CHAPTER FIFTY—Flirting
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Hermione kept at her…seduction was too strong a word. And it made her flash back to Lavender's romance novels and break into giggles. Flirting, she'd say. If nothing came of it, Hermione would be disappointed, but the flirting was fun. Figuring out when he noticed her at it, especially.
Yesterday she caught him staring when she tied up her hair in the lab. Shivering during her walk to and from the dungeons in her skirt had been worth it.
Then he caught her staring as he tried to find one of his books on the shelf nearest the fireplace.
"Sorry, I have that one—I'll go get it," she said, more to hide her embarrassment. Then she assumed he watched her walk away. It was a vicious cycle.
By now he had to know Hermione was trying to get his 'attention.' Since he didn't tell her to bugger off, she assumed he liked it.
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Hermione stood at Severus's side to look at the article with him. She pressed her palm onto the desk to lean closer.
As her hair tumbled from her shoulder her perfume wafted over him.
When she pointed at the part she thought might need further investigation, she pressed her torso into his arm. Only for a moment.
His wife had no qualms with touching someone during the course of a conversation, as he had observed. But people rarely touched Severus—only to hurt or heal him. It wouldn't surprise anybody that someone forced to marry Severus might get used to him with time. Severus attempted to be at least civil with her, in private, if not cordial—or comfortable enough to make jokes at the holiday party. The surprise was visible on her face when he had called her dear in jest.
Now, he kept it up as a way to—condone? To remind both of them they were married and whatever it was they were doing wasn't…uncouth?
The touching shouldn't surprise him. However the new, increased frequency is what made him take note. Leaning over the back of the couch to hand him a stack of finished marking; decreasing the distance between them when they both stood before the chalkboard in the lab; no hesitation to put her frigid feet on his calf or ankle when they were both at the cusp of sleep.
As attractive as his wife may be, Severus had always been firmly against student-teacher relationships, even when he was only a few years older than his oldest students. He himself was old enough he could have fathered her. He had taken the Dark Mark before she had even been born.
He didn't deserve a pretty young wife, and Hermione certainly didn't deserve an old bastard of a husband. But he would soon be dead. And if she wanted to invite his gaze then he would be a fool to decline.
They only interacted in a salacious manner when they were alone.
One to look a gift horse in the mouth, he had to wonder why she thought she wanted to tease him like this. Maybe a test to sus out if he really was the bastard Moody thought he'd be. Or a lost wager with Miss Weasley.
The professor would keep his hands to himself. And hide any of the images of her smooth legs in the deep recesses of his mind where intruders couldn't find them.
His wife must be a Seer, because she saw fit to test his resolve the very evening he vowed to keep his hands off her.
Severus fobbed his detention off on Filch, not that Filch ever complained when he was given 'small hands to clear out small spaces' in the walls of the owlery; as such, this leant him unplanned time to…not do anything at all. Hermione's ridiculous attention to detail had his time neatly parceled out—and she even factored in how many parchments were required per essay, per class, and estimated the average amount of time he spent marking each essay, to get within a few minutes of how much time he actually spent marking each night. That was some impressive Artihmancy at play there so Severus did not disparage the complex chart he found on the coffee table. (Any other project left out was fair game.) As all detentions were logged on the master schedule, and Hermione was the Head Girl, she knew when to rearrange his schedule (and when to steer clear of the lab so that no one thought she enjoyed spending extra time down there). Based on the steam rolling from the loo, Hermione thought she would have their quarters to herself.
Her wand sat near a pile of nightclothes on his nightstand. Severus waved his hand. Her wand and clothes floated over to rest at the foot of the bed.
Payback for the cold feet on him each night. Mrs Potter was easy to rile up. For but a moment she would think she had misremembered where she had left her things—and then would swiftly realize Severus had done it to annoy her. He smirked when her angry face popped into his mind. The faint spots of red on her freckled cheeks and the way her lips thinned—sometimes even her hair would become indignant—he found he liked making that oh-so-put-together veneer crack.
Severus perched on the edge of the bed next to said nightgown to remove his boots. The smell of the first-years' potions lingered even now. The shower handle squeaked when Hermione shut it off. The door opened as he tossed his shoes towards his armoire.
Hermione's hand reached out to feel about the top of his nightstand.
Severus couldn't help the foolish, though tiny, smirk on his face. He rose from the bed to hang his coat.
Hermione stuck her head out the door, towel wrapped around her hair. She muttered something under her breath. She gave him a quick scowl before she retreated.
Severus started the arduous task of unbuttoning his shirt, wondering what her next move might be.
Without a doubt, she was set on torturing him. Years of appearing calm in all manner of situations helped him keep his composure as he watched Hermione exit the washroom in the towel that had been around her hair. Her curls were heavy with water, some rivulets sliding over her bare shoulders. The towel didn't cover any of her delicious legs.
Severus kept his hands busy with his buttons. Hermione gathered her clothes and her wand into her arms.
"Feeling forgetful today, dear?" he asked.
Hermione turned to face him. They both looked the other up and down. When she met his eye again, she did blush but remained otherwise haughty.
"Perhaps the nargles moved them," she said, sass radiating from the cock of her eyebrow and the sway of her hips as she walked over to her own bedroom.
By now she had to know he loved watching her arse as she moved.
God. Damnit.
Perhaps if he had shagged Alecto over the hols he wouldn't be quite so fixated on his wife.
With the washroom now unoccupied, he took his turn. He didn't bother to keep his thoughts chaste—he was hard before he was undressed. The rest of the shower was a blur. He let his mind's eye revel in images of Hermione and the feel of her skin on his, and their one brief kiss. He nearly forgot to turn on the water before wrapping his hand around his cock.
Fuck, it was too short a time before he came. His entire body unclenched with the vision of Hermione writhing beneath him swimming before his eyes.