THIRTEEN

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Severus rose and sat on the arm of her chair like she had done to his before. He took her wand from limp fingers and set it on the spindly little table, then put a glass of water in her hand. It was cool and heavy and grounding. She took a long drink.

"I didn't think—I didn't want to believe—"

"I didn't think he had it in him, either."

"He raised Harry for the slaughter!"

"Yes."

"All this time. After all we've been through—!"

"Yes."

"We trusted him!"

"I know, Hermione."

"Why did you show me that? Why didn't you keep that one to yourself?"

Hermione was vaguely aware that she was bordering on hysterical. She had an absurd urge to run and find Ron, tell him what she'd just learned. He was in almost the same position she was, after all. The two of them had built their lives in the wizarding world around Harry and their friendship with him. He got them into trouble, he got them out of it, he led them on adventures. He was an idiot sometimes. He had a big heart.

"Sh."

She realized that she was crying. Severus had pulled her to him. He was holding her while she cried. She wove her hands into his robes, realizing just how voluminous they were, just how much thinner he'd gotten in just the few months that had passed since she'd last examined him.

"You haven't been eating," she choked out. "You're too thin, Severus."

He laughed, but it sounded broken.

"Did you love her?"

"What?"

"Did you love Lily?"

If he thought the change in subjects was strange, he didn't let her see it. He had been rubbing her back, one large, warm hand trailing up and down her spine, and it didn't falter.

"I could have. If there had been more time, I probably would have."

"More time?"

"I had an elaborate fantasy while we were still in school, after I'd pushed her away. We'd be in the same Order meeting and it would all fall into place. We'd be friends again and, naturally, we'd fall in love. She'd leave that wanker Potter, and that would be that."

"But she died?"

"No. She got married." She felt him sigh. "She had horrible taste, I suppose. It probably would never have come to pass."

"It's too bad she never knew. I would've liked to know, if it was me."

"It would've been great fun to see their faces. At my trial, when Dumbledore spoke for me, I couldn't see the crowd and there were never any photos published. Dumbledore tells me it was quite amusing to watch the gears turn."

"He probably had that drawn-out speech explaining it all just to watch them be shocked."

"It seemed long to me, but it all seemed long then."

"They kept you in Azkaban while they deliberated."

"Can you blame them?"

"I'd like to say so," she said, nestling further into his chest, burrowing into his robes. She half expected him to set her away from him and return to his chair since she'd stopped crying, but he didn't. He resettled his arms around her, holding her tighter.

"Are you alright?" he asked her after a while. She'd been getting sleepy, and she'd been wonderfully comfortable all wrapped up in him.

"I will be. I am."

"I wasn't supposed to show you any of that."

They drew away from each other, though he didn't stand up from her chair.

"Why did you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his hand a caressed her cheek, looking down at her. He looked… Well, it was exactly the way she wanted him to look at her. She tipped her forehead forward, letting her head rest on his chest again. His hand slid from her cheek back into her hair, smoothing the curls. She looked up, wondering how uncomfortable he was balanced on the armrest, wondering if he'd be angry if she kissed that spot on the underside of his jaw just there. Then he tipped his chin down to look at her and she was lost in his eyes.

She started it. She kissed him. Just a gentle kiss, her mouth pressed against his.

He finished it, and there was nothing gentle about it. Their mouths were tangled, their hands under clothes and making fists in hair. They'd shifted, changed positions in the chair so that she was straddling his lap.

He pulled back, and she stared up at him, only just realizing that she had a hand against the skin of his back, snaked between the open buttons of his shirt and under the hem of his undershirt. His skin was warm, the scars beneath her hand familiar.

"This isn't allowed," he whispered.

"What do you want, written consent?"

He smirked and kissed her again. After a long moment, his hand left her breast to join its pair against her bum. She shoved his button-up off his shoulders and pulled the undershirt over his head, tossing it aside. His skin was soft but not smooth; it was ridged with scar tissue older than her own, faded and pale.

Hermione ran her hands over his shoulders, clutching to his back and pressing up to him. Warm, bare skin molded to warm, bare skin. It was heavenly.

He laughed and then moaned when she set to putting a mark on his neck. She kissed up his throat, across his jaw, found his lips again.

"No, no," he muttered, turning his face away, leaning back against the chair. She sat back, earning a groan from him when the movement shifted her core against his erection. "We can't. Hermione, we can't."

The wind went out of her in a gust. She'd forgotten entirely. Who they were. What they were to each other. She let her head fall forward, her forehead resting against his collarbone near where she'd just left a bright hickey. His arms snaked around her, held her close.

It had been something he'd always been proud of, a promise he'd made to himself that had never been broken. And she'd thrown herself at him, ripped the promise away from him. Never a student.

"Fuck."

"Oh, I'd like to."

She laughed, sitting up. I was too difficult to think when all she'd been able to feel was the strong, flat plane of his chest against her nipples.

His hands trailed up and down her sides, then swept straight up her front, fingertips teasing the undersides of her breasts before he'd held them in his palms. He lifted her breasts, letting them fill his hands. His thumbs found her nipples, not teasing so much as just touching. There was a very male look of satisfaction on his face, sitting beneath her holding her breasts. She felt a very female sense of satisfaction rise within her to meet it.

"Severus," she moaned, and his hands jerked against her, his thumbs pressing hard against her nipples. She stifled a second moan, leaned into his touch, closed her eyes.

"Say it again," he whispered. She thought she might have imagined it, but when she opened her eyes he was looking at her so intently she knew she hadn't.

"Severus."

She snaked a hand up around the back of his neck, settled her fingers against those short hairs that hadn't made it into his bun.

"Tell me no," he said, voice rough.

"I will never tell you no."

"I'm going to hell," he said, letting her pull him down for a deep kiss, his tongue tangling with hers.

A/N: Reposting!