Merry Christmas! (And if you don't celebrate just have an absolutely fantastic Wednesday, okay?)

My gift to you: a very special chapter. Hehe. You'll see. :) On my Christmas list: reviews.

Enjoy!

Chapter 21

Over the next two weeks, Hermione's routine solidified. She went to classes, using her Time Turner to garner extra time in which to read and write her Order reports, attend meetings, sort through spy reports, and run to quick, hurried meetings with Severus. At least Harry was easy to watch- the DA meetings had given him purpose, a battle to fight. He was doing something, and the act of actively working against Umbridge and her hateful classes gave him hope.

Hermione worked hard on a way to organize meetings efficiently; finally she settled on a kind of adaptive Protean Charm that would allow one charmed Galleon to manipulate others. She didn't tell Harry, but she made sure her Galleon could change the others as well. She wanted to make sure she had a way of rallying his followers should she need it.

And the DA was really starting to come together as a group. The shared danger of discovery by Umbridge meant a shared solidarity. There were more significant looks and more hushed conversations than Hermione would have liked, but she was extraordinarily pleased with the inter-House unity being shown. There were more friendly conversations in the hallways, and as a Prefect Hermione was quite aware that it was setting an excellent example for the younger years. The only House excluded was Slytherin- Hermione wondered what Severus would say about this, but she was actively trying to avoid him.

It was more difficult than it seemed to avoid a man who spent most of his day teaching and the other measly parts either holed up in his office, quarters, or in meetings with either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore. Hermione hadn't quite realized how much of her time had been habitually spent in the man's presence. Instead, Hermione filled her time with her other tasks, and devoted several hours to cultivating a new friendship (one third of her mind called it an alliance and the other third was horrified before she ignored both with the third that was sane) with Luna Lovegood.

The first day that Hermione was supposed to meet Luna in the library to study, the girl showed up half an hour late and barefoot.

"Hello, Hermione. You're annoyed I've kept you waiting, aren't you- I'm sorry." Large grey eyes stared at Hermione as white fingers plucked helplessly at the strap of her bag.

"No- of course not. Is everything alright?" asked Hermione, putting aside her books. "Luna?"

The younger girl's voice was even more distant that usual when she answered, "Yes. The Dapperblimps took my shoes again- they like living in them because their noses are very small-"

Defense mechanism, I think. She uses fictional creatures to rationalize the things that happen to her that she doesn't understand.

"Luna," Hermione said, as gently as she could "Dapperblimps don't exist. You need shoes, now."

Luna blinked her large, protuberant grey eyes. "I'll owl Daddy that I need some for Christmas," she said, still distant-voiced. She heaved her massive bag on the table (it was nearly the size Hermione's had been during her fourth year) and sat down across from Hermione.

"But- Luna-" Hermione was getting frustrated. "Dapperblimps aren't real. What if whoever took your shoes takes them again?"

Luna's eyes sharpened. "They are real. They have different noses than we do, which is why shoes don't bother th-" The girl's voice was getting higher and higher, straining.

"They aren't real!" Hermione voice was a tad too loud for Madam Pince, who directed a glare her way. "Sorry," muttered Hermione. "Luna-" She stopped herself. Tears were starting to build in the younger girl's eyes.

Hermione swallowed hard, fingering her wand. "Do you know how to do a Warming Charm?" she asked suddenly, willing to do nearly anything to make the cold feeling of unfolding guilt and hideous wrath go away. "For your feet in case the Dapperblinger- sorry, Dapperblimps- take your shoes again?

Now Hermione was reevaluating the way Luna was dressed, the way she talked, why she wore radishes in her ears. It's October and it is freezing outside. Hell, it's freezing inside. I'm wearing my uniform, a sweater, and my thick wool robes on top of that. Luna's not wearing a sweater- she just has her vest. No shoes, no stockings, nothing for her poor feet. I wonder if she refuses to wear or bring nice jewelery to Hogwarts because people steal her things? And I just nearly yelled at her about it.

"No, I don't," Luna said, looking away. Hermione pretended not to notice as the girl brushed her eyes, removing the tears. "That would be really nice of you- my feet are awfully cold."

With shaking hands Hermione taught Luna how to do the charm, sighing in relief as the skin of the girl's feet went from a dangerously blueish pale color to something more lifelike. They did homework and chatted a bit. Hermione was extremely apologetic- she bit her tongue every time a fictional creature entered their conversation. Luna's smile grew wider and more visible as the night went on- she laughed at a silly Transfiguration pun Hermione made, and proceeded to make several of her own in quick succession. The night would have been entirely pleasant had it not been for the bitter, burning rage at the back of Hermione's throat.

Something in her whispered that it was easier to be angry at someone else than to be angry at herself.

When Hermione checked her watch and saw that it was really quite close to curfew, she sighed and began packing her bag. "Luna, what size shoe are you?"

"Five," Luna replied. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to try to transfigure you some shoes," Hermione replied stubbornly. "What's your favorite color?" I can't leave her to walk back to Ravenclaw Tower barefoot. The stone floors have to be freezing.

Luna beamed at Hermione. "Purple. Do you really think you can?"

Hermione nodded as she pulled her hair back. She had found two balls of yarn in her bag, from her rather abandoned knitting projects. They would do. "I think so," she answered Luna. "They won't last forever, though, so we should get your real shoes back from- whoever took them."

The transfiguration was not straightforward. Hermione had to first change the amount of material, separate it into two equal piles, then get those piles to form rubber soles and canvas out of wool. It took about fifteen minutes, but Hermione finally got two things that looked like shoes, and would probably fit Luna if the girl wore some thick socks. The last step was to tap the soles and turn them white, and the canvas to turn that part purple.

Hermione collapsed back in her chair. "There," said Hermione, grinning. "Done." She gestured at Luna. "Try them on?"

She had been close with the size- they did fit alright, and anything was better than cold flagstones on bare feet. Luna stood happily in the Library, wigging her toes. "These are wonderful, Hermione," Luna said, sounding more awake than she had all night.

Hermione stood, just a bit dizzy. She had forgotten to eat dinner- on the way back to her room, she would stop at the kitchens. "Good," she said, the anger receding somewhat at the look on Luna's face.

Suddenly, two thin arms were around Hermione's body, hugging her tightly as dirty-blonde hair appeared under her nose. "Nobody but Daddy's ever done anything like this for me," Luna whispered.

Hermione hugged the girl back. "It's what friends do, Luna," she whispered back.

The protuberant gray eyes were a bit damp as Luna pulled away. "We're friends, then," Luna said, a bit unsure.

"Of course," answered Hermione. "There. You have shoes, at least for tonight and tomorrow, and I'll see about tracking down those- those Dapperblimps and telling them that your shoes are needed."

That night as Hermione was in her bed, she plotted. There was a side of herself that she wasn't quite fond of, the secret Hermione in her head that could coldly kill and devise plans that she knew would end with people dead. That Hermione was cold, freezing. She did not have hot anger but anger that burned like ice on warm skin. That side plotted now, the side with frigid fingers and an icy smile.

It was easier than thinking she had just made a little girl nearly cry because she couldn't handle her saying something was real when it wasn't. Hermione hated people spreading the wrong information- but this was girl who used fictional creatures as a coping mechanism for dealing with bullying. It was wrong to try to take that away from her.

Luna Lovegood was a fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her mother at the tender age of nine. She was a sharply intelligent girl who clung to whimsy and fantastical creatures because the real world, in all its cruelty, hurt too much. She didn't deserve Housemates- who were supposed to be like family- stealing her things and leaving her to walk the halls of Hogwarts in October barefoot. She didn't deserve people who called themselves her friends making her cry.

The next morning, Hermione rose early and waited, spelled invisible, in the corridor that led from Ravenclaw Tower to the Great Hall.

Thankfully, Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang, Marietta, and three other Ravenclaws were all walking together. One of them was a sixth year Ravenclaw prefect- it was enough. Hermione Disillusioned herself, and stepped out of her niche.

Padma almost walked right into her. "Hermione!" she gasped. "What- sorry! What are you doing here?"

"I need to speak to you," Hermione said, her voice low and serious. "All of you, actually," she said louder, meeting the eyes of one of the girls who was edging away. She was quite aware that her tone was frosty, and edging on dangerous. What Hermione didn't know was that her eyes were furious, and the control of her carefully neutral expression was slipping.

"What about?" Padma asked, glancing nervously at Anthony. "The- um-" One of the girls was not in the D.A., and it was clear that Padma thought that the confrontation was about the secret club.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head once. "No, this about Luna Lovegood."

One of Cho's friends giggled. "Loony Lovegood?"

Hermione turned her gaze to the redheaded girl. "Three of you are prefects, and yet you do nothing to stop the bullying taking place right in front of you?" Anthony and Padma looked at each other guiltily.

Cho sighed. "It's just a nickname, Hermione-"

"No it isn't," Hermione snapped. "That poor girl has been walking around Hogwarts barefoot because someone took her shoes. Do you think that it is funny to steal someone's things? To call them mad and mock them to their faces and behind their backs? Do you think that Luna doesn't know she's a little strange? For Merlin's sake, you are the prefects of her House. She should be able to come to you for help in anything, and not one of you has put a stop to it."

They really had nothing to say, Hermione noted with a quiet glee. "I should report you all to Professor Flitwick, and I will if all of Luna's things aren't returned to her."

"We aren't the ones who took her stuff!" Cho said crossly. "You're not being reasonable, Hermione-"

"I am being perfectly reasonable," Hermione snapped back. "And I don't care. You're just as responsible for a deed if you stand by and watch it happen without doing all in your power to stop it. It isn't right, and I'm not going to stand by."

Anthony sighed. "It's not like we have the authority-"

"You are prefects," Hermione interrupted. "And from what I've heard, Ravenclaws are supposed to be smart. So you know who it is who's doing this. Stop. Them. And if you can't control your House, we'll see if Professor Flitwick can."

Padma looked desperately at the older Ravenclaw prefect. "Um- we'll do our best, Hermione. Okay?"

Hermione rubbed her temple. "I'm holding all of you to that," she said ruefully. "I'll see you later."

Her anger warmed slightly, she left for her own breakfast.

The night had been one series of disasters after another.

Hermione had never really liked Quidditch in any capacity- she disliked the obsession it caused in people, the bad spirit between the Houses it brought out, and the complete idiocy of having children on broomsticks several meters up in the air whacking iron Bludgers at each other.

The high point of the morning had been Luna's rather lovely lion hat- Hermione hadn't said anything to the boys, but she was extremely proud of Luna for doing not only all the construction, but all the spell work by herself. It was complicated material for a fourth year- even a fourth year Ravenclaw.

That good mood had quickly evaporated as son as she had heard the first wretched strains of "Weasley is Our King," floating around the Great Hall. That it was Ron's first game was bad enough, but taking advantage of his lack of self confidence and his sensitivity about being poor? Fred and George would have been able to handle such a thing better (but no one would dare do such a thing to them and risk being the target of some of the less funny and more painful pranks of the Weasley Twins).

The game itself had been horrid- Hermione usually had Ron up in the stands with her, translating all the jargon and making predictions about the game that usually came true. This time, Neville was all she had and he was clueless (adorably so) and unable to provide much support.

Then after the game.

Umbridge, with her sharp smile and trilling laugh, had taken away one of the two things keeping Harry sane. Quidditch and the DA was all he had, and she had gleefully given him a lifelong Quidditch ban.

Hermione didn't know if it was possible to hate the woman even more than she already did. She had thought that the Quidditch ban was as bad as it was going to get and then- Hagrid. Hagrid was in danger and that bitch and her prejudices were the reason why.

The thought of Hagrid leaving Hogwarts made Hermione's heart clench. The half-giant was a friendly beast of a man, kind and gentle and not as bright as some, but with magical creatures he was the most intuitive person Hermione had ever seen. Unicorns, chimeras, dragons, hippogriffs... he could work with them all. He saw good in the creatures everyone called evil, because he could relate to them. That Hagrid could see himself in an Acromantula and show it the love he wished he had been shown by others- it had always made Hermione want to smile and cry at the same time. He had always treated her kindly, given her tea when she stopped by, sick or frustrated or exhausted, and let her talk.

Umbridge was out to get Hagrid, and Hermione could not stand by and watch it happen.

But at the same time, it would hurt Hagrid if she tried to make him change the way he taught.

She needed to talk to someone- and the only person that she could possibly talk to was Severus.

It had been weeks since she had talked to him.

The first few days, Severus understood. It would take her time to digest what he had told her, the unsolicited information she had received unexpectedly. But as time dragged on, he fluctuated between angry and resigned.

He had expected her to understand, to take in his tale like she took in all information- impartially, unbiased and sympathetic. But no, she had failed him. He had noticed the horror on her face, the wince every time Lily's name was spoken. Thinking about the two of them had been too much for the girl. He had placed too much on her, he had hit her threshold.

But why should he have expected her to be as unfazed by this as she was by all else? And it was about time that she looked at him the way others did. She was not special, she was no different from anyone else. This had been the point that she realized what kind of man he was- usually it took less time. Hermione just saw the good in everyone, so it was harder for her to admit to herself that she had been wrong about him.

When she gave him reports, she hardly looked him in the eye. She didn't stay for a cuppa, she didn't break into his rooms and make herself tea and grade papers. She didn't even sit down- she leaned against the back of the chair in front of his desk and gave her information in clipped speeches. Or worse, she wrote them up and he found them on his chair when he walked in from dinner.

He hated himself for missing her. A girl, a mere girl, had his emotions in her palm. He refused to watch her, but her mane of bushy hair was always right around the corner. Dumbledore had even noticed his despondence- he had remarked upon it once, ignoring the baleful glare Severus sent his way.

The expected knock on his door was not timid, but it was not confident either. He sighed. "Enter," he snapped.

The door opened and closed; a small shimmer wavered in the air for a half a second before Hermione's form was revealed.

"If this is about Potter's ban, I already heard. McGonagall was furious," he said shortly. "Anything else?"

For once, she actually took a seat. He ignored the flash of eager hope that threaded his abdomen. "Hagrid," she said, turning liquid brown eyes on him. "Severus, he's back. And- that- that awful woman is going to do everything in her power to get rid of him."

She cared about the half-giant, wanted to protect him and his poisonous friends from Umbridge. She didn't care that he had been half a week late coming back, that his mission to the giants had been a complete failure. No- the giant was still deserving of her love.

The revelation traveled with sickening quickness from his gut to his mouth. "So he's worth caring about?" That she would chose Hagrid over himself, over Severus, stung more than he cared to admit.

"What?" Confusion reigned on her face- the slanted eyebrows, the slight tilt of the head, the teeth sneaking out to tease her lower lip.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Severus hissed angrily, standing. "I told you things I-" he couldn't go on. He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw.

Hermione stood as well, shakily. "Severus... I didn't mean to- I needed to think, that was all-"

He couldn't think of anything more to say. What was there to say? I trusted you, and you betrayed me. I opened up to you and you decided that you didn't like what you saw. Why? So he just looked away.

Severus shoved back his chair sharply, circling the desk to stand by the door. "My apologies. It would be best if you left." He needed her to go- after so long without her presence, suddenly she was in front of him and more intoxicating than ever. It was like abstaining from rich food for months and then gorging oneself- it was too much to handle at one time.

His hand was on the doorknob, and then her hand was over his. The contrast between the freezing metal of the doorknob and the quiet heat of her hand rooted him in place. "Severus," Hermione said softly. So softly- her voice was barely above a whisper. Her hand was hot on his- his hands were always cold in the dungeons.

He turned his head so he was looking at her, not the wall. "I shouldn't have-"

"I shouldn't have," Hermione said forcefully. "I needed time to think but I shouldn't have completely avoided you."

"So you were avoiding me?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She met his eyes instead of looking away, as he had thought she would do. "Yes," she said honestly. "But I shouldn't have."

She still hadn't moved her hand. "Why?" asked Severus hoarsely. It wasn't hot enough to be burning him, but he was acutely aware of the line of every single one of her fingers.

"Because how could anyone compete with Lily Potter?" Hermione said, rhetorically, perhaps. There was sorrow in her eyes. "How could such awful things happen to you?"

He moved impossibly closer to her. "Why would you need to compete with Lily?" There was scent of her hair, of her skin, of Hermione and rose hips and books. This close he could see the faded freckles across the bridge of her nose, the small scar on her temple half-hidden by her hair, the indents on her lower lip from her teeth.

There was no mistaking her wince. There was something warring in her face- he could tell when she gave in to whatever it was. Peace- fear, but peace with her decision came over her. "Because you love her," Hermione told him painfully. Her eyes closed. "Everything you did- it was for her."

Why would that matter to her? "That's not true," said Severus. His voice had dipped lower as her fingers twitched over his. "I- I never loved her."

Hermione's eyes flew open. He noticed too many details about them- her pupils were dilated, there were flecks of light from the torch on the other side of the room, they were focused completely on his. "No?" Her voice was strained, with none of its usual confidence.

I do not owe her an explanation. He did not owe her one- he wanted to give her one, he wanted to explain himself to her. "We- she used me and I used her. I attached myself to her because she was the first person to show me she cared, and I overlooked all her flaws. It was not love, and I did all of this because I knew I had made a mistake and I wanted to fix it." The words spilled out of him in a rush, strung together in a flood of desire to explain himself. "I joined the Death Eaters for a number of reasons and feeling that I owed her was one of them; I left them because I asked the Dark Lord to spare her, he promised, and then he broke that promise. She was my first friend- I could not align myself with the man who killed her. I turned to Dumbledore as an idealistic boy who thought he was heroically doing the right thing and I swore to protect her son because I owed a Life Debt to James Potter and my sanity to Lily Evans."

"So you risk your life for..?" Hermione's words were slow and unsure. "Honor? Gratitude? Because you owed a debt to the Potters?"

Severus exhaled sharply. "Yes. No. Why do you care?"

"Because you are a good man, Severus Snape," Hermione said softly.

"Why did you care if I loved Lily?" The question prickled the lining of his throat.

The movement of her head made the lights in her eyes glint. "Why did you care if I was avoiding you?"

Awareness of her breathing, of her fingers caressing the skin on the top of his hand (the fragile and sensitive skin), of the fullness of her lower lip, cluttered his mind. If they were standing any closer, her body would be pressed up against his. His breath was moving the hair on the top of her head.

She looked away from him, her gaze going to where her hand rested on top of his. Slowly, deliberately, her thumb swept a path from the base of his thumb across the top of of his hand to the joint of his first finger, then back.

It was the easiest thing to bring his other hand up to the side of her face, to turn her head gently until she was looking at him, eyes wide. Her pupils had dilated farther. There was only the slightest ring of brown around the black. Her mouth was barely open.

Severus Snape was a man known for his self control, but there was little that could have stopped him from pressing his mouth to hers. The courage it had taken had overrode the part screaming that it was a terribly idea, that she was his student.

She did not stiffen, she did not try to pull away. Rather, she arched into the kiss, sliding closer to him and rising on the balls of her feet as she tilted her head up. He had miscalculated on the first try; his lips only brushed hers. Her hand slid up his arm to circle his neck, he had drawn back to try again and she was pulling his head down to hers, winding her fingers in his hair.

That won't do, he thought hazily. She was controlling the kiss, it was his kiss. He crushed her to him, taking her lower lip in his. Thought didn't flee his mind, rather, it slowed then focused entirely on Hermione. Her lips were moving demandingly against his, her body was pressed tightly to him, her hair was heavy and thick against the hand behind her head. He wanted to engulf her, to consume her entirely. The taste of Hermione was intoxicating, heady, it was turning his head. He could focus on nothing but her and him, how intensely he was feeling everything about her.

A crick was developing in his neck; the wall was close. It was the work of a moment to scoop her up and press her against the stone of the wall. His mouth didn't leave hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist agreeably, and continued kissing him.

An amused part of his mind noted that she was a novice- she tried to enthusiastically imitate him. He bit down on her lower lip gently, then moved his lips from hers to the line of her jaw, and then her neck. She smelled like her flowery shampoo, like clean sweat and the cold and snowy night she had just come from. He suckled at her pulse; she made a strangled noise and tightened her fingers in his hair.

"Severus," she gasped.

It was his name that brought him back to reality, the husky tone of Hermione's familiar voice that grounded him again. The truth flooded him- he was in his office, he was kissing his student, he had her pressed against the wall and her fingers were just as tangled in her hair as his were in hers.

He was suddenly keenly aware that his lips were pressed against her neck, that he would have to break away and turn his face from her. Shame coursed through him, shame and lust and reluctance.

But he did it. He stepped away from the wall, untangling his hand from her hair. In a moment her feet were safely on the floor, his hands were safely at his side, she was a safe three feet away from him.

Looking at her was painful. Her lips were red and swollen, her hair wilder than usual, her eyes wide and confused. Barely visible was the red mark left just under her jaw. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, but now- now- his self control reasserted itself.

He could do nothing but look at her helplessly. There she was, his Hermione in all her glory. She could have just come from sparring with him- she was breathing hard, the same intense light was in her eyes, but no. She was standing inside his office, looking up at him with growing horror.

"Severus-" her voice shook.

"Don't," he said harshly. "Don't."

The thoughts were all jumbled in his mind, weaving through and around each other, running in circles and crashing against one another in a hopeless mess.

I kissed Hermione Granger.

She kissed me back.

She's my student.

She's my best friend.

She's a fifth year.

She's eighteen.

I'm in love with her.

She kissed me back.

She's beautiful.

She's off limits.

She kissed me back.

She's not for kissing.

She's too young.

I'm too old.

She kissed me back.

I held her against a wall.

She kissed me back.

I left a mark on her neck.

SHE KISSED ME BACK.

Hermione was worried, her brow was furrowed and she moved tentatively toward him. "Severus," she pleaded. It appeared she couldn't say anything either- just move toward him saying his name.

The room was warm, hot, closing in on him. He saw no escape, he saw no recourse. The only thing he could do- the only option- was to wrench open the door, and wait for her to leave.

Hermione expected the tears to hit her as soon as she was in the corridor. A god smiled down at her- they waited until she was in her private room, the one where she slept every other of her days. Wearily she turned back time, letting it flow around her and over her.

Sleep did not come. She did not expect it to, she did not want it to.

Severus had kissed her.

Never had Hermione felt such a yearning, such a primal urge to possess another human being. All the tiny flickers under her ribcage or deep in her belly had become full flames, roaring at her sensibilities and driving her to him.

As soon as she had walked into his office, she had known that something would come to a head. She could avoid him no longer, she could not put off the confrontation. By putting off, by prolonging the anticipation, she had let it grow stronger and hotter, she had raised the tension.

Seeing him, being with him, alone with him, after so long had been dizzying. Hearing his voice had stirred the tiny flickers- it had been dark and angry and dangerous. She could forget so easily how dangerous he was- both when she hadn't really seen him for weeks and when she was with him every day. But no- when Severus Snape had looked at her with anger creasing his face and smoothing his voice- she had trembled.

What had possessed her to put her hand on his to stop him from opening the door, she did not know. It had been instinct, desire, a desperate wish to touch him. Her hand had been far smaller than his- his hands dwarfed hers. His fingers were longer, his the backs of his hands broad and scarred. The skin had been soft though- worn.

Hermione studied her hand- the fingers were a bit short, the skin too pale. There were scars on her hands as well- she flexed them. She felt slightly dazed, like her head was floating somewhere and only anchored to the earth by the heavy weight of her bruised lips. Slowly she stripped to her underwear and crawled into the single bed. The sheets were cool against her flushed skin. She gathered them and her quilt around herself.

Nothing felt like her own- not her hands or her skin or her thoughts.

She could hardly remember the words they had exchanged. All she remembered was the relief, the glorious revelation that he did not love Lily Evans, that he did had not given his life to the war for love of a martyr.

What she did remember was the feeling of strong, slender fingers on the side of her face, insistent, demanding. His hands were dry, gentle. She had given up- she would hide her feelings no longer, she could not deny herself. She attributed this decision to weariness- she was tired. Tired of hiding her feelings for Severus, tired of holding herself in check, tired of wrapping herself in layers of deception and calm and the not-Hermione who was Hermione because that version of herself was all that anyone ever saw. Except for Severus.

The initial kiss had sent a thrill through her. She responded wholeheartedly, instinctively. There was no hesitation- the time it had taken to process that it was Severus and he was kissing her was infinitesimal. The feeling of his arm and shoulder under her hands- muscle moving under his skin, the warmth of his body pressed to hers- had been heady.

His nose had gotten in the way- the first brush of his lips against hers had seemed ephemeral, simply a inkling of what would come. He had pulled away- and she had pulled him right back.

Should I have let him pull away then? Did he want to end it? Had he- No. He kissed back.

The height difference had been a struggle- he was more than a head taller than her. She had wound her fingers in his hair, risen on the balls of her feet, tilted her head as far up as it would go- she could still feel the slight strain in her neck, one of only two pieces of evidence that the kiss had even happened.

The other- the angry red mark on her neck. She could still feel the rasp of his stubble on the tender skin. The shift from simply standing against each other to being lifted into the air and being trapped by two hard surfaces was hard to recall. There were hard stones against her back and a hard body against her front, hard muscles under her hands and soft hair under her fingers. There had been a different hardness against the crease of her thighs as well- the kind that she just had the barest inking of knowledge of. Severus had found her arousing- the sensation was as heady as it was a bit frightening. She has noticed the darkness of his eyes when he looked at her before- now she knew that it was a man looked at a woman and there was a very distinct difference that was as subtle as it was now obvious.

The sensation of hardness and softness and cold wall and hard man had been overwhelming. Severus had been pressing her to a wall. The mentor and friend had not be present, rather the man. He took had taken her tongue into his mouth and sucked at the skin of her neck until it throbbed.

It had not been perfect. It had been hot, messy, his nose had bumped against her face, her back hurt from the wall and her neck from the arch up to kiss him. But his lips had been terribly soft, his hands had been gentle, even if he had kissed her hard. He had lifted her effortlessly- remembrance sent another shiver through her.

The feelings had been building up inside of her, pressing at the boundaries of her skin and pulsing through her bones. It had spilled out of her mouth in a single word, a plea, a cry for the something Hermione had not quite been able to verbalize. A single word. Severus. She hadn't said it, even, no, it had been a whisper that had tripped off her tongue and into the frigid air of the dungeons, a secret sigh so sacrosanct that even breathing it had broken the sacredness of the silence.

At the sound of his name, Severus had torn his lips from her neck and stepped away, horrified.

The awareness of the tears on her cheeks came with a suddenness that shook Hermione farther. She didn't bother to wipe them away, knowing that they would be followed by more. Severus- her lovely broken bastard- had stared at her, warring with himself.

Severus was not one to blatantly display emotion on his features. He stayed blank, he was stoic, he kept his thoughts and feeling private because sharing them with anyone felt like he was giving them a part of himself (and all it took was a part before they had completely control over you) and Hermione knew this.

When he had looked at her, standing only feet away with his own mouth red from kissing hers, she had seen his struggle all too plainly on his features, she had seen it in the desolate line of his mouth, from the absolute horror in his eyes.

Hermione could not fool herself into thinking he had not wanted her. He had wanted her, he had kissed her, he had cradled her head and rocked his hips into hers. She knew what the look on his face had meant.

She knew how much honor Severus held, to what standards he held himself up to. She knew that he was not a man who trusted others, that he was not a man who felt emotion lightly. He was loyal, he was stubborn, he was damaged. He snapped all the time, he was a miserable bastard because he lived a miserable life. He had no hope, and yet- he had kissed her. That was hardly the action of a man with no hope.

She had seen desperate clash behind his dark eyes, the ones screaming that he had done the complete taboo (he had kissed a student) and that he wanted to do it again.

The only recourse she had found- still dazed herself- was to call to him, to try to bring him back to himself. Or, at least, the self he had just shown her. It hadn't worked. He had wrenched open the door, and she had fled.

Oh, again she had opened Pandora's Box and something had flown out that was wonderful and terrible.

Point Eight: Find out if he's ever had someone.

She knew now- he had kissed her with carnal knowledge, and although she ached to know who and when all she could think about was her complete lack of any skill in that area whatsoever. He hadn't minded, though.

She wondered if she had not said his name, if she had kept the hallowed silence, how far it would have gone. If he would have unbuttoned her blouse. If she would have ran her hands over his chest. If he would have suckled at her breasts as he had done at her neck. The cloying syrup of arousal had sunk deep into her belly from the moment her hand had touched his on the doorknob, and she was going half-mad as her mind wandered.

What did the future hold for them? Would he avoid her? Should she avoid him? How would they work together? Could she even go near him again without staring at his mouth- gods, how was she going to stand Potions?

There were no answers for her. Time would have to tell, and he was a closemouthed bastard.

And so ends Chapter 21.

I would like to preface all reactions by admitting that I've never even ever kissed anyone and I had to do several embarrassing Google searches in incognito to find information. And also interrogate my more experienced friends. (And plenty of thanks to J. who provided most of the information even though she hates this ship).

So. Bet you all thought that would be a while, didn't you? Mwahaha. I thought you all deserved a Christmas present, so I managed. (All I'd like in return are some reviews).

Your preview for Chapter 22, which will be posted on January 10:

Dumbledore gave her a warm smile. "You know that you can call me Albus, my dear girl. You are, after all, of age."

A ripple of fear trickled down her spine. Does he know about Severus and me? "Very well then, Albus." She tried for a smile. "What was this about?"

Okay. Have a great two weeks!

Please leave a review! Merry Christmas or Happy Last-Wednesday-of-the-Year!