Hello to the world.

I'm hellishly tired right now (Thursday night) so I just want to say that this chapter takes care of some problematic things that have been cropping up in the general Hermione/Severus interactions and I really like this chapter.

Also the amount of reviews was pretty great. Not as much as last chapter, but hopefully the yummy things here will inspire? Oh, a question I've been getting a lot. This will completely diverge from canon after the Ministry. Which is fast approaching in Chapter 29 because something is going to happen before that and... spoilers. So after the Ministry. It's coming. Fifth year is almost over. I'm sorry, I like slow build up.

SO many people liked the synopsis so I'll do another one:

In the last chapter... Hermione gave Severus and Christmas gift and he gave her one too (and he kissed her again the asshole) but it was actually something that was just kind of pretty not overly useful and that makes her feel all shivery inside. And the Dumbledore was a DUMBledore and decided that Severus should be giving Harry Occlumency lessons and Hermione should help. So Sirius was an ass and Severus reacted with vitriol and so was also and ass. Hermione broke up the fight because honestly everyone in that room was being an idiot, but she also touched Severus' arm in front of Harry and Severus. And then... um... she has a serious talk with Sirius and basically calls him out on some stuff. And now...

Chapter 25

After a rather disastrous trip on the Knight Bus, the school-aged children made their way up to the castle from Hogsmeade village. There had been a general opinion with the Order that they should send a guard with them, but they had been assured that Hermione was more than enough protection.

Fred and George were walking a bit ahead, deep in discussion. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were walking in a sort of clump, although Harry was still ignoring Hermione. His anger was palatable and also noticed by the two siblings.

She hadn't gotten the opportunity to speak with Harry the day before, and it needed to be done sooner rather than later. Hermione tapped Ginny's wrist and tilted her head meaningfully; the younger girl caught on after a moment and grabbed her brother's arm, dragging him up with her on the excuse that they needed to ask the twins something.

Before Harry could follow, Hermione linked her arm through his, despite the resistance, and slowed her pace, forcing him to slow as well. "We need to talk," she said.

"No, we don't," Harry said coldly. As coldly as he could, anyway. From Severus she had heard dry snow swept by ice winds in the mountains, rocky tundras, isolated beaches covered in damp mists. From Harry, cold was a light breeze that gave one goosebumps on a day that hadn't quite decided if it was fall or summer. He had too much passion to be distant.

All of Severus' passion was hidden behind wall after all and it had taken her years to see a glimpse of it but it was there, oh, it was there she could feel it as his tongue met hers and his arms held her firmly.

"Codswallop," Hermione said flippantly. "Now tell me why you're upset so that I can lay to rest any concerns you might have."

He glowered at her for a moment, then conceded. "Why are you going to be helping Snape teach me?"

"Simple," said Hermione. "I know Occlumency and I'm quite good at it."

There was no little shock in Harry's face. "But Remus said it was one of the hardest things to learn in the Wizarding World!"

Hermione pinned him down with a look. "It is." When Harry opened his mouth to protest, she raised an eyebrow and continued. "I had a natural talent, I suppose. And I worked at it. Especially after what happened in the graveyard- Voldemort looked through my mind, Harry."

When he looked away from her, she didn't stop speaking, but she did place a gloved hand on his arm. "To have someone root through your mind is a terribly intimate thing, Harry. If they're good at it, you won't feel anything but a ruffle, a sense that something isn't quite right. Legilimency requires eye contact, so you know the person in front of you is looking into your eyes and learning all sorts of things about you, that they are thinking about you. You just don't know exactly what it is that they're doing. But when someone is purposefully doing it, when they are riffling through your mind and your memories and your thoughts with no discrimination, it is painful. Not because your body is in physical pain- although sometimes that does happen and nosebleeds are not uncommon- but because your soul is being laid bare to a set of human eyes."

"So Snape taught you?" Harry asked, some of the sullenness gone from his voice.

Hermione sighed. "Professor Snape, Harry. Not exactly. I owled Professor Dumbledore, asking for some lessons, and while he did give me a few tips, he was too busy to do much. He did ask Professor Snape to give me a few pointers and test my defenses. Anyway, I have a good idea of what we're doing. And if I can help, and if someone can be there to make sure you and Professor Snape don't kill each other, what's the harm?"

"You seemed really familiar with him," Harry said in a quiet voice, eyes flicking to Ron and Ginny where the pair was walking up ahead. "Snape- Professor Snape, I mean. You touched him."

Mentally, she cursed. She had been hoping that Harry had been too mad to notice much about that. "It was him or Sirius and honestly, I felt like I had a better chance of getting through to Professor Snape," Hermione admitted. "Sirius can be rash sometimes. I didn't want to get cursed. And last time I tried to stop him from doing something..." she let her voice trail off. Harry would remember the Shrieking Shack, and how Sirius had strangled her and punched her in the face.

She saw the recognition in his eyes. "Oh, yeah," he said a bit sheepishly. "So we'll go to see him tomorrow? For the first lesson?"

"Yes, Harry," answered Hermione. "And tonight, before we go to bed, we can talk more and do some exercises so you'll be prepared for tomorrow."

She smiled at him, and reluctantly he returned it. "Yeah. Sounds good." She patted his arm once then let him go, walking a bit faster to catch up with Ron and Ginny.

"Breathe in," said Hermione in her most calming voice. "Five, six, seven. Now breathe out." She was sitting cross legged on Harry's four poster, across from the Boy-Who-Lived who was mirroring her posture. He was squinting slightly to focus on her, as his glasses were folded nearly on his bedside table. "Close your eyes, Harry. Six, seven. Now in. Two, three, four, five six, seven... and out."

His thin chest rose and fell with her counts. She did the seven count again for him, softening her voice with each number. Another set of seven, and she hoped he'd keep the breathing pattern on his own.

The sounds of her counting and his breathing were the only noises in the room. Hermione had given Ron strict instructions not to let any of the boys in, no matter what they said or whined about. It had been fine by them- they were not overly eager to be in a bedroom with Harry again.

Fluttering behind Harry's lids slowed, and then stopped. Finally, he was calm. "Clear your mind," Hermione said slowly. "Think of nothing at all."

Even as she said it, she had the regretful inkling of what would happen. As soon as she gave the order to clear his mind, Harry's head would suddenly be full of thoughts. The same thing had happened to her the first time Severus had given the same order.

She resumed her counting, waiting for Harry's breathing to fall into rhythm again. They practiced for another fifteen minutes, but Hermione called it a night when Harry's breathing began to slow beyond her count. He was falling asleep- but at least he was falling asleep with a clear mind. She smiled softly and gently pushed him back into the bed. It was the work of a moment to spell off his shoes and gently pull his glasses off his nose.

"G'night, 'Mione," he mumbled.

She brushed a hand over his hair. "Goodnight, Harry."

Ghosting into the hall, she nodded at Ron, Dean, and Neville where they sat near the fire. "He's sleeping. Go in, but be quiet."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron mumbled.

She glared at him frostily. "Goodnight, Ronald."

Her bed beckoned, but she denied it in favor of going to see Severus. Shrugging off her robes, she changed into the clothes she normally wore to practice fighting with him. They made her feel more adult than the school girl garb she normally wore, the pleated skirt and the sweater and the student robe with the Gryffindor patch. She didn't want to go before Severus dressed like that, like the Hermione Granger everyone else saw. That girl was the one who's name dropped casually, abbreviated, from the lips of Harry or Ron.

The Hermione that she felt like was the one who Severus saw, the essence of the word he caressed slowly with his voice, that lovely voice that always said her name with a solemnity that constantly reminded her that they were not only equals but friends despite all the odds. That Hermione wore shirts that hugged her curves and pants that didn't hinder her movement. She wore her hair pulled back from her face, she wore her lethality like a queen wore majesty- as if it was a birthright and nothing more.

Sometimes she longed to act as she felt, to dress as she felt, to wind a hand in Snape's hair and drag his mouth down to hers. The urge was always there, that pulsing wanting sensation that used to be in her rib cage but that was migrating further and further down until it was beating deep in her belly.

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet, empty. The old castle had twists and turns like no other, fantastic architecture, and strange artwork that gave an aura of mysteriousness, especially late at night. There were carvings, especially in the sections of the castle that were made with wood- that moved, fauns twisting over one another to make lewd gestures as nymphs were chased by the forever lonely Pan, running after them with his pipes at his side or at his lips.

Severus wasn't in his office, as she would have expected. There was a note on his desk, however, that didn't have any words, just a picture. He had drawn a teapot in black ink, the lines sure and smooth.

Tea, thought Hermione, a slow smile spreading across her face. But- this stands for something more. Tea and a long talk, I think. A revealing talk. Like... like the time I asked him about his black teapot. Strange. I never knew he liked drawing.

There was so much she did know about him and so much that she had no idea about either. Like she knew he traced his lips with his index finger when he was trying to give a very deliberate speech, or how he actually liked it when she was impertinent. But she hadn't known that he liked drawing, or that he was good at it for that matter. She folded up the picture and tucked it into her pocket.

Still disguised, she slipped into his false chambers, removing the Disillusionment before entering his real set of rooms. He was there, only half facing her from his desk. He didn't smile when he saw her, or give any sign at all really that he was glad that she was there.

Or so Hermione thought, anyway. She didn't catch the pleased look that swept across his face when he tilted his hair so that it obscured the half smile from view.

"Hullo," she said, uncertainty seizing her and leaving her mouth without the words she had planned.

He set his quill in the inkwell, turning in his chair to regard her with eloquent eyes. The shadows in the room deepened the lines on his face, his nose thrusting a cruel shadow on his cheek, his brows leaving his eyes to glitter in the dark. Hermione caught herself gazing at his lips, and forcefully turned her gaze to those eyes.

She was trembling. It infuriated her; this wasn't the image she wanted to present to him, the trembling and shy virgin who was afraid of looking him in the eye. She bit down harshly on her lip, drawing blood. It brought her back to herself, brought her back to calmness.

"Good evening," he responded at last. "Tea?"

Something like relief ran through her, suffusing warmth down her spine. "Please," she said gratefully. "Would you like me to start it?"

He stood, his movements not as fluid as they normally were. Perhaps he was as discomfited by it all as she as. "No, I'll prepare it."

Left to her own devices, for the time being at least, Hermione padded through his room until she reached the bookcase, mirroring her first time in Severus' home of sorts. Again, she trailed her fingers just over the spines of the books, reading their titles with a quiver of nostalgia.

A clinking sound from the kitchenette told her that Severus would be entering the sitting room momentarily; she snatched her hand away guiltily and sat in the armchair that had been labeled (perhaps permanently?) as hers. She had been correct. Severus and a tray emerged from the doorway, small spirals of steam rising from two mugs. He set it down on the coffee table, handing her one and taking the other mug for himself.

Desperate to keep some semblance of normalcy, Hermione wrapped her fingers around her mug and spoke. "What is the Dark Lord planning? Is the Azkaban breakout nearly finalized?"

Severus nodded, his face darkening a shade as he considered his second master. "Yes. By Tuesday morning Bellatrix Lestrange will be free."

"And will you be going with them?" Hermione asked, sipping the tea to dislodge the blockage in her throat at the thought of Severus flying into Azkaban with Aurors on high alert. "On Monday night?"

His lip curled in a bitter mockery of a smirk. "No. The Dark Lord understands that on Monday night I will be rifling through Potter's mind and wishes me to be completely focused on that task."

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes focused on a spot beside Severus' head as she considered the implications of that statement. "The Dark Lord knows about Harry's Occlumency lessons?"

"Of course," snapped Severus. "As soon as Dumbledore proposed them I had to let him know. He's been trying to enter Potter's mind every night since July. If he sees something resembling defenses in there, he'll want to know why."

She flapped a hand at him absentmindedly. "Yes, yes, Severus, but what does he expect you'll see? It's not like Harry will be thinking about top secret things or really anything of relevance."

Severus sighed. "On the contrary. The Dark Lord desires that I learn more of Potter's secrets, provoke him into anger and see what makes him angry, what memories are too precious to him. He wants to know Potter's weak spots, the holes in his defenses."

"And I suppose he also wants you to broaden those holes," Hermione concluded grimly. "To make him go to bed angry and upset and with a tired mind, ripe for dreams about mysterious hallways."

"That will isolate him from his peers by suggesting he have remedial Potions, and tarnish his reputation even farther," Severus continued. "And Potter's already prone enough to teenage angst as it is, and this should worsen it. If all was to go to the Dark Lord's plan."

He was tracing his lips with his finger as he talked, Hermione realized, and it was terribly distracting. "Then we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen," Hermione said firmly. "I'll be there- I'm sure the Dark Lord didn't account for that."

The bitter curl of his mouth smoothed out, turned wry rather than cruel. "Indeed."

They were quiet for a time, each drinking slowly and alternating their gazes between the fireplace and each other. The tea was warm and good, nearly drugging. The cold of the dungeons was offset by the fire, and the comforting presence of Severus was only feet away.

She wondered if he was going to say something, or if he was waiting for her to say something. Should she? Were they going to ignore the kisses, or were they going to talk about it? The agonizing memory of the darkened training room, of Severus telling her that it was too dangerous, returned, unsettling Hermione. The last thing she wanted was to put him in danger.

"You're wearing it." The statement puzzled her for a moment; she glanced at his face and noticed that his gaze was not on her face, but slightly below. Her throat.

Self-consciously she raised her hand to her throat, touching the small pearl there. "It's lovely," she rasped, throat suddenly tight. "Beautiful, Severus. Thank you."

He didn't color, but he did look away. "It suits you."

Her mug was empty. She set it on the table, then drew her legs up into her chair so she could curl into herself. "Why did you kiss me?"

"I told you not to speak of it." Severus' words were clipped, clinical. No, you told me you didn't know why.

"No," Hermione stood up, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Not going to cut it, Severus. The first time, perhaps, I can see. But you kissed me, again, on Christmas. After saying it was too dangerous, after making a fuss about me being your student and you being my teacher-"

"All of those points are true," snapped Severus, also standing.

She raised an eyebrow at him. The fact that he was more than a foot taller than her did not matter, no, it was the power of her anger at not seeing him for days then having him kiss her that made her immune to the slight intimidation that he may have been trying to use. "That's not an excuse, Severus." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of all the things you are, the last is a coward. Tell me why!"

The power of words was not new to Hermione; she knew well that often the right word could provoke or calm or move someone to tears. But she had not expected this, the rage and fury that took Severus' face as soon a she said the word 'coward.'

"What do you want to hear?" he hissed at her. "That the first time I was so overcome by lust for my student that I couldn't help but trap her against a wall and put my mouth all over her? That I lost my self control- the self control that keeps me alive at the Dark Lord's side- over a chit of eighteen? That I saw you standing there in the kitchen of a man I hate and I couldn't stop myself from wanting you, a girl nearly half my age?" He was shouting by the end, the cold hardness of his usual exterior gone.

"Yes!" she shouted back. "That's a thousand times better than thinking that it meant nothing or-"

He didn't bear down on her as much as draw himself to his full height. "Why would I risk my life and yours on something that meant nothing?"

That rage that was in him was in her too. "You could have been using me!" yelled Hermione. "If the Dark Lord ordered you to-"

"You trust me that little?" His interruption was quieter, colder. "You think that I would- that I would seduce you on the orders of- of him?"

If she hadn't known him so well she wouldn't have seen the hurt that had taken the place of the anger, the coldness that had taken over the heat of whatever passion he had just showed her. "That's the point," she said, her voice more normal again. "I didn't know, Severus. I had never had any hint that you wanted me the same way that I-" She swallowed harshly.

The curl was back in his lip, the sneer that was waiting to unleash his vitriol onto her. "Go on," he prompted, dangerously quiet. "Don't stop now, say whatever it was that made you suspect me."

There was the urge to look away from him, to give up or give in and slink away, to go to the chilly corridors and escape from the cold exuding this man. But she couldn't, she couldn't do that to Severus. She couldn't do it to herself either; there was a reason the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor and this inner bravery that she was drawing upon now was it.

"I didn't know that you wanted me the same way that I wanted you," she said quietly, holding his eyes with hers. "Severus- I thought that I was imagining things, honestly. It seemed so- so unreal. So unimaginable."

She moved toward him like one moves toward a small animal or a bird: slowly, as not to send it scampering off. Instinctively she knew that the moment was crucial, that every muscle in Severus' body was tense and poised to run. Carefully, she laid a hand on his chest, closing her eyes at the slow and steady thumping of his heart.

His hand came up and covered hers. "I shouldn't have kissed you." She could feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest.

"It doesn't matter whether or not you should have or shouldn't have," she said, hoping that it was only her surety and not her desperation that was making her voice crack. "You did, Severus. And it wasn't just you, I kissed you back. I didn't pull away. I wanted you to kiss me."

He bent his head, pressing his nose to her hair. Hermione moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. "I never meant for this to happen," he said again, hoarsely. "Hermione, I didn't want to do this to you."

He's acting like he's the only one to blame here, Hermione realized. He's the one who kissed me; I've never kissed him. He hasn't gotten it yet, that I want him just as badly- maybe even more- than he wants me. From there it was the most logical thing to slide her hand from his chest to the skin of his face, rough and slightly prickly with shadow under her palm, and stretch to kiss him, to touch her lips to his so gently it made her want to cry.

His lips remained passive under hers, even as she held his face- feeling the harsh line of his jaw under her hands- and tried to mimic what he had done to her earlier. A tear did fall, slipping from her face to stain his. She pulled away, looking at him. His grey eyes were as open as she had ever seen them, as full of raw pain and want as she was sure hers were.

"Please, Severus," she said- she begged. "Please."

There was acquiescence as he closed his eyes and shifted to ease her way. She kissed him again, more tears falling as he opened his mouth to hers and allowed her to gently kiss him. Even as she did so, as she could taste the loss, the knowledge that he was giving into her now but for the last time. He didn't seem to mind that she really had no idea what she was doing, that she was wetting his face with her tears, that she was clutching him. She could feel his warmth through the thin white shirt. His arms were so strong, his lanky body hard against hers.

When she finally pulled away, lowering herself back down on flat feet, she wanted to bury her head in her hands and just let the tears continue. Instead she looked up at him, her hands still gently holding his face and neck so he was looking at her.

"Don't cry, Hermione," said Severus, using his thumbs to brush away the tears. "Listen to me." Seriousness overcame him, casting his features into brutally severity.

She nodded.

"We- whatever we have here- cannot continue." He paused, then went on. "It doesn't matter what our feelings for each other are, not at a time like this. When I said that it was too dangerous, I meant it. We have priorities right now, things that are more important than- than this."

It went against everything she felt, the heat that was spreading from deep in her belly to tingle in her breasts, but she drew in a shuddering breath and nodded agreement. "I know. I know."

His breath caught as she slid her hands down his neck to his shoulders. "But- Hermione- we need to work together. These last weeks have been impossible." He didn't laugh humorlessly or make a groan or any other sound- but she knew exactly how he felt, like he was falling endlessly because the clouds that had supported his weight before had suddenly dissipated. Somehow over the years they had grown together like two trees who started out separate but allowed the elements to wind their trunks together until they were hopelessly entangled, hopelessly dependent upon each other.

"We can do this," she told him, blinking harshly. "We can make it work. Hold off on the kissing and such until after. Work together as normal and then when everything is over and he's gone we can sort it all out."

The shoulders under her hands tensed and Severus looked far away for a moment. That's right, Hermione remembered. He doesn't expect to make it out alive.

She rubbed his shoulders in a soothing motion. "Severus, we can make it work. I- we can be perfectly platonic. No more kissing, or touching, or- we'll do everything the way we should."

His eyes were still closed. "I don't want to lose you." The words spilled out in a stream that she could barely decipher, spoken under his breath. It was a close to a declaration of love that she was likely to get from him now and Hermione understood it perfectly.

"We'll make it work," she said, more to herself than Severus. "No more breaks in self-control, right?"

He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. "One more," he rasped. "And then- and then we'll control ourselves. Until the end of this mess."

It wasn't clear this time who started the kiss or if they just moved together as one. All Hermione knew was that Severus was kissing her fiercely, commandingly, his passion (or lust) evident in the way he was holding her to him, taking her mouth ruthlessly, cradling her head with one large hand with fingers threaded through her hair.

A sound like a groan ripped itself from his throat, and this time Hermione mimicked what he had done the first time they had kissed; she moved her lips from his to the beautiful line of his jaw, flicking her tongue against the rasp of roughness before tilting her head to get to the soft underside of his jaw, suckling lightly not to leave a noticeable mark.

This time it was Severus' voice- that deep silky voice that made her insides clench- that groaned her name. "Hermione."

And this time it as her who pulled away, to just inside the circle of his arms. "And now..."

"And now we say goodnight," said Severus. That intense focusing of his features was back, the way he was looking at her (the way a man looks at a woman) turning those inside parts of her into somersaulting twists.

Hermione swallowed hard. "Goodnight," she said quietly, wishing that it didn't sound so close to 'goodbye.'

His large hand smoothed over her cheek, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Goodnight," he responded.

There was a moment when they just met each others' eyes, taking peace from the gaze and heat from the others' body.

Gently he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Go," he said in a tone so low and quiet it could have been a rumbling. "My self control is terribly weak around you."

She trailed her fingertips down his chest until she reached his belt. "Okay," she murmured. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione left him in his rooms, the fire flickering behind him and throwing his shadow on the wall lined with bookcases. At last there was a peace of sorts; a knowledge that something would be there in the future and they had just promised that to each other.

As soon as she was gone, Severus collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose fiercely.

There was too much going on in the country, in the war, for his thoughts to be occupied by a girl. A woman. Hermione Granger didn't kiss him as if she was a girl. It was his own insistence that it was wrong and his own attempts to separate Hermione Granger from the idea of woman that kept him calling her a girl in his own mind. There had been that desperate need to keep the two separate, to keep Hermione Granger from being synonymous with desire, for so long that if felt unbearably difficult to consider her in this new context.

And yet it should not have been this difficult for him, because it had been him, it had been Severus, who had broken the barriers he had set in place, that society had set in place. He had been the one to kiss her, he had been the one to change the relationship between them forever.

The first kiss he had seen as a mistake. As soon as he had realized what he had done, Severus had sworn that it would never happen again, that he would guard himself against all possible recursions. But then- then, in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place he had seen Hermione there.

There, with her hair unbound and her skin almost translucent in the night. Barefoot, the outlines of her breasts tipped in sharp points that stretched the thin cotton of her sleeping shirt, Hermione had been just as glorious as she had appeared to him in the heat of the fight, with the heat of victory in the bared set of her teeth. There had been a different kind of beauty to her in the kitchen, in the wild and messy hair and free breasts and bare feet.

What might it be like to wake up to find a Hermione with bare feet and messy hair and her breasts free under her shirt in a kitchen, in his kitchen?

She had been so vulnerable, so strong, so scared, and yet so confident also. She had no idea what was going on in his head, but was sure enough of him to approach, to give him a gift, to let him kiss her. The shifts between uncertainty and anger had been enough to move him to do what he had sworn not to do.

The first time there had been nothing on the earth that could have stopped him from kissing her; the second it was a choice made of his own free will as all rational thought was thrown to the side. There was only the wish to taste Hermione, to prove to her that he was not the cold-hearted bastard she clearly thought him, that she was more than just a person to him that she was everything he was living for now as his masters closed their grip on him and the stakes in the war rose higher and higher.

He couldn't stand to see her cry.

That had been shown tonight, how he couldn't resist Hermione's tears and the sound of her voice- pleading but not broken, no far from it- begging him to kiss her back, to prove to her again that he cared. Here he was, laughable, the man all of Hogwarts (and the Death Eaters and the Order) said had no heart, his resolve broken by Hermione Granger's tears.

He had seen her cry before, but not because of him. He might have been able to stand it if he had not been the one to cause them, the tears, but he had been the cause and Severus would do anything in his power to make them stop.

But what were his feelings for Hermione, his intentions toward her? He kissed her like he knew what he wanted but he really had no idea.

Severus glanced at the half-obscured stand covered in decanters and flacks of dangerously seductive liquid. He was sorely tempted to pour himself a drink, to welcome the haze that came with alcohol and the endorphins released by it.

Then you wouldn't be able to taste Hermione on your lips anymore.

He looked away from the liquor and back at the fireplace.

Who was Hermione to him? It was strange enough that he called her by her first name, that he so fiercely did not want to probe himself and his motives concerning her. The most obvious answer, the over-arching one was that she was important. Maybe most important.

He had been furious, hurt, terrified when she had avoided him after his revelation about Lily Potter and everything that she had meant to him. The thought of Hermione not being the person he had made her out to be, the kind and selfless and understanding woman who would accept anything and everything about him had infuriated him. Severus knew it was unreasonable but he had expected something from her and for the first time she had not met his expectations.

Hermione was human. Who had known? He had certainly made her out as more than that in his head.

And just when he had thought that he had been fucking disillusioned, that the reminder that she was just as vapid and normal as every other eighteen-year-old witch had sunken the fuck in, she shattered it again.

She had been upset because she had thought he was still in love with Lily Potter.

Not because the thought of Severus having feelings for someone had been too strange, not because she had thought his dedication creepy or wrong, but because she had fled in the face of the truth, but because she had thought he loved- still loved- Lily. She was naïve enough to believe that first love was true love and that it could last forever. He hadn't loved Lily, he had been infatuated with the idea of her. The same thing had almost happened with Hermione.

But it had appeared that even as his ideal had been broken the truth had emerged as more than he could have imagined.

Hermione wasn't perfect, she wasn't the same type of girl that Lily Evans had been. She was real, she was unsure of herself, but she trusted Severus Snape enough to let him in and care about him and- maybe- care about him in a deeper way. Love him, in her way.

Trust him enough to let him kiss her. To kiss him back. To hold his face and press her lips to his as tears ran down her face.

He knew that he was an ungrateful bastard who was too smart for his own good and that he was in the very dangerous position of playing both sides of a very dangerous game. The two greatest wizards in the world were gearing up for a fight and getting their information from one source- him. He lied for a living (literally he lied in order to live, for the act of living he lied and lied and lied until he didn't know what his own thoughts were they were buried so deep under Occlumency shields and barriers and walls he didn't know who Severus was anymore only that Severus knew that Hermione was important and sometimes when he had lost himself he could follow that thread (that Hermione was important Hermione was important Hermione important Hermione important) back to his memories of Hermione, Hermione laughing and Hermione talking and arguing with him and in a flash he could remember who Severus was (he was that man who made her laugh and who made her turn red and who made her smile by giving her books) and he could breathe again, secure in his own skin).

Hermione was too important for him to let her go.

But she was also too important to the war for him to- keep her wasn't the right phrasing, she- and he- were too important to be distracted. There was too much at stake there was no question about that. She understood it, he understood it. Their entire lives- the very circumstances that had thrown them together until an eighteen-year-old girl and a man well into his thirties were unable to manage well without each other- had been shaped by the need to win the war to protect Harry Potter to end it all with no regards to the cost to themselves.

Cost. He had thought that paying more of himself, that giving more of himself (not taking into account he had precious little left to give) was impossible. But he had given, he had given Hermione time and training and attention and she had given him the same. She had spent time with him and admired him and listened to and learned from him, and she had taken all of that and turned it into affection, into genuine friendship, where she didn't want to hurt him and she realized that sometimes he was mean and it was not her fault. She put up with him, but it was more than that. She seemed to actually enjoy his company. It was in the way her entire body was relaxed in his rooms, the way that she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on his couch or tease him gently.

She was comfortable enough not to notice when her shirt rode up and a line of pale skin was visible and starkly outlined by dark pants and red shirt. His eyes had been drawn to that strip of white- marred only by a freckle- and for a moment his thoughts had been crowded with her hipbone and the shadow it cast on the freckle and the way that skin looked beautifully smooth and how he knew how it would taste but at the same time that knowledge was only in his mind and he also knew that it would be better than he could have imagined. But if anything Hermione was good at compartmentalization and he shoved those thoughts down with all the other inappropriate thoughts about Hermione.

Oh, that compartment in his head was getting more and more crowded, memories of more white skin or heaving breasts or wet open lips shifting inside their walls waiting for a time when he was unprepared or undefended to strike and cloud his mind. He was undeniably attracted to her- he had realized that embarrassingly early even if he refused to acknowledge it. He had refused to imagine kissing her, he had refused to let the unbidden dreams of a writhing shadowy shape with thick curly hair and burning eyes see the light of day. But now, now that he knew what it was like to kiss Hermione, now that he knew exactly how their bodies fit together and how her breasts felt pressed against his chest and how small her hands were and how bold- yes, he desired her. It felt ignoble to admit to even himself that he was there and wanting a girl so desperately that he was hardening in his pants just thinking about it. Severus was supposed to be stronger than that, better than that.

So that answered his earlier question. Hermione was important, Hermione was precious. He was bound to her now, he answered to her call, a decision made unconsciously and long ago now sealed with a kiss.

He had told her that they would wait, that the only way that anything could ever happen was if the Dark Lord was dead and Harry Potter victorious- and that was true. But how he wanted it to be different, how he wanted to be able to sort out all of this with Hermione in his arms instead of wandering the corridors of Hogwarts with tear tracks still faintly visible on her cheeks.

But he had been correct, entirely so when he said they would wait. The Dark Lord would become more distrustful of Severus as his regime started to come apart. As the Order would come closer and closer to victory, Severus' mind would be searched more and more thoroughly by the notoriously paranoid Dark Lord. There could be no traces of Hermione there, nothing that would alert him to his weak spot.

The Dark Lord was vindictive, and if he began to suspect Severus, Hermione would make a fine warning, and he couldn't let that happen.

He would protect her at all costs.

And so ends Chapter Twenty-Five.

Um. Hope you enjoyed. Something happened in this chapter that I think was extremely important and I'm kind of hoping you noticed it. But I want to say something about it because I feel it plays a significant role in the way that I interpret this relationship.

Severus has too much power. He's her teacher, he's older, he smarter, he's just been around longer and has had authority over her for as long as they've known each other. Every few days Hermione is in his class, taking orders and viewing him as her professor. He also has control over their romantic relationship- until this chapter he has initiated just about every encounter or kiss. Severus feels that he needs his control, because it is the only thing that keeps him alive sometimes. Control is very important to him. Hermione sees, this, but she also knows it is something that is putting them off balance. She is an emotional teenaged girl, but it goes beyond that. Yes, she is hormonal (because she's 18/19 and LUST) but she is also so close to having something she wants so deeply and something she thought she would never be able to have. She is a girl who likes a boy a lot and that boy likes her back and it is exciting and dangerous and beautiful and she is so happy but also so, so scared of losing him by doing or saying the wrong thing. So Hermione wants some control in this relationship and Severus is slowly seeing that he needs to relinquish some.

Okay. Mini rant over.

IMPORTANT NEWS

I am running out of pre-written chapters.

That means that the regular every-two-weeks posting schedule will be coming to and end soon. I've written 28 and started 29 but that only means 6-8 weeks to write more. And I'm an IB (International Baccalaureate) student who has a job and a social life (minimal as it is I'm starting to make friends finally) and scholarship apps and college courses. That isn't that much time, and my IB exams are coming up. I'm writing in little chunks of fifteen or forty five minutes before I sleep and sometimes when I'm taking "notes" in government.

Therefore, I need to figure something out and I'd like some input. Would you rather see the 2 weeks schedule go later, or go now? I see that I can either start posting chapter only when I finish another one (and keep my very needed buffer for edits) or go until there is nothing left and you'll have a bit of a haitus. So. Let me know. And also if you have any other ideas.

NON-IMPORTANT NEWS

I MIGHT GET A FULL RIDE SCHOLARSHIP. Gulp. To a very nice university in the South but I need to go to compete for it and I'm nervous. Interviews. Ugh. Shit. I'm good at being charming for short periods of time, not for three days. And I'm worried my clothes won't be dressy enough, or I won't know what to do... Luck. Please. Last chapter I was freaking out about paying for college and now I have this chance I don't want to blow it. Any good vibes you could send my way... pretty please.

Excerpt:

Hermione was sorting reports in the privacy of her private bedchamber when the watch she wore burned hot.

Come now. Slightly injured.

Until the 7th of March. Review, please!