A/N: Hello, everyone! Sooo it's been a while. If you checked my Profile at all last month, you'll already know why I've been absent. I hope you all had a fantastic holiday and New Year's!

I'm officially back, with the intent of writing as frequently as I can (or as much as the Muse and time will allow for.) However, feedback will move this process along far quicker than silence, so please take a moment to review at the end. I'd greatly appreciate it...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters. No money, just fun.

Chapter 10: Still a Person

Snape grumbled under his breath, extracted his wand, and lifted his extensive wards with a violent flick of his wrist. Hermione was in the sitting room when he came stalking into the foyer and paused to hang up his traveling cloak, intent on seeing to the weighty task at hand, when her mumbling stopped him.

Was the witch talking to herself? Severus quietly cast a hearing enhancing charm so as to make out what she was uttering so excitedly in the next room. What he heard made his blood run cold.

"What am I to do, Harry? I can't go on like this. I just can't!" A pause later, "I know you want me to have faith that you're both looking out for me, but you're not here!" She choked on the end of that sentence and whimpered slightly. "You don't know what this is like. I wish... I wish you both were here. I need you two so badly right now..."

Severus tried to swallow but had apparently lost the capacity. The poor chit was conversing with her dead friends. He had never overheard Hermione doing that before, and the grim revelation left him both heedful and unsettled. Hearing her soft sniveling made his chest hurt and wouldn't do, either.

Better now than never, Severus.

He awkwardly cleared his throat to give the witch a moment to (hopefully) collect herself, as he wasn't sure he could deal with an emotionally distressed Hermione Granger right now,—this was going to be tough enough as it was—and glided cautiously into the sitting room. Hermione's back was turned. She was in the midst of dusting his liquor cabinet, but she stopped to turn around and face him when his distinctive footsteps made his presence known.

For a moment, a maddening silence transpired between them. Severus noted that her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, distinguishable even from across the room, which made him relatively uneasy. Who knew how long she had been crying, or speaking to departed ghosts from the past. He wouldn't call attention to what he had overheard.

Not at all prepared to address the heart of the matter straightaway, however, and with several cautious steps, he slithered into his favorite wingback chair by the crackling hearth, and nodded silently for Hermione to continue on with her work. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't at all content to do so. She scowled and lowered her feather duster, staring at Snape as he summoned the closest book into his hands and proceeded to draw the pages up around his face, tuning her out as best he could.

With an audible huff and stomp of her foot, Snape lowered the tome below his dark eyes. He waited, surveying Hermione expectantly as she took a step forward and wrung the feather duster in front of her, her thoughts flashing across her eyes and on the tip of her tongue before they came tumbling out.

"We need to talk."

Her voice was scratchy and worn, no doubt, Snape suspected, from weeping most of the night. Because of you, you arse.

Heaving a cumbersome sigh, Snape kept the book close to his face but motioned for Hermione to continue. "Go on," he urged her quietly.

"And you know what about."

"Yes, I do."

Giving another audible huff of frustration, Hermione caved her shoulders. "Could you please provide me with some answers now? I know you don't think you owe me anything—"

"You're right, I don't," Snape interrupted, aware of what a terrible lie that was; but irritability was already getting the better of him.

Hermione evidently knew that to be false, too, for she carried on in a much edgier tone, "Look, your actions have been very contradicting, if I may be so bold as to point out."

"Contradicting?"

"Yes! I don't know how else to explain it! Claiming to hate Muggle-borns, yet looking upon my marking as if it personally offends you; stripping me down naked but not assaulting me—"

"Assault you?" Snape stopped her and curled his upper lip, affronted. "What sort of animal do you take me for?"

Hermione shot him an exasperated glare. "That's just it; I don't know what 'sort' you are. You're a Death Eater, apparently, but you don't act as such. Well, most of the time; not to the extent that I would expect you to, at any rate, and certainly not when it comes to me."

Severus lifted a curious eyebrow at that observance, for he couldn't help himself. "And this...upsets you?"

"It's bloody confusing, that's for sure!"

Tapering blackness for eyes met that complaint. "And what was the other night's escapade, I wonder?" he challenged through gritted teeth. "Sensible behavior?"

His question brought Hermione up short. She stared at him in wonderment, her eyes wide. He was supposedly one of 'them,' which put a great deal of the man's actions under wary suspicion, but did he actually believe that that had been...unwelcome?

"I was under the impression that that was a mutual decision," she replied softly, much to Snape's indifference—at least, on the surface. "Or so...I thought it was..."

His eyes flickered strangely. "Was it?" he questioned, and Hermione tried to remain undeterred.

"Yes. I didn't stop you, did I?"

"You should have."

"Why?" Hermione pushed, taking another small step closer. "Did you not want to kiss or touch me? You certainly acted like you wanted to at the time."

Snape's mind was screaming in protest to put a stop to this interrogation at once, but his pinched expression already betrayed his innermost thoughts. Hermione didn't seem to pick up on the subtleties, however, for she slunk back, as though she had been personally struck, with her shoulders hunched in disappointment. She read his silence as a terrible misconception.

"I - I see..."

Snape quickly lowered the heavy tome in his hands to give her proper disclosure. "Granger," he began, attempting to choose his words very carefully, "what I did was morally irresponsible, as was the incident that happened in the kitchen—"

"Am I really so undesirable to you?" she interrupted, her lower lip quivering. Her disruption caught Snape off his guard. Her cheeks were blazing with colour, her brown eyes dangerously cold and angry. She strained to speak more steadily, "You let me rub up against you multiple times. You didn't push me away or seem all that repulsed on that day, mind you, let alone the other night!"

"My personal feelings are irrelevant—"

"Irrelevant? So you did or didn't want to shag me then?"

"For fuck's sake, Granger!" Snape slammed his book shut and tossed it aside at his feet, rising fluidly out of his chair and adjusting his robes as he made to stare at anything else other than the object of all his headaches and emotional befuddlement. "It makes no bloody difference what I think or feel!"

"I'm trying to better understand the way you've treated me since I came here," Hermione insisted, inching nearer despite Snape's forbidding stance that warned her to steer clear, "and it does make a difference, Sir!"

"What?"

"I - I don't trust you, and yet, I find myself compelled to believe that you don't mean me any harm. I've told you that before."

Snape lifted his hands slightly, backing away as he did so. "Granger," he heeded her in that familiar, threatening purr that told Hermione to desist; but she wouldn't. Not now that she had him somewhat cornered.

"You didn't hesitate to touch me the day I burned my hand, nor the other night when you took me on that damned couch over there!" Hermione pointed to the sofa against the wall, as if to emphasize and humiliate the point. "You saved my cat, even if you intended to keep that from me—"

"Granger, I didn't intend to—"

"You hate the Mudblood marking—"

"Don't use that word!" Snape spat, obsidian irises suddenly glistening with rage. He swiftly turned away from Hermione and clamped a hand to his forehead, fighting to reign in his temper.

You deserve this, Severus, and more!

Hermione used the stifling silence to chance another step or two forward, clutching the feather duster to generate more courage. In a small voice, she whispered, "I - I think you care about me more than you want to let on...Snape." Snape reared around to face her, an inscrutable look written across his brow, his cheeks taking on more colour. "That is to say, I don't think you care for me in that regard, but I think... That is, I believe that you wish to...help me...to keep me safe. Even if I don't completely trust you still, I do believe in my gut that you aren't what you try to convince me and others of being. You..." Hermione paused to draw in a deep breath. "You aren't a bad man—misguided and flawed, certainly, but not wholly bad."

Snape stood paralyzed in the center of the room, staring at the bold witch with a mixture of horror, nervous agitation, and building anger. She wasn't supposed to see him this way. Sure, he had promised himself and others to gain her trust, but he still had a role to play in this new, treacherous Wizarding world—a quite compromising position if he wasn't careful. Now that he was being confronted with the harboring emotions and fears that had been plaguing him around the clock, Snape's hands could only tremble in response. He fisted them at his sides, unraveled by these turn of events.

"You have no right to say these things to me, Granger."

Hermione blinked and narrowed her eyes. "But I thought—"

"No," Snape insisted in a menacing tone, "you have no right."

"Listen, I know that I'm on to something, and I do have the right to confront you about these things—"

Despite his earlier intentions to settle matters between them, Snape found himself unable to reign in his impolite tongue. "You are my personal property in this home, Granger," he lashed out in a poor attempt to silence her. "That is all!"

Hermione reared back, her mouth falling open, offended. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed in a clipped tone as her face flared a fiery red. "I thought you said I wasn't! Just last night, you - you said..."

Snape curled his upper lip, his raven eyes ablaze. "You don't have the right to presume! In fact, you have no business conveying such ridiculous judgments aloud about my person—"

Hermione snorted defiantly. "I must be onto something then! You're a catalogue of contradictions!"

"—or to anyone else, for that matter!"

"You're getting awfully defensive, Sir."

"I have every right to!" Snape found himself snarling, flabbergasted with how she not only continued to defy and push him at every turn but was getting increasingly farther under his skin. "Who do you think you are?" he challenged spitefully and bore his crooked teeth. "Do you think that you're above the Muggle-born Enslavement Laws in place? That you can speak back to me and throw about your wasteful opinions in such a bold manner, as if I bloody well care? That you've somehow retained certain rights above other Mud—"

"DON'T!" Hermione abruptly choked out, pointing a shaky finger at Snape's chest. "Don't you dare use that against me! Don't you dare! I thought you hated the word?"

"I DO!"

"Then what the hell's your problem?"

Snape's mouth came together in a tight bind. Foolish, Severus. Get a bloody grip! He had pushed the poor witch too far this time, and he knew it. She was already emotionally fragile, and he was breaking her piece by piece. Enough!

In one graceful movement, he strode up to Hermione, leaving virtually no distance between them. Although she didn't back down, she did slightly recoil from his aggression. Her hand collided with his chest and, without thinking, she grabbed onto a fist full of his buttons, fuming and tearful as she glared up into his sneering, unpleasant face with an animosity that left him ashamed. It lessened his own will to take back control of the situation, far more than he would ever admit.

"I know it's against your high and mighty principles to converse with someone of such low stature as myself," she staggered to get out through a couple sniffles, "but I'm still a person, Snape! I'm still a person! And I deserve the truth!"

The force of her words startled him, though not enough for the distressed witch to take notice. "I know you're still a person, Granger—" he began but was promptly interrupted; he could feel her fingernails clawing at his chest, as if willing him to feel the extent of her torment.

"How dare you take advantage of me in such a way! How dare you!" she cried repeatedly. "I - I - I'm still a person, no matter how you belittle me! Even by taking me the other night as you did, I'm not your bloody whore!"

"Granger!" Snape stepped back, horrified.

"I deserve a level of respect from you, at the very least! How could you? How could you do this to me?"

Snape sought to remove Hermione's death grip on his coat, but her grasp was much stronger than he anticipated, and his larger hands struggled to pry a hysterical Hermione off of him. "Granger, stop this!" he exclaimed, highly distraught and shocked.

"YOU SODDING BASTARD!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs; her stinging words ignited the suppressed magnitude of her own magic, which Severus sensed was about to spark out of control, enough to harm them both. "Why don't you just get rid of me?"

"Granger, stop!" Snape bellowed back, rattled by the sheer force of her madness; he continued to struggle against her pawing hands.

"Why don't you?"

"I—"

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME?" she practically howled; her knees trembled and threatened to give out as she stumbled into his arms. There was a feverish look in her eyes that made Snape's breath stall. "Kill me, won't you?" she pleaded through torn sobs, her voice a mixture of rage and despair as she clung to him out of desperation. "You despise me, so do it! DO IT! KILL ME!"

Snape abruptly ceased moving, and so, too, did Hermione. Their widened eyes locked on one another, stunned black meeting anguished brown. The glimmer of defeat Hermione wore, which had her looking far older than her years, left Snape unable to speak, and then she crumbled to the floor, in his arms, dragging him down with her.

No longer clutching to his coat out of wrath, a weeping Hermione clasped herself to Snape out of undoing. Her unruly hair collided with his chest, the frizzy strands tumbling forward to mask the depth of all her dashed hopes. The rest of her small frame slumped against him, resigned and worn down by row after row in which she had tried to stay strong and hold firm but seemed to ultimately get nowhere.

Her breaths came in arduous gasps for air, piercing the silence, as well as Snape's own ill-conveyed remorse. He was too alarmed to move—at first. Thus, he merely sat alongside her, his hands draped at his sides and not daring to touch or embrace the distraught former student adhered to his chest. That didn't mean he didn't want to, however. If he sensed it would do her any good, or marginally help her cease crying, Snape would have readily cradled her close for as long as she desired.

No...

Snape's dazed gaze lingered on a spot on the opposite wall, though he wasn't really focused on anything in particular. His ears were distracted by the witch's wrenching sobs, her confounding words ringing on repeat like an endless battle cry in his head, escalating from daring inquiries to desperate pleas to be set free:

'Did you not want to kiss or touch me? I didn't stop you... Am I really so undesirable to you? I think you care about me more than you want to let on... You aren't a bad man—misguided and flawed, certainly, but not wholly bad. I'm still a person, no matter how much you belittle me! Why don't you just get rid of me? DO IT! KILL ME!'

And then Snape remembered a flicker of the pleasurable taste of Hermione's petal-soft lips on his, of her smooth skin rubbing friction and heat against the warm palms of his hands, of the sheer desire and acceptance of him last night, when he took her with such brutality and roughness that it could hardly be considered lovemaking. Dear Merlin, she had enjoyed their union, reveling in how he touched and kissed her body, stretching her walls and spilling into her without remorse. He remembered her shivering fancifully in his arms, her fingers curiously exploring him as he did her.

None of that was imagined or forced. It had all been real.

Snape's knees slunk beneath him. He closed his eyes, inhaling a whiff of a whimpering Hermione's scent—his shampoo; he hadn't sought to purchase her some of her own yet, not when she could smell like...him—and his nose unconsciously buried itself within the tangled strands atop her head.

What have you done, Severus? What have you done to this brilliant creature who deserves none of your compassion or understanding? By God or Merlin, you are an animal...

Dexterous, trembling fingers sought the nonplussed witch still grasping the breast of his coat. Unmindful of his gentler actions, Snape wanted nothing more than to remedy his wrongdoings, of which there were too many for his own mind to make sense of. His sturdy arms simply wrapped themselves around the smallness of Hermione's back and pulled her close, one hand remaining where it was, the other weaving its way into the back of her head, delicately scrunching a few of those wild curls that spiraled lovingly between long, thoughtful digits. They were maddening to behold most of the time, and yet, so soft to the touch.

Just like her...

But he never uttered those words; nothing would possibly suffice. He was too beside himself to provide verbal comfort. What could make a difference; make things better?

Reflecting on Hermione's puncturing remarks—his maltreatment towards her that morning, his dismissal of her the previous night, as if she was nothing more than an inanimate object, none of which had ever been his intention, and withholding a host of secrets when it was his ruddy responsibility to get her to trust him—made Snape sick to his stomach.

All because of your fucking paranoia. All because you don't trust anyone, and yet, expect her to trust you.

Malice and disdain for himself as he had never known before crept over Snape's morbid senses. Not even his slip of the tongue against his best friend when he was an angry, misguided teenager compared to this level of disgust. He had behaved with utmost dishonor, and Hermione Granger had every right in the world to hate him as much as she surely did now.

'I'm still a person!' she had cried over and over, as if screaming the words might ring them true; as though she, herself, didn't believe them anymore but still wanted the wizard to take her for more than his slave, for more than what he had reduced her to.

Snape latched tighter onto Hermione, though she didn't appear to have noticed. Her sobbing had subsided, reduced to a few snot-infested sounds against his secure embrace. Her finger tips pawed more gently at Severus's chest now, still wishing to hold onto him, despite his ill treatment and for reasons unbeknownst to him. The feel of those fragile hands digging into his coat reminded him of what it had felt like to have them grazing down his spine, not with dejection but with lust, and Snape visibly shuddered against her touch.

Before you took her from behind and forced her not to look at you... Before you took her as your own without consideration for the bloody consequences...

Suddenly aware that his face was being swallowed by Hermione's swarming tresses, he carefully drew back onto his knees, his large hands gliding along the natural curve of her shoulders and up her arms to coil around her still trembling fingers. They stiffened at the contact, and more so once Hermione's hands clutched his coat more firmly as a result, determined not to let go. She seemed to fear that he was about to push her away again, and she wouldn't have it. Not this time.

Cautiously, Hermione reared back to face the man who had done her so much wrong. Her eyes, swollen and red, made him shift nervously on the spot. She was a snot-nosed mess, and yet, at such intimate proximity, with her bright, rosy complexion and softly dotted freckles, Snape found himself enraptured by the off-balance sight of her. It wasn't her tears, of course, but her healthy flush, that natural glow, and those shimmering brown eyes that seemed to quicken his heart rate and cause his own cheeks to burn brighter.

Merlin, how greatly he owed her...

Hermione stifled a breath, as if suddenly remembering the things she had uttered—shouted, rather—and her eyes flashed anxiously, holding his gaze.

Snape, too, took several calculated breaths, unsure at first of what to say. Apologies weren't his strong suit, and even now, they felt like an entirely moot point. What difference would his pathetic apologies really make? Yet, he knew that she deserved something—some small token of reassurance, of decency, of respect.

"Granger, I..." he started and faltered, and then attempted to pick up from where he left off most abysmally. "I had no intention of taking things as far as they went the other night. Never. It was never a thought in my mind when I approached you to...to do what I did...to allow things to progress to the point of..."

It was the most subdued, most restrained manner with which he had ever addressed her, and the gentleness in his expression—that open, shattering remorse—struck Hermione to her foundation. Her back went rigid, her mind aware that their hands were still tightly entwined, and that she was still clasping onto him. Was she seeking comfort, or something else? Regardless, Hermione couldn't bring herself to let go.

"But it did," she choked back in reply, taking a moment to swallow the weight of those heavy-handed words. She could detect Snape digesting the heaviness they bore as well. "It did escalate to that, though. And you... Your behavior towards me since..."

Snape sucked in a breath before exhaling long and hard through his nose. "I shouldn't have treated you with such little respect; not before or after what transpired. I've shamed only myself these past months. Past all forgiveness. I... I have only myself to blame, and your anger and resentment is more than justifiable."

The rest of his apology was on the tip of his tongue, but still, Snape held back. Evidently, it took every effort to admit to such a grave lamentation out loud that the profundity wasn't lost on Hermione. She didn't seem to require more and, somewhat appeased with his response, her grip on the fabric of his garments loosened.

"So, what... What do we do now?"

Snape arched a dubious eyebrow. "Do?" he repeated; his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Well, considering that I'm sure it - it's a serious violation for us to have—"

"We do nothing," Snape cut her off, and Hermione started at the abrupt sharpness the direction of their delicate conversation had taken. "We don't speak of it outside this home; we make no mention of it. Should anyone ever step inside this house, which I rarely, if ever, allow, we won't breathe a word about it. Is that understood, Granger?"

"I wasn't suggesting that we—"

"Is that understood?"

Hermione stared at Snape, now wholly aggravated and unnerved, and solemnly nodded, withdrawing her hands from him at last.

Snape, as though keenly aware all of a sudden that he still had his fingers wrapped around the young witch, stiffened and, too, set her free of his grasp. He surveyed her carefully for a long moment, watching her puffy eyes mull over the situation. The pain she was trying to squelch was near unbearable to witness and, to Snape's growing confusion, there also appeared to be a twinge of disappointment. Unless he was sorely mistaken...

"Are you ashamed?"

Her question caught Snape so off track that his upper lip twitched. His natural inclination was to go on the defense. "I beg your pardon?" he challenged, to which Hermione didn't meet his eyes but stared determinedly at the floor.

"About...me?" she muttered. Her hands fidgeted together in her lap. "Are you ashamed...of me?"

At first, Snape had assumed the seriousness to which Hermione was referring was their copulation the previous night. Naturally, he was most guilt-ridden over his own deplorable actions, but with her? With Hermione herself, who had willingly given herself over to him as no woman ever had? Snape's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, betraying his usually tight mask of control.

"With you?" he resounded, and she nodded most reluctantly, still not meeting his gaze. Snape's scowl tightened. "No, of course not, Granger. I am," he struggled to convey, "disappointed in myself, nothing more. I am in charge in this house. I should have stopped things well before they progressed to where they did, but I didn't. The fault is...is mine entirely. You've done nothing for which you should feel ashamed. Except..."

"Except?" she whispered back when Snape said nothing.

Snape waited for Hermione to meet his eyes, though she seemed determined not to do so. Can't say I blame her, he reflected shamefully, and it didn't prevent the crack that formed in his voice when he replied, "Except for wishing to engage in something of that magnitude—something so precious and for which should only occur out of the greatest of affections—with a man as unseemly and contemptible as me."

At last, Hermione raised her head. To hear such vulnerability, and such words, from this man left her utterly astounded. It wasn't only an extremely personal confession, but the most open and honest Severus Snape had ever been with her. She turned to him quietly, a sorrowful expression written across her face.

"I'm not ashamed, Sir. Not with the act, nor that it was...with you."

The flicker of surprise that danced across Snape's eyes was irrefutable. He hardly knew how to respond, and it was his turn to quickly turn away from Hermione, unable to maintain eye contact. It was another heartfelt confession from the woman that he didn't deserve, so gravely unmerited that the words physically stung him to hear.

After a pregnant pause, Hermione spoke up again, her voice delicate, "What will you do with me now?"

Snape blinked and chanced a glance her way. Did the smart, highly capable witch really expect him to make do on her plea several minutes ago to kill her? That he would be even capable of doing so?

Why not? You've done it before, his conscience bitterly argued.

With mounting frustration, Snape fought down the wave of anger that was pushing itself to the forefront of his mind and answered, his voice tense, "I have no reason, nor desire, to dispose of you, Granger."

Hermione's eyelids fluttered as she peered over at him. "You don't?"

Foolish girl! was Snape's immediate reaction, but, again, he stomped out that exasperation with a sneer. "I know this setup is...difficult for us both, but I have no wish to make things more troublesome for you than they've already been made by my serious lapse in judgment—"

"Snape—Sir, I..." Hermione timidly interrupted; she bit down on her bottom lip when she realized he was going to actually allow her to finish her train of thought and continued with some difficulty, "I've not been trying to harass you these past weeks for answers. I just... I don't understand." Attempting to keep her eyes locked on the dark wizard was trying, but Hermione managed it as she pushed on, "Why me?"

'Why me?'

It was such a simple question that held such complicated answers, which Snape contemplated painstakingly, wrestling with his turbulent feelings on how best to address her inquiry. He could continue to brush her off, to stomp her down with a reminder to mind her own sodding business, that it was no concern of hers, but then, what would such a dismissal accomplish except to alienate her further, and make her trust him even less than she must already? Plus, it would be another lie.

Why she bloody trusts you at all, or can even stomach to be near you, is beyond reason!

It had been Snape's intention, after all, to keep his former student safe from harm, even if it meant locking her away in this godforsaken, run down house that was as shattered and damaged as its owner, under his moody disposition that was supposed to gain her confidence, yet relentlessly cut her down and pushed her away instead.

What a botched up mess you've made of things, Severus. Well done.

Taking a moment to swallow some much needed composure, Snape answered as steadily as he could, "What good would it do to know why, Granger?" He waited for her to internalize his response, though her visage only illustrated more confusion and displeasure with his vague response. "Surmise it to say that you are now here under my protection. As long as you remain in this house, you're safe.

"You haven't been safe from me, however, and I intend to change that. I... I relent not keeping my end of the bargain, and shall remedy it at once. You need never worry again of me...taking advantage of you like that..."

'You're safe.'

Hermione found herself instantly clinging to that promise. So, she had been right. His intentions had never been to bring her harm. She felt the compulsion again to touch him, to be closer, to fasten her fingers to his coat and never let go. I was right all along...

"Then why did you..." Hermione gulped at the sudden nerves fluttering in her stomach. "Why did you brand me? Why did you risk everything the other night by...having sex with me, when that could cost you so much? Was it just that to you—sex—or was it..."

Finding her desperation peaking, and wanting to be assuaged, Hermione fought to speak her mind, although, what an utterly foolish thing to hope, Hermione! This is Severus Snape! Why would he possibly want you, and why does it even matter that he should?

Her unfinished question hovered in the air, with Snape, too, fighting his conscience against the unspoken words that Hermione hadn't said but which he well understood. His reply crawled out of his mouth, against his better judgment, "As I said before, Granger, it shouldn't have occurred. The fault is mine. My...senses got the better of me."

So... There's your answer, Hermione. Did you really expect anything more?

Judging from the pains in her chest that were making it difficult to breathe, evidently she had. Silence filled the void and hovered between them for several more minutes, with neither choosing to speak or move from one another's side. Hermione was rather grateful that Snape remained perfectly still and quiet afterwards, seemingly just as content to not fill the awkward stillness with more excuses or murky explanations.

Yet, there was a profound ache pressing down on Hermione that she couldn't ignore. Despite Snape's unsatisfactory responses, she wasn't feeling any more appeased at his taking the blame for what happened. His "senses" had apparently gotten the better of him, but if that were the case, it was the same for her, too. Furthermore, it hadn't felt...wrong.

Yes, it was, Hermione! her racing mind countered. Stop this! What you're thinking is complete madness! It doesn't matter! It shouldn't matter!

Hermione averted her attention to her left arm, partly in an effort to stall the tears that were now stinging her eyes. "And this?" she mumbled in a painful whisper, extending her arm out to Snape as she had many times before, praying she wasn't about to push the man over the edge and send them right back where they had started.

Snape said nothing at first, which forced Hermione to scoot closer to him on the floor, her wrestling emotions seeking some form of relief. "You dislike it for some reason, Sir. You hate it, in fact. I dislike it for what it has reduced me to, but you..." Her wrought face twisted suspiciously. "You have no reason to despise it. You're... You're a Death Eater. I don't understand what it is about this - this mark that upsets you so. Could you please help me better understand? That... That's all I ask..."

"You shouldn't dig too deep, Granger," he stated delicately in return. "You may, in fact, discover a very different person underneath all this flesh and bone. Someone you don't particularly like."

Hermione wasn't mollifed by that answer, only more confounded. He seemed to toy with her every second she got closer to the truth. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she decided it best to remain silent, if only to absorb and take in Snape's words. She unconsciously leaned closer, her arm brushing his. When she peered up at the ever convoluted wizard, Snape evidently had gotten lost in his thoughts, for he didn't return her regard but stared directly ahead at the opposite wall, dazed and not blinking, until Hermione cleared her throat.

Snape's study of her face when he looked down upon her was softer than ever before. Those beautifully long eyelashes—and they were beautiful, Hermione realized suddenly and without censure—fluttered and drew her in. How she longed to know what thoughts and emotions lurked behind their evasive depths.

"Do you regret it?" she finally asked; a flash of shock swept across those rich, deeply masked eyes. Hermione held his gaze, though, neither one of them speaking for a lengthy pause until Snape finally answered, a muscle in his cheek twitching uncomfortably.

"Yes..." he confessed quietly. "I never wished for it to happen. If I could take it back..."

"You would," she finished just as softly, and Snape gave a sober nod.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "You see, I wish I could say that I'd do the same except...I wouldn't."

Snape's chest tightened considerably. He felt a few of Hermione's curls lightly brushing his cravat and swallowed hard. She hadn't noticed his subtle stiffening, or that he had bound his lips together too tightly for comfort. Knowing that the young witch had no remorse or even slight regrets over shagging him sucked the wind out of him.

Was any of this real? Was she actually serious?

"You never answered my question from earlier," Hermione hesitated, surveying his heightened gaze to find the courage to extract the reservations she had long withheld, "which was, did you dislike kissing me? Touching me? Find me undesirable?"

Her words were so gently articulated, so tenuous, that Snape's mouth parted, his nostrils inhaling a strong whiff of her scent again—his own; she was bathed in his aroma, and the result was intoxicating. "No," he found himself confessing with surprising ease this time, relief washing over him at the same time.

Hermione unconsciously leaned into him, giving an intimate proximity of every defined strand of her chocolate eyelashes, every light freckle speckled across her small nose and cheeks, and those plush lips that were divinely soft to the touch. She seemed to be breathing heavier, too. Then again, so was he...

"Did you...enjoy it?" she pressed, moistening her mouth with a quick flick of her tongue, which darted in and out in a manner that left Snape jolted. The mere flick of her tongue sent a spark straight to his groin, and he bit back a moan at the back of his throat. "Did you like...what we shared...together?"

Evidently, Hermione didn't buy the notion that Snape would have taken it all back if he could, and, this time, it was Snape who drew nearer, his parted lips stopping short of Hermione's. There, he lingered, black pools staring deep into chestnut swirls that no longer harbored any validated fury, only excitement and anticipation for what they desired more of: him.

"No," Snape succumbed in a low, primal growl, "I enjoyed it all...immensely."

With that, Snape's mouth captured Hermione's, her intense reaction echoing the wizard's words with a defining gasp into his mouth. Snape escalated the kiss at once, and soon their tongues were sucking and pulling at will, matching each other's desperation and salacious appetite for more of the same.

Snape bowed his head, inky, limp strands tickling Hermione's face as she allowed him full access into her mouth, her chest rising heatedly to meet every potent kiss. She craned her neck backward to take in as much of Snape as possible, hell-bent on drinking in whatever this enigma of a man would allow of her.

Nimble fingers skimmed the length of his wiry arms in search of his neck, her hand latching onto the nape and rubbing strong circles against the aching tendons. A lean, yet strong, limb wrapped itself around the curve of her back and pushed Hermione against his sturdy chest, against a selection of buttons that grazed her hardened nipples now peeking through her blouse.

Hermione echoed a moan long and deep—a sensual sound that stirred Snape on. His response was one of feverish need, and he pushed against the eagerness of her tongue with naked ambition, sucking her swollen bottom lip before releasing it with an audible pop.

Each was inflamed with the thrill of what could follow. Snape's arm was locked tightly around Hermione's back, snug and secure, as was her grip around his neck. Neither would yield to turning back now.

Yes, Hermione submitted then and there.

This strange, supposed adversary was who she wanted, without a second thought. She craved for him to wrap her in his strong arms and fill her emptiness that pulsated to be touched. This time, Hermione was certain that Severus Snape's hunger—the absolute deprivation to take, kiss and pluck her all over—was one of not only mutual desire but unabashed trust, and so she brought her sweet lips back to his, resolved to give and take, despite whatever consequences might befall them.

Yes... He's most certainly what I want...

Somehow, on some unspoken plane, Hermione sensed that Snape was drawing the same conclusions about her. Otherwise, why on earth would the man kiss her like this?

A/N #2: To be continued...