Warning: The rating has gone up to M for a reason. There will be lemons from this point onwards. If you do not want to read smut, message me and we can work something out. If you're underage and reading this anyway, it's not my responsibility, but I won't tell anyone. Enjoy.
"It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning
There was fog crawling over the sand
When I listen to your heart I hear the whole world turning
I see the shooting stars falling through your trembling hands."
– Meat Loaf, 'Hot Summer Night (You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth)'.
That afternoon she arrived back at the caravan again and found Severus reading in the sun. "Sorry I'm so late."
"I thought you only had to feed your cat," he replied neutrally.
"I had a bath and washed my hair as well. I needed it, I looked ghastly."
"I wouldn't say that," he replied indistinctly and mostly under his breath, standing up at the same time and going inside to get a bottle of cold water from the fridge.
Staring after him, Hermione mentally shook herself and followed. She had been about to let it drop, as she had several other comments that he hadn't intended her to hear, until it occurred to her that if he truly hadn't intended her to hear them, then he wouldn't have said anything. This was Severus Snape, and he didn't speak without thinking; after so long, she wasn't sure he could. "What would you say, then?" she challenged him, watching his shoulders tense as he stood in front of the fridge with his back to her.
As ever, he recovered well, straightening and replying calmly, "I wouldn't say anything at all on the subject." Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by the smooth recovery. She should have let it go then and accepted his reply, but... he had allowed her to overhear it for a reason, and she was simply too stubborn to give up so easily.
"What if I asked for your opinion?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer her immediately, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of water nonchalantly and acting as though it was mere coincidence that he was avoiding her eyes. She had the feeling that his mind was racing. If, as she thought, he had wanted her to respond to what he had said, he seemed not to have worked out what to say next. "Surely you are not so insecure that you feel the need to question every male in your vicinity about your looks?" he drawled finally.
"I'm not asking every male in the vicinity," she replied quietly, taking a step closer. "I'm asking you."
"It's the same thing, given where we are standing," he said impatiently.
"It isn't, and you know it," she corrected him.
He sighed theatrically, looking utterly bored; not for the first time, Hermione appreciated the irony of so much about him. If he looked bored, it usually meant he was off balance and trying to hide it, buying himself time to think, whereas if he was actually bored, he usually looked mildly interested. Talking to him could be very difficult, sometimes. "If you must insist on fishing for compliments, then fine. Inasmuch as I am in any position to judge, you looked as well as anyone could expect given that you had a hangover and had spent the night passed out on the sofa, and far better than most people could manage in that situation. Does that satisfy you?"
Countering his question with one of her own, she asked, "Did you know that your voice changes when you're hiding something? You speak more formally, more carefully."
His eyes hardened, but after all this time she knew enough to read the signs. This too was a defence mechanism; he wasn't genuinely angry but scrambling for balance and suddenly, painfully uncertain. "Fascinating. And I suppose you have a theory as to what I am supposedly hiding?" he spat.
"I have one or two ideas, yes," she replied carefully. The last thing she wanted was to push him into lashing out at her, but she was desperate to speak to the real Severus and not the mask he used out of sheer reflex. After a moment she added cautiously, "None of them are... unwelcome."
He was silent, and clearly had no idea what to say. Nor did she, but if neither of them spoke then this would all fall apart and the quiet friendship they had shared would become awkward and painful. Slowly, she moved a little closer, taking care to keep a little distance between them. If she crowded him now, there was no knowing what sort of explosion might result. "I thought once that it said a lot about me, that you would open up to me as much as you did, that you trusted me enough to let me see something real," she said quietly. "That lasted until I realised how stupid and arrogant it was. It had nothing to do with me, not really. Anyone could take the time to learn how to read you... if they cared enough about you to try. That's just it, isn't it, Severus? Nobody ever cared about you, as a person. Only what you could do for them. And I know what that feels like only too well."
The familiar black eyes avoided hers, after one almost frantic glance; Severus looked extremely tense, but it was a mark of the fragile trust that now existed between them that he didn't try to run from the conversation the way he had on the Astronomy Tower. He looked down at the ground, his hair falling forward to hide his face, and she barely heard it when he did reply. "That is certainly part of it... but it isn't the whole truth..."
"It isn't? Then what is?" she asked softly.
"It still had – has – a great deal to do with you. Were you anything other than what you are, you would not care, and the question would be entirely academic."
"That runs both ways, Severus. I told you only yesterday you were the first person to really take an interest in what I wanted to do with my life. We're more alike than either of us realised."
"You're nothing like me, fortunately for you."
"Don't say that. You're not a bad man, Severus. You're not the man most people think you are. You're certainly not the man you think you are. And I see nothing shameful in being like you. I wish I was more so."
His head came up sharply, startled, and he stared at her; but she meant every word. She couldn't believe that things had actually come to this. Gryffindor courage, Hermione... Now she did move closer, into that fragile space between them, meeting his gaze and refusing to look away. Courage.
When she touched his face, he flinched, but he didn't pull away and he didn't tell her to stop. Wishing vaguely that her hands weren't shaking, she ran her fingers into his hair, pushing it back so that she could see his face. The black hair felt soft under her hands; the thin streak of white that marked a scar was slightly coarser by contrast. He seemed to have stopped breathing completely, and his eyes held such a complex blend of emotions that Hermione couldn't even begin to read his expression, but the tension in his body was unmistakeable as he looked down at her.
They stood frozen for a moment that seemed to last for hours, staring at one another in complete silence, before she very gently tightened her fingers in his hair and rose on tiptoe, drawing his head down. For a brief moment she thought he would resist, or pull away, and this would all fall apart around them; but he yielded to the slight pressure of her hands and lowered his head, and their lips met. He was still for an instant longer before she felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek as he exhaled, and his mouth moved tentatively against hers.
After the first moments of sweet awkwardness that occurred when kissing someone for the first time, they found the right angle, and she discovered that Severus was a very good kisser. Not that it was much of a surprise, the small part of her brain that was still aware reflected; he was like her, utterly obsessive, and would never do anything unless he was sure of being good at it. The thought dissolved as she concentrated on the sensations of the kiss and the heat flowing through her.
He was gentler than she would have expected, careful and almost hesitant. His arms came up, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders rather than gripping her, and when his lips parted he traced her lower lip with his tongue, asking rather than demanding. That was a welcome courtesy, and she opened to him without hesitation, closing her eyes as his tongue entered her mouth and the kiss deepened. He tasted of molasses, almost, something dark and slightly sweet with a distinctly bitter undertone reminiscent of burnt sugar, and faintly cutting through that was another taste that was cool and clean and pure. Unconsciously she moved closer, pressing against the heat of his body, and kissed him back in the same way he was kissing her – a slow, careful and thorough exploration, memorising the feel of his mouth and the taste of him. He even had a scar on the roof of his mouth; andhe was missing a tooth, she discovered, one of the upper left molars, and she traced the gap with her tongue for a moment before drawing back and letting him take the lead once more.
His hands moved, slowly; one tangled in her hair, cradling her skull, and the other slid down her back, drawing her more tightly against him. Shifting closer, she slid a leg between his thighs and felt a dizzy thrill of desire when she felt his body responding to her, revelling in the absolute proof that he really did want her. They drew apart for a moment and stared wordlessly at one another, both of them breathing harder and faster; she had never dreamed those cold black eyes could hold such heat, such raw need. They came together once more, kissing more fiercely now, and she felt him harden against her as her hands moved lower and slid beneath his shirt. He stiffened then, breaking the kiss, and she stilled against him, looking up at him, acutely aware of the scar tissue she could feel beneath her hands.
Severus gripped her shoulders gently and pushed her back a step, the heat in his eyes fading a little. "Stop," he said softly. It might have sounded more sincere had his voice not been reduced to a husky purr that sent a shiver of pure lust through her. "You don't know what you're doing."
"Yes, I do," she replied, trying not to sound too breathless. "We both need this, Severus." He shivered when she said his name. "I want this; I want you. And I can tell you want me."
"That's not..." He was struggling for words now. "You don't want me. You don't know... Damnit." He paused and took a breath, letting it out slowly. "You don't know what it is you're asking for."
"I don't understand..." Hermione said slowly, starting to feel cold. Was he really rejecting her?
"I... Just look." He stepped away from the fridge door, and she let him, unsure what he was trying to say. Reaching down, he seized the hem of his shirt and jerked it over his head in one harsh motion, letting it fall.
She looked at him silently. He was thin, the contours of his rib cage and his hip bones clearly visible, but there was muscle there as well. Black hair curled sparsely over his chest, dwindling to a thin line that led down his stomach beneath the waistband of his jeans to the obvious swell of his erection; he was wearing the yin-yang necklace still. But what drew her eyes, what he had meant her to see, were the scars; she already knew about some of them, but there were others. A couple snaked across his collarbone and over his shoulder; the worst one made a deep furrow through his chest hair; a jagged one cut across the muscles of his stomach; smaller ones marked his ribs and his arms. Without the shirt as camouflage, the bite marks on his neck stood out clearly against his pale skin. Slowly, not looking at her, he turned around.
Hermione had known when she felt the scars under her hands that his back was marked quite badly, but as her eyes traced the reality she could barely take it in. At first glance there didn't seem to be an inch of unscarred skin, but after a moment she began to notice individual marks. They were worst across his shoulders, horizontal crooked lines that looked like they had been inflicted with a whip or something similar; a long furrow raked its way down one shoulder blade; a rounded, puckered scar marked the other; something like claw marks were visible on his lower back, that must have been the ones she had felt; and dozens of smaller marks in between, some of which looked like burns, some that were clearly hex scars, and others – she went cold; oh, God. Someone – maybe more than one person – had sliced aimless patterns into his skin; it looked like they had been doodling on him... with knives.
She could have wept for him then, under different and less intense circumstances, just because of how much he must have suffered, but it was nothing compared to his expression when he turned to look at her once more. His face had shut down, a stiff mask hiding any trace of emotion but for a faintly resigned expression as he waited for her to recoil, to leave, or – probably worst of all from his point of view – to pity him. Still, his guard was down after their intense kisses, and he couldn't quite hide the fragile look in his eyes; he was also still quite plainly aroused. Hermione understood; he wasn't rejecting her, he was waiting for her to reject him. He had just opened himself to her, let her see everything, shown her trust he had shown nobody else, and he was waiting for her to abandon him because of it.
And, suddenly, she knew what to say in response. She walked to him once more and stood looking up at him, resting a hand on his chest. "After Bill Weasley was attacked by Fenrir Greyback, we all thought his fiancée would leave him," she said quietly. He looked badly confused, as well he might, but this was relevant and she gave him no chance to comment as she continued. "But Fleur surprised us all. I remember what she said in the hospital... I can't do the accent, but she said, 'All that these scars show is that my husband is brave'."
She watched his expression change as he realised what she was saying, saw the fragile, uncertain hope in his eyes, and smiled gently at him. "These scars show your bravery, Severus, that's all. They're badges of honour, every one of them." Slowly she took her hand from his chest and laid her fingers on his left wrist, grasping his hand and turning his arm to expose the Dark Mark. "Even this one," she said softly, and bent her head and pressed her lips to the skull in a gentle kiss. He shuddered, and when she drew back his eyes were closed. They opened slowly, filled with raw need, and he stared at her almost pleadingly. No longer nervous, she smiled at him. "I have scars, too," she half-whispered. "Want to see?"
Severus was almost visibly trembling now. The mask had slipped, and she clearly saw the moment when he abruptly stopped fighting and allowed himself to give in. "Yes." The word was almost a sigh. He reached for her and drew her close against him once more, and as he kissed her she let her hands wander across his body, exploring from scars to unblemished skin and back again as the kiss grew deeper and hunger began to burn through them both.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at her with desire, longer still since she had felt desire in return, and she wasn't sure any man had ever kissed her so gently and yet so thoroughly. His hands slid down her spine, pressing her closer against his erection, before he shifted his weight; the tensing of his muscles was the only warning she had before he lifted her off the ground. Clutching his shoulders to steady herself, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist; neither of them broke the kiss as he pushed her against the side of the cupboard, his tongue sliding and playing against hers.
When they came up for air, he bent his head lower, his lips tracing her neck and her throat; his tongue circled her pulse and she shuddered before she felt the faint pressure of his teeth as, guided by her response, he nibbled expertly at the spot under her jaw that sent electricity through her body. She couldn't stop the moan that rose in the back of her throat and didn't even try, feeling him shiver before she wound her fingers into his hair once more and kissed him again. He moved and ground himself against her, his kisses rougher now, before his arms tightened and he straightened, carrying her down the length of the caravan in a few swift strides and entering his bedroom.
Distantly Hermione was aware of both external doors swinging shut and broke the kiss long enough to say breathlessly, "If you can concentrate enough for wandless non-verbal magic, I must be doing something wrong."
He laughed at that, softly, looking at her with warmth in his eyes. "I didn't do it consciously. In fact, I had forgotten the doors were open. I assure you... what you are doing to me is most definitely not wrong." That was nice to know, she decided, but then he was kissing her again and it ceased to matter any more as he lowered her to the bed.
She broke away and half sat up, reaching for the buttons of her blouse; he caught her hands, stopping her, and when she looked at him he whispered, "Allow me." Yielding, she watched his face as he slowly undid each button, taking his time – teasing himself as much as her, by the look in his eyes – before equally slowly pushing the garment off her shoulders. She might have felt self-conscious then, but there wasn't enough left in the small rational corner of her mind to allow the thought to form, and all that mattered was the heat of his skin as he began to touch her. The long, shallow scar on her chest drew his attention, but he didn't ask about it; instead he followed it with lips, teeth and tongue, from where it started below her collarbone across her sternum to where it ended just above her bra, before returning his attention to her throat and eventually finding her mouth once more.
It was almost impossible to think; she was drowning in pure desire, burning, aching with it and only vaguely aware of his fingers tracing down her side to her waist, undoing her belt. Once it registered, she helped him, arching her back as he slid her trousers down over her hips before she kicked them away, more interested in kissing him. He was lying on the bed with her by that point; she couldn't get close enough, still too many clothes in the way, and sat up to unfasten her bra. Watching his face, she drew it away from her and let it fall, loving the almost awed look in his eyes that could truly make her believe that she was beautiful.
Slowly Severus reached out and drew her back down to him, both of them shuddering as her bare breasts met his skin, before he rolled them both to lay her on her back. He kissed her again before beginning to trace a frustratingly slow path from her lips down her neck, across her collarbone, trailing down along her scar and lingering for a long moment before finally kissing the curves of her breasts. The first light brush of his tongue across her nipple sent fire leaping through her and she moaned, arching her back; she felt him smile against her skin as his lips closed over the hardened point and he sucked gently, the sensation making her whole body react. His hand cupped her other breast, his fingers teasing the nipple, and she buried her fingers in his hair to ensure that he didn't move away.
Eventually, however, he did pull away, and his lips found hers once more as his hand continued to trail lower down her body, gliding over the curve of her hip and down the outside of her thigh. Deepening the kiss, she shifted her hips in anticipation of his touch, knowing that she was more than ready for him. The contact when it finally came was maddeningly light, the faintest brush of one fingertip through her knickers, and she almost whimpered in frustration before half-growling, "Severus... stop bloody teasing!"
He chuckled softly deep in his throat, looking down at her with his eyes glittering. "Patience..." he purred, and just the sound of his voice sent shudders of pleasure rippling through her. Struggling to hold still, she arched against him as his fingers slid beneath the thin fabric and slowly removed the last of her clothing before he drew away a little and simply looked at her; she could practically feel his intent gaze as a tangible pressure against her skin, and his eyes were burning.
Finally, finally, he began to touch her the way she wanted, his fingers delving between her legs, and she writhed under his touch as he stroked her; when at last he slid a finger inside her, she cried out. A second finger joined the first, and he turned his hand to bring his thumb to rub against her as his fingers moved. It didn't take long; she was right on the edge and in only a few moments she heard herself crying out again as she arched her back, bucking against his hand as ecstasy blazed through her.
Recovering slowly, Hermione bit back a whimper as he withdrew his hand, and opened her eyes to see him slowly and deliberately sucking his fingers clean with his eyes never leaving hers. It was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen, and when he kissed her again she could taste herself in his mouth. This was pure heaven, but the ache between her legs was torture; hopefully, they could continue playing later, if this worked out in a way that would guarantee a repeat performance, but right now she wanted – needed – him inside her, and she pushed at him until he yielded and rolled onto his back.
Severus was almost painfully hard as she touched him gently through his jeans, tracing his length with her fingertips as he shuddered beneath her, the kind of hardness you only got through years of denial. Undoing his belt, she almost laughed when she realised that his jeans were button-fly; it was so absolutely typical of him. Then again, it was probably just as well; frantic lust and zips in sensitive areas weren't the best combination. His fingers brushed hers as he tried to help her, fumbling and almost clumsy in his haste as he struggled out of his jeans; his legs had scars too, she noticed vaguely, but she wasn't really interested at the moment as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and helped him remove them.
He was beautiful; there was no other word for it. Summer sunlight came streaming through the window, highlighting every contour of his body and touching the glistening head of his erection. Reaching out, she gently but firmly wrapped her hand around his shaft, and his back arched as he moaned. It seemed the old stereotypes were true; he was magnificent, long and thick and so hard that she could feel his pulse as she gripped him before beginning to move her hand in slow strokes, guiding herself by his responses.
Breathless and gasping, he caught her wrist. "Enough," he panted, trembling as he stared at her.
"Too much?"
"God... Almost." Coherent speech became impossible then; he kissed her fiercely now, giving in at last to the heat burning through them both, and rolled on top of her to pin her beneath his weight. She spread her legs for him, shuddering and holding back a moan as she felt his erection against her; he pressed close enough that the head of him was almost – but not quite – entering her before he paused, looking down at her.
"Please," she whispered, pushing his hair back from his face and staring into the dark, endless depths of his eyes. "Please, Severus."
He shivered, shifted his weight a little, and slid into her in one smooth thrust that had them both crying out. Buried completely inside her at last, he stilled, trembling, both of them glorying in the feeling; then he began to move, and all coherent thought dissolved into pure sensation. This was different to any man she had been with before; even the slightest movements sent fire through her. It took a few minutes for her to work out why, as she tried to think through the building waves of pleasure; because his bad knee was so inflexible, he was moving with an odd rolling motion, and every thrust touched slightly different places inside her, so the stimulus was always new. That, combined with the knowledge of just who was taking her so deeply, was almost overwhelming.
Lost in sensation, there were only vague impressions – the warm sunlight filling the room; the friction of sweat-slicked skin on skin; the sound of increasingly heavy breathing; his hair brushing her face before he lifted his head to look down at her; the feel of him so deeply inside her that it was almost too much to bear; the growing sense of pressure and fire building until she was right on the edge and shaking with the feeling. Then that careful rolling rhythm of his thrusts faltered; Severus closed his eyes for a moment and groaned thickly, all control gone and no restraint now as he started moving more erratically, harder and faster.
Every movement sent a pulse of pleasure through her body, and then he shifted slightly and caught just the right place and the world dissolved as she came with a cry that was almost a scream of sheer ecstasy. Mere heartbeats later as the last waves of her orgasm shook her, she heard his almost agonised cry above her; thrusting one last time, he froze and shuddered as he spilled himself into her.
Her vision returned in stages as the haze slowly cleared. He had half-collapsed, catching himself just shy of crushing her; she felt his hot breath against her neck as he panted. After a few moments, he slowly eased himself up, withdrawing from her and rolling to one side; shivering at the loss as his body left hers, Hermione rolled over and curled close against him, resting her head on his chest without thinking. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed and slid an arm around her; sighing contentedly, she nestled closer and closed her eyes, listening to his breathing slowly returning to normal.
After what seemed an eternity, he sighed, his fingers absently toying with an errant lock of hair. She dreaded to think what her hair looked like at the moment, but he didn't seem to mind. "It has been... a very long time for me," he said softly.
It took her a moment to work out what he was really saying – or asking, rather – and she almost laughed; that would have been a fatal mistake, possibly literally, but for him to be insecure about this was ridiculous, really. "For me, too," she replied when the urge had passed, "but it didn't show. You were wonderful."
He relaxed a little more and made a pleased sound in his throat. "Allow me to return the compliment," he murmured, shifting slightly and settling. She drifted for a while, half-dozing in the warmth of the sun shining through the window and the warmth of his body, and was giving serious thought to going to sleep properly when he spoke again, a little more hesitantly now. "Hermione... what is this?"
Not something she wanted to discuss right now, not when she was still enjoying the lingering afterglow, but at least he sounded apprehensive and uncertain rather than suspicious and defensive. She considered her words carefully, not entirely certain of what to say, and opted for the truth. "I'm not sure," she admitted softly. "Something we both needed, badly. Something we both enjoyed. Something I wouldn't mind repeating," she added bravely. "I don't know if it has to be anything more than that." She wasn't in love with him, she knew that much; she wasn't sure that was possible for her any more, and possibly for him it never had been. But she cared for him, and was reasonably sure that he cared for her at least a little, and their mutual passion seemed to be surprisingly strong. For now, that was enough.
"That sounds... acceptable," he said carefully, and she couldn't help laughing, lifting her head to look at him.
"'Acceptable'?" she repeated.
He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed; there was a brief flash of something harsh and ugly in his eyes as she laughed, but it faded and a hint of humour softened his expression. "A poor choice of words. I find myself struggling to think as clearly as I usually do, for some strange reason," he teased, and she grinned at him.
"Good." She settled down once more and closed her eyes again, wondering vaguely if this was what they meant by 'friends with benefits' or not and musing that this was certainly going to be the strangest relationship she had ever had, if you could call it a relationship. Whatever it was, she had told him the truth; it was something they both needed. Everyone needed to feel wanted.
"Shit," she said suddenly, jolted out of her drowsy reflection by an unpleasant thought.
"What?" he asked warily.
"We didn't use anything," she muttered, fumbling for her wand.
"Oh, is that all." He relaxed once more. "Don't worry about it."
"Severus..."
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You really have scrambled my brains this afternoon." He didn't sound as if he minded, though. After a moment he continued, sounding slightly more awake, if slightly less happy. "Contraception is not an issue... I am unable to have children."
"What?" she exclaimed, drawing away and pushing herself up on one elbow to look at him.
"One of Poppy Pomfrey's diagnostic charms picked up on it during a health check, back when I still let her run them. I have known since I was young."
"The Healers couldn't do anything?"
"No. Nobody could work out the cause." He shrugged and stretched lazily, apparently genuinely indifferent, and continued idly, "I never wished to father children anyway."
"Oh, Severus..." she said softly.
He frowned at her. "What? I mean it. I never wanted children."
"That's not the point, though, is it? It's just something else you never had any choice about." He blinked slowly and didn't answer, which was all the indication she would get that she had struck home. Leaning over, she kissed him gently before curling up against him once more. "Well, it's one less thing to worry about now, I suppose," she remarked more lightly, absently tracing the cord of his necklace with a fingertip as his arm settled around her again. "So what exactly happened? I mean, clearly everything still works, and works rather well, in fact..."
He chuckled softly. "I doubt I would be so accepting if that were the problem," he agreed wryly. "I have no idea, frankly. Perhaps spell damage again – not the Cruciatus this time, though, I was too young for that – but it could just as easily be something genetic. I'm infertile; completely sterile. Firing blanks, as my father would no doubt have phrased it."
"Charming."
"He was a charming sort of man," Severus agreed sardonically, before stifling a yawn and shifting into a more comfortable position. "I hope you realise this will throw my already erratic sleeping patterns off completely."
"My humble apologies," she replied through a yawn of her own. "It's your terrible influence at work, you know. I would never have dreamed of spending a decadent afternoon having very good sex if it weren't for you."
"I could get used to it," he said drowsily.
"Me too," she agreed, snuggling closer.
After a few minutes Hermione realised that she was unthinkingly tracing some of his scars with her fingertips and hastily stopped, murmuring an apology. "It's all right," he replied softly; she felt the vibration of laughter in his chest. "Under the circumstances it would make no sense to worry about being touched," he added ironically, and she smiled, glancing at him to make sure he was really okay with it before returning to her curious exploration.
"How did... I mean... never mind," she finished hastily, realising there was no tactful way to ask how he'd got his scars.
"No, it's fine." He sounded slightly more awake now, but he made no attempt to move; she could feel his fingers idly winding through her hair once more. "I don't remember a lot of them any more, to be honest. And most of the ones I do remember, I have no intention of telling you, because you don't need to hear it and I don't need to say it. It's fairly obvious with most of them anyway... they are almost all combat scars, or punishment scars. Some of them were just work accidents, burns from potions and so on, or from childhood incidents. And some – quite a few, really – I gained during my travels. Mostly in bar fights."
"Bar fights?" she repeated incredulously, not sure what was most surprising about that statement. She had a very hard time picturing Severus in a pub at all, let alone getting into a brawl. "Why were you in bar fights, plural?"
"Because I was borderline psychotic," he replied in a matter of fact tone, "and people tended to take exception to a violent drunk ranting and screaming at them. Most of them were fights I started, and most of those were because I thought I'd seen someone I knew and was trying to kill them. I told you, Hermione, I have changed a great deal since the war. I was dangerously unstable for a long time; I hallucinated frequently, I had screaming panic attacks, I was phobic of just about everything you can imagine and my emotions were skewed all over the place. Fortunately for all concerned, I wasn't able to do magic during the worst times, or God knows what might have happened."
She wasn't sure what to say to that, and settled for asking plaintively, "Don't you have any scars with funny stories attached to them? I've got one on my knee from when I fell off a swing when I was six..."
He chuckled softly and shifted slightly. "Well, there is one on my right leg that I'm almost proud of, in a strange way; a bite on my calf that you might recognise..."
He left it hanging and she frowned, thinking about it and trying to recall a time when she knew he'd hurt his leg. After a few moments she grinned, stifling a giggle. "Fluffy?"
"Of all the ridiculous names for a cerberus," he said scornfully. "Yes, 'Fluffy'. It's a miracle I didn't lose my leg. The stupid brute tried to bite with two of its heads at the same time and got in its own way, or it would have been a different story."
"And you're proud of it?"
"I'm probably the only person who has a scar from a cerberus bite," he pointed out mildly. "Most people who are bitten don't manage to survive."
"I suppose that's true," she agreed, smiling and absently playing with his necklace; she still thought it was sweet that he was wearing it. It wasn't as if it had been expensive or was even particularly well made, not like her ring. "Severus, I've been meaning to ask you something..."
"Really? You astonish me."
She poked him in the ribs. "Git. I wanted to ask about my Christmas present. It still doesn't really seem like you..."
"True," he agreed, sounding amused. "It was very much an impulse purchase. I was wandering around Camden Market and stopped to look at a jewellery stall out of idle curiosity; when I saw the otter it was so appropriate that it seemed a shame not to buy it. Once I had, well, it was certainly of no use to me, so I decided that I would give it to you at some point. It would have been your birthday present, but I changed my mind at the last minute." After a pause he added wryly, "It made sense at the time."
"Fair enough." She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but it sounded plausible enough that she wasn't going to challenge him. Anyway, she definitely didn't want to start an argument now. She didn't want to do anything, really. "I'm going to need a shower again," she murmured. "I probably look worse than I did this morning."
Severus snorted and replied with some amusement, "Isn't that what started this in the first place?"
Lifting her head, she grinned at him. "I liked the result."
"You should remember I'm an old man."
"You are no such thing. Anyway, all I said was that I needed a shower. I didn't mention you at all."
"It's my shower," he pointed out, his eyes glittering with dark laughter and a hint of the earlier heat.
Smothering a smile, Hermione began tracing a scar again, following the line of it across his stomach. "That's a good point," she agreed mildly, feeling him shiver as she ran her fingers lightly across his hipbone. "You're too thin, you know," she added absently.
"You sound like either Poppy Pomfrey or Molly Weasley, and as I have no desire to think about either of them in these particular circumstances I'll thank you to stop it," he responded tartly. "In any case, I am in better shape now than I have ever been."
"I noticed," she replied teasingly, tracing small circles on the inside of his thigh.
"Stop that," he murmured reprovingly.
"Why?" she asked innocently. "Are you ticklish or something?"
"No," he replied, too quickly. She stared at him in incredulous delight and he scowled. "Don't even think about it."
"Too late."
"I mean it, Hermione. Don't."
Caught by the definite note of warning in his voice, and aware that her fingers had found what felt like quite a bad scar on his inner thigh, she kept her tone light as she drew a path back towards his hip. "All right, I won't – not unless you really annoy me, anyway, which right now doesn't seem terribly likely." Whatever had triggered the brief darkness in his voice, he relaxed now, and he was starting to respond to her touch. She was more than happy with the idea of a second round, but she felt sticky and the caravan was getting stiflingly hot with the doors closed. "Come on, 'old man'," she said mischievously, drawing away with some reluctance and sitting up, "we both need a shower. Unless you need more time to recover?" she added challengingly, looking back at him.
The heat in his eyes was all the answer she needed, really, but his growl made her smile as he sat up. "Impudent wench. Show some respect for your elders." Stark naked, sweaty and with his hair a stringy mass of damp tangles, he shouldn't manage to look dangerous, but somehow he had the confidence to manage it. Hermione raised an eyebrow when he retrieved his wand from his discarded jeans.
"Is that necessary?"
"I always keep it where I can reach it," he replied, before arching an eyebrow at her in return, a hint of a smirk crossing his face. "Besides, by the time you were thirteen you had managed to set fire to me, steal from me and Stun me – throwing me into a wall at the same time, giving me a mild concussion and almost fracturing my skull, incidentally. I might need it."
Sputtering an indignant laugh, she stood up. "That's hardly fair! I set fire to your robe, not you, and I only did it because I thought you were evil and trying to kill my friend. I stole from you because I needed the Potions ingredients, it wasn't personal..." He cut her off by the simple method of kissing her quite thoroughly, and by the time he drew away she had almost forgotten what they had been talking about. "...And that's cheating," she scolded breathlessly.
His rich, deep chuckle slid down her spine and made her shiver. "I always cheat, Hermione. You would do well to remember that." Limping out of the room, his voice reached her from the bathroom. "And the Stunning spell?"
"Wasn't a Stunner at all," she replied, following him and smiling ruefully at the memory. "We all tried to Disarm you at the same time, and the force of it threw you into the wall. None of us actually intended to harm you. Really, a concussion?" she added guiltily.
"Hmph," he responded absently, putting his wand on the shelf and switching the shower on. "Yes. And it is probably just as well you did Stun me, accident or not. I wasn't terribly rational that night."
That was probably the closest he would get to an apology, and more than she had been expecting. "I don't blame you. In that situation, I doubt anyone would have been rational," she said gently, reaching past him to check the temperature of the water before stepping into the stall and tilting her head back under the spray. "And it was a bit of a strange night all around, really," she added reminiscently.
"By your standards, I would have thought it fairly normal," Severus replied with a smirk, following her into the shower. "You – all of you – managed to attract trouble more or less continuously."
"It seems some of us still do," she answered, turning to smile at him. "On the whole, I like this kind better."
His only answer was a soft laugh as he reached for the shampoo, and he surprised her by sliding past to stand behind her and starting to work the soap into her wet hair. It was an unexpectedly tender gesture, and one she appreciated; the sensation of someone else washing your hair was one of the most relaxing feelings in the world. It seemed he shared her opinion, since he allowed her to return the favour with no more than a token grumble, and by the time they had finished washing one another's bodies as well – for some odd reason, it seemed to take much longer than usual – all nostalgic talk of the past had given way to the very present as desire rose in them both once more. Leaning back against him, she felt his erection pressing against her and smiled, turning her head to meet his kiss.
Where the first time had been all about need and heat and fierce hunger, this was slow and gentle, as he finally lifted her onto him and she braced herself against the wall of the shower, wrapping her legs around his waist and moving slowly with him as they kissed. His lame leg didn't affect his movements so noticeably in this position, insofar as she could notice anything at all but the building fire inside her. Her climax too was less volatile; no stars or near-blackout this time, only waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew her sighs and moans into soft cries that mingled with his groan as he came with her.
Afterwards – quite a long time afterwards – they lay stretched out on his bed in the sun, talking softly, both close enough to dressed to pass muster should anyone walk past the now-open door of the caravan. "Are you really ticklish?" she asked idly, tracing shapes on the back of his forearm with a finger.
"If that's what you want to call it," he replied absently. "I never used to be, but since my nerves were repaired, I seem to be more sensitive."
"And you clearly hate being tickled... I'm not trying to pry; I just want to make sure I won't do something you don't want."
"It's not the act but the principle," he explained awkwardly, watching her fingers to avoid meeting her eyes. "There are several unpleasant associations with being made to feel sensation against my will, even something as innocent as that... Being so vulnerable – in any way – is incredibly uncomfortable, and almost... almost frightening."
That admission had clearly cost him dearly, and she moved closer to lean against his shoulder by way of comfort and apology, at the same time trying to keep her tone light. "Okay, so, no tickle fights. Fair enough. You'd probably win anyway, I'm horribly sensitive. Is there anything else we should avoid?"
He sounded almost amused. "You're questioning me on my sexual preferences? That's not exactly the most romantic subject in the world."
"Neither of us have any romantic tendencies, Severus. You're too cynical, and I'm too practical. I'd rather know what to avoid in advance, rather than try something and have you either freak out or lose your temper," she replied reasonably. "It's not as if I'm planning anything wildly deviant or exotic, but better safe than sorry."
"You're assuming rather a lot here, you know," he drawled.
Hermione smirked at him. "And yet, you don't appear to be arguing."
"Touché." He settled more comfortably against the pillows and considered the question. "I've never been into much beyond vanilla sex, frankly. It all seems rather unnecessary."
"True," she agreed, smiling at the description.
After a moment his eyes darkened a little and he exhaled slowly. "I don't find any kind of dominance and submission games pleasant, for obvious reasons, no matter which side of the scale I'm on."
"Don't worry, I'm definitely not harbouring secret repressed teacher-student detention fantasies," she assured him (mostly truthfully, although not entirely), and he looked at her with a faintly revolted expression.
"I am very relieved to hear it," he replied dryly, shivering a little. "That would be extremely disturbing."
She agreed wholeheartedly with that. She had certainly never fancied him when he had been her teacher; she had appreciated his intelligence and the potential of his voice, and grudgingly admired his bravery during the war before he had killed Dumbledore, but beyond that both his looks and his personality had been too unpleasant for any such thoughts to enter her head. And she was absolutely certain he had never entertained such thoughts about any of his students, certainly not the bushy-haired, buck-toothed, irritating know-it-all friend of Harry Potter. The age difference wasn't a problem now, but it would have been too much back then, even had the emotional circumstances for both of them been different.
"I should also warn you," Severus now continued carefully, "that any attempt at bondage will almost certainly cause me to 'freak out', as you put it. I do not react well to restraints of any kind."
"I've never been into that," she replied reassuringly, certain that she didn't want to know the story behind the shadows in his eyes now. "I think we're fairly compatible on that score, then. And no pain, I assume."
"Ah. Now that rather depends on the context." He rolled onto his back, looking more relaxed as the darkness in his face receded. "Certainly not pain as a fetish... but accidental pain isn't necessarily a problem."
"Accidental pain?" she repeated, puzzled.
He smirked at her. "Indeed. I believe you may have marked my back with your nails earlier."
"Oh, God, did I? I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That's my point. I am not into pain, but I do not object to a certain level of... enthusiasm. In fact, it's quite a compliment," he murmured slyly.
Hermione knew she was blushing, and scowled at him. "Git."
"You did ask."
"That will teach me."
He burst out laughing, a rare spontaneous display of unguarded emotion. "Oh, Hermione, the day you stop asking questions will be the day the sun implodes."
Well now...