was perfect. Her body was full and ripe and yet her waist was so narrow he could span it easily with his two hands. His hands, not these rough beasts. He reveled in her passionate abandon as she pulled at the laces and ties and buttons on the robes he wore. He was torn between wanting to shed the barriers keeping flesh from flesh and not wanting to see this body he wore like a hair-shirt. He lifted his lips away from her luscious breast with no little frustration. There was a lack of sensation, a lack of dexterity, as if he was trying to make love to his siren while swaddled in layers of cotton wool. His fingertips weren't as clever, and his calluses were in the wrong places. His lips weren't as adept, and his tongue slow to respond to a command. It was torture. It was punishment. Cursing fate, he was determined to wring what pleasure he could for the both of them from this moment they had been given; his siren would know he had fought for her with what weapons he had been allowed. He surged back up and took possession of her mouth again, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her tight against him. His kisses were more than passionate; they were primal. This witch had something he needed to live, and only by merging with her would he discover what it was.

She welcomed his kisses, opened herself up and gave herself over to him and he felt his heart swell as he looked at her kiss swollen lips and the tiny crease between her eyes. Her eyes were shut tight and he was glad. Her hands clutched at his shoulders pulling him in, trying to meld her body to his. She felt his hardness through his robes and ground herself against it, and he pulled away from her kiss and let out a deep, breathy groan.

His mouth moved to her neck, to her ear, to her shoulder, kissing and sucking while little gasps and moans and mewls escaped her. His hands slid down and started to gather up the fabric of her gown.

Her hands fumbled to open his robes and splayed across his chest, finding and tweaking a nipple, eliciting an explosion of breath he couldn't have stopped. She pushed him back and fell upon his nipple with her mouth, eliciting small sounds of encouragement at each of the hisses and curses he produced. She skimmed kisses down his belly before hooking her fingers into his trousers and pants and sliding them down his hips. His abdomen flexed and twitched under her lips and cheeks. He feared it would be over too soon but could only make a paltry attempt to stop her. One hand was clasped in her hair, urging, kneading, and caressing while the other hand was hooked under her armpit trying to pull her back up to her feet. He knew his conflicting messages amused her by the throaty chuckle.

He was gone. The seduced had become the seductress as he lost control of this dance. It had been too many years since he had felt a woman's touch, and he couldn't stop the shivers that wracked his body. He put his whole soul into articulating sounds that made no sense, but contained a universe of meaning. When he felt the hot wetness of her mouth engulf him, he shouted and grabbed for the door and twisted, as his legs collapsed, to keep himself from crushing her. She followed him down until he was on his knees with her before him sucking and licking his length. He reached out and pulled at her dress revealing her beautiful curved arse with its tiny thong. He felt his orgasm rushing up on him and forcefully pushed her away.

"No!" he shouted, grabbing the base of his cock in a death grip to prevent an untimely end. "Not yet," he said with more gentleness. He pushed her back onto the floor and pulled her gown and tiny matching knickers down, over her hips, and off.

Snape took a moment to take in the sight of his beautiful Hermione displayed before him in all her glory. Her eyes were still shut tight as she writhed under the incredible sensation of their shared touch. He grabbed his robes and pulled them off quickly before stretching himself along her body and sweeping her breast into his mouth with one languorous stroke of a hand. He tried to take his time but her sighs and moans grew louder and were urging him onwards toward the final act. He smirked as he denied her, skimming kisses down her belly. He knew he wouldn't last long and was determined to see to her pleasure first. He stroked her mound with the backs of his knuckles, meaning to draw out her pleasure, but his own desire took over and he swooped down on her and planted greedy kisses on her, urging her legs to part. He moaned at the taste of her passion and was so lost in his own pleasure that it took him far too long to realize it wasn't shared. He shifted for a better position and got serious about his business. Three minutes later he was almost in a panic of anxiety as he felt her grow cold and unresponsive under him. He worked frantically, nibbling and licking her folds, searching out her pearl and swiping at it with his tongue before sucking it between his lips and flicking it. Every touch, every attempt seemed to only make things worse. He slid first one, then two fingers inside her, stroking and calling for a response that wasn't there. He searched for that place, that spongy bundle of nerves, but these cloddish hands weren't sensitive enough to find it. He was nearly to the point of screaming. His siren was here before him, and he unable to please her, when it hit him: He wasn't him. That fucking useless maggot of a man had never seen to his wife properly. Everything he was doing was foreign and probably confusing. He lifted his head and met her angry gaze. He reared back away from her and grabbed his robes and scrubbed at his mouth before settling himself on top of her, raised up on his elbows.

"Hermione?" he whispered, nudging his nose across her cheek and finding it, too, was inadequate for the job.

*

Hermione had never abandoned herself so completely to passion before. Every touch, every sensation had been so fraught with intensity as to overwhelm her completely. It had felt like every fiber of her being had been engaged in this act. Even her heart had seemed to swell making her chest feel tight with need and pleasure. It hadn't been until that moment, when she'd realized his intention to head in a new direction that her eyes had finally snapped open. And the sight of him practically making love to her navel had doused her in emotional ice water. His face was wrong; his eyes were wrong. He was wrong. Humiliation had crashed down on her as she realized she had gone so deep within herself that she hadn't even been here with her husband. Only when she'd opened her eyes did she understand that she had been making love to another man entirely. It had felt wrong, like a deception. It didn't help that he had changed his technique to the point where he seemed like a different lover completely.

Now as her mind was beginning to fully engage, she catalogued each and every act, marking the differences. Wondering what else those other woman had taught him. Where had he learned that? And since when was he interested in this?

If she had ever needed proof that he had been with other women this was it. Although he was a great proponent of oral sex when he was the recipient, he had always been rather vocal in his view that reciprocating was disgusting. He was trying to please her with tricks he had learned by fucking other women behind her back. Only an idiot could possibly think that would work. But then, Ronald had always been a bit of an idiot. She had just been too loyal to see the truth until it was far, far too late. The question of whether or not she could forgive him for his adultery was answered with a resounding: No.

Now her mind was running a constant stream of commentary. She hadn't been consumed with lust. She was drunk. Very drunk. They weren't making mad, passionate love. They were rutting like animals on the floor, not having made it even four feet into the room. She hadn't been deeply moved by his ardor. She had let her mind run off and was fantasizing about another man. The other man. Severus. Severus. She felt guilty and foolish and defensive and hurt all at the same time.

His head came up swiftly and she just stared back at his panic-stricken face. He scrambled back up and loomed over her, whispering her name with concern.

There, she thought, that's another thing. He hasn't called me that since we were students.

He nuzzled her cheek and settled his body down on top of her. The incredible pleasure at the touch of so much skin almost overwhelmed her. Her mind split into two parts. One side of her was angry, both at herself and at him. The other just wanted to shut her thoughts off and fall back down into the pleasure. Would it be so bad if she did? She understood, deep down, that this would be the last time they did this. She knew the morning would bring a colder reality. But whatever it was that brought this intensity of pleasure tonight had never happened before and she was loath to end it. As he feathered her with kisses, as one hand massaged her scalp and the other gently stroked her breast she made her decision.

She gave him his due for trying and she'd take pity on him as a reward, she'd done so plenty of times in the past, but this would be the last time. History had shown it would only take a few more minutes anyway. She found his lips and kissed him back, rewarded with a strangled groan that broke from deep within him.

She let herself get lost again in the kisses the touches and when she spread her legs, the growl he let loose made her toes curl. She felt him reach down and position himself and then he was there. She reveled in the feeling of fullness, of completion. The sense that she was finally whole. It took her a moment to realize he wasn't moving. At this point he usually just kept ramming away until he screamed like an injured house elf and came. But this time he went so still she was afraid he had hurt himself somehow by the choked, gasping sounds he made. She was sure he was going to chip a tooth from the grinding. To help things along, she clenched her muscles tight around him. She jumped when all his breath exploded out of him.

"Don't!" he bellowed. "Don't…move." His entire body was trembling at this point.

His reaction confused her. Her thoughts were shards that she didn't have the ability to repair. She was only aware of two things: How hard the floor was under her back and how much she needed him to move.

"Ron, the floor's a little cold. Can we move this along, just a bit?"

His head snapped up, and she felt his near violent tremors subside just before he pulled out and lifted off of her. She felt an intense sense of loss and was chagrined at her words. She hadn't meant to say it like that, but her back was getting sore, and her brain was still soaked with wine. She thunked her head against the floor in frustration and was about to pick herself off the floor and call it a night when she was swept up into his arms. He carried her, stumbling only once on the ottoman, over to the door of his room and kicked it open. A solitary candle lit the space as he made his way over and gently, almost reverently laid her out on his bed. He slipped off her shoes and garter before stripping off the rest of his clothes and climbing in next to her.

"Fuck, this thing is almost worse than the floor," he muttered before he rolled her over on top of his chest and pulled a blanket over her.

She was so bemused by his tenderness that she remained speechless as he arranged the folds until she was completely covered. She made a note to herself to remove the jinx she had cast on the bed in the morning.

"There," he said. "Now where were we?" He lifted up his hands and cupped her face, bringing it down to kiss.

Her thoughts scattered again as they kissed. There was something about these lips tonight that she just couldn't get enough of. When he kissed her, everything was right in the world. She didn't want to see the truth; she didn't want complications. She was tired and drunk, and he was needy. They both wanted this and it would all be easier if they just did what they intended and suffered the consequences later. She kissed him deeply. They kept their lips in constant contact, as if they knew this was their last chance to get it right. He shoved all the pillows behind his shoulders so he could keep his lips on hers while exploring the rest of her. His hands plucked at her nipples and chased down her curves to play in her folds. Her body seemed to hum under his touch. He replaced his hand with his cock and thrust up into her, and they both moaned in harmony, lips still touching.

"You're so hot," he said in a ragged voice. "You feel like heaven to me, oh gods, I've dreamed of--" His voice choked off, and he clutched at his chest before frantically seeking her mouth again.

Hermione tried to back away, concerned, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, pumping into her slowly.

"No escaping now, witch," he said, sending a thrill racing along her spine. She kissed him and leaned back, until she was sitting upright. She began rocking her hips, and he groaned. His hands came up and cupped her breasts, and he curled up and kissed them pulling her back down with him when gravity won out over his awkward position. He took over for her, lifting his hips and thrusting into her as he kissed her passionately on the lips. He rolled her over and loomed above her, shifting the angle of his hips with a fierce look of concentration on his face. Suddenly she felt an intensity of sensation that she'd never felt before and gasped.

"What was that?"

His eyes opened and they held a look of triumph.

"Do you like that, my siren? Is that your spot?" he held that angle and started to pump into her in earnest. Hermione let go with a long, low, throaty moan and he seemed to melt. "Yessss…that's it…let me hear your song." She writhed beneath him, as he kept up the pace, concentrating on her needs as if trying to deny his own. He crooned beautiful words to her and she felt as if she needed to answer him in some unspoken way. She kept her eyes clenched tightly closed as he overwhelmed her with his desire.

"I need to hear your song. I need…oh, shite, I need this!" She felt her pleasure build to the breaking point. She was sure if it was anymore intense, she would explode. He brought a hand to her clit and circled it, urging her on towards completion with little grunts and growls, as if he was desperate for her to hurry.

"Yes, witch. Let go. Come for me." His voice broke into a hoarse sob as be pounded into her with abandon. "Come for me, ahhh…gods… It's too good. Fucking hell, please. Let go, woman!" And she did. She keened as her pleasure overtook her.

"Hermione!"

As he emptied himself deep inside her with a primal shout, her pleasure turned to horror as she felt her magic get sucked out of her body. She opened her eyes long enough to see a brilliant flash of light before she went limp

*

Snape watched, face frozen in a rictus of ecstasy and terror, as her magic poured from her body and rushed up towards him, only to curl back, like a wave against a cliff and collapse back down into her body. He was utterly astounded.

He watched as she came back to herself slowly and collapsed at her side, stunned.

"What the bloody hell was that?' she asked when she found her voice. She turned her head, but he didn't answer. He just lifted a hand, reverently and stroked her cheek. She slapped the hand away in anger. He opened his mouth to explain but his words choked as the pain in his chest flared back to life with vigor. He watched in growing dread as she struggled to understand what happened and didn't find an answer. An answer Severus Snape wasn't allowed to explain.

"Was that some new trick you just learned along with the rest of them, Ron?" His emotions ran the gamut from confused to angry to ashamed. "When your lady friend taught you that parlor trick, did she tell you that you might leave me a fucking Squib?"

"I didn't--"

"Didn't mean it? Is that what you were going to say? You never mean it, Ron. I'm not sure if you're capable of meaning anything!"

She shoved at the blanket in her way and heaved herself out of the bed. He threw himself across the bed to grab her arm, but she danced out of the way before snatching up her shoes and garter.

"Hermione--"

"Don't!" she screamed. "What the hell has gotten into you? Why did you do this?" Her voice cracked on a sob, and she turned and sat down hard on the bed. He surged up and around her, pulling her back against his chest.

He knew he should let her cry. How the fuck did he think this was going to end? Whatever he had thought, he could never have predicted how it had ended. Gods, it answered so many questions. He should let her storm out of the room, but he couldn't. Not after what he had seen, not after what had almost happened. What would have happened had he been free.

"I'm not myself," he said in reply.

She sagged against him, and he held her tightly. The alarm on his watch went off and his mind started to shriek at him. The life debt kicked back in, and he was caught between what he had to do to save his own life, and what he suddenly felt was more important than his own life. The life debt didn't care if he slept with Weasley's wife, only if she found out.

"Oh, Merlin," she said only a moment later. "I can't do this anymore. I don't love you. I don't think I ever loved you. Not in the way you needed. Tonight was beautiful and special and romantic, but in the end all I could think about was how many other women it took to finally teach you how to shag. I…I can't forgive that." She stood up and walked to the door and looked back. "Don't look so devastated," she said. "After everything we've done to each other over the years, can you honestly tell me that you've always loved me?"

He looked her in the eyes, and told her the truth she needed to hear.

"No."

She nodded sadly and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

"But I should have," he whispered hoarsely after her.

*

Hermione walked back through the sitting room in the dark, clutching her shoes and garter. She felt the soft silk of her dress under her feet and knelt down to pick it up. Feeling the gown's fabric run like water through her fingers triggered her grief, and she crouched on the ground and sobbed. She cried for her broken hopes and her broken dreams and all the broken promises. She cried for her broken marriage and her broken husband. She cried for her own hypocrisy, angry at her husband's betrayal while she had panted after a broken man who never got to see her in her pretty dress. She gathered the dress to her bosom and cried for her broken life.

*

On the other side of the door, crumpled naked on the floor, and listening to every sob and hiccough, Severus Snape leaned against the wood and rubbed at the cuff on his wrist while the tears rolled unchecked down his face and dripped onto his thin, pale chest.

*

*

Thanks to all my readers, this chapter is for you. And to those that I cannot reply to personally, your reviews are cherished.

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