Hermione clutched the pillow closer before opening her eyes. He had been right; she hadn't worn anything that night. The decision hadn't yet been finalized whether she should regret it or not.
On one hand, she didn't at all. It had been such a fabulous release of months of tension, years of rigid self-control, an evening of terror, and a day of discovery. No hesitant fumblings, or stuttered words of affection, just... Everything on a 'what you see is what you get' basis, which she could appreciate in some ways. She wouldn't want to spend her life like that, living hand-to-mouth emotionally, but it had just felt so right at that moment.
Looking across the room, she saw that the softly glowing clock on the wall read that it was now five in the morning. The four was pulsating red; his wake-up alert most likely. This was the normal time she woke in the morning, but it had never been after an evening of such... varied activity. While the situation settled, she was given the time off from work, so perhaps it would be just her little secret if she slept in for once.
No, as she snuggled into the pillow that smelled just like the cloak, no regrets really.
It was two hours later that Hermione reawakened. This time, there was no going back, even if she was having a lovely dream that made her smile and wish for more. There was sunlight, struggling through the trees, coming in the window to illuminate the room. Her natural instinct was to investigate, but she overrode that with common sense.
Get clean, get dressed, then look in every nook and cranny.
Sitting up, she saw her bags, full size now, sitting next to a bulky dresser of dark wood. The door to the room was closed, and the light was on in the attached bath. Taking it as her cue that it was safe to get ready in privacy, Hermione swung her legs out of bed, and stood, leaving the covers behind.
Hurrying, just a little, she went to her bags and rifled through them for the most convenient clothing. Plain undergarments, plain underclothing, and plain robes; her job didn't call for fancy dress. She retired to the bath, closing and locking the door. A shower would have suited her, but there was something she liked to do when she had the time for it, and what better time than the present?
She transfigured a small waste bin into a stool, and a soap dish into a bucket. The stool was placed in the overlarge tub, and she filled the bucket with cold water. This was always the worst, but led to greater rewards as well. Sitting on the stool, she lifted the bucket, took a deep breath, and dumped it over her head.
For a moment, she just sat that, her eyes closed tightly, gritting her teeth. It refused to be held back though, and she let out a howl. "That's bloody freezing!" Teeth chattering, Hermione hurriedly soaped herself down, shampooed her hair, and then repeated the water torture, repeating her earlier declaration.
Shivering and with chattering teeth, she changed the stool and bucket back, then filled the tub with steaming water. Without pausing to test, she slipped into the water and let out a hiss of pleasure. No one else at Hogwarts had understood the apparent method to her madness, and certainly not the other prefects.
That bathroom, while others gaped at the utter hugeness of it, allowed her to enjoy her guilty pleasure of a bathing method in peace though. Impractical in the regular bathrooms and an ill-equipped bath at home, the prefect's bath had been well-suited. Not even her cozy flat had the proper plumbing for it, but she vowed her next home would have it.
And if she ever got a vacation, her first stop would be Japan and the natural hot springs.
Reflecting on her Hogwarts days, it was in these moments of bliss she could honestly say how much she really disliked holding the responsibilities of Prefect, and in her final year, Head Girl. Of course, she didn't have much love for the Ministry, but she knew her work was doing good; that's what really kept her going.
If she had slipped into the "easy" role of an auror, her current experience most likely would have broken her. Knowledge though, that she was doing more than chasing shadows, risking her life for meager results, making advances in protective charms, wards, and potions, and her own experiences, kept her grounded. Carrying on was the only thing to do, even if it meant leaving her home behind and being put in the charge of her old teacher, Severus Snape.
The heat worked through her, and her lips curved slowly into a smile. Placed into his charge as if she were still a student. Not quite. It could have been easily attributed to the cloak, but she wouldn't shy away from things: she had been willing, more than willing. For once, Hermione Granger had been the aggressor, and she had achieved her goal. Multiple times.
"Lovely," she sighed to herself, feeling more refreshed than she had in ages. Before the water grew tepid, Hermione extracted herself, and wrapped her body in the most exquisite towel she had ever experienced. If this was what being a spy got, she was ready to sign up. Maybe after she learned the secrets of that cloak though. Fascinating and imminently useful it was, and she had no doubt it played some part in the fact that her... dearest professor was still alive.
Speaking of, Hermione wondered where he might be, what sort of accusations and insults he might level at her this pleasant morning after. Powdering, perfuming (lightly), and dressing, Hermione paused a moment to consider her hair. It was a scraggly mess, easily fixed by magic, but she wasn't sure what to do with it. Bushiness had given way to slightly wild curls and waves as she approached the end of her teens, and she had mastered several different ways to make it work in her favor.
With a wave of her wand, she dried it and swept it back, out of her face. It would do for the day; she could get fancy after she had settled in properly. There was no telling how long she would be hidden away here; possibly until Voldemort was defeated. And that monster would be defeated. She would not consider otherwise.
Out of the bath, and then the bedroom, the house was silent. "Severus?" she said loudly as she stood at the top of the stairs. Instead of repeating the action when the only answer she received was from Crookshanks, Hermione headed down the stairs and was greeted by a very pleased cat.
"You must think you're something special to have a look like that on that furry face of yours," she cooed, and scooped the cat into her arms. "What have you been doing this morning? Terrorizing Severus?"
Crookshanks just purred as she scratched under his chin with one finger.
"You must be hungry though. I never did get around to feeding you last night," she said as she made her way down a narrow hallway the led to the rear of the house. An open doorway on her right was the darkened kitchen, and there on the floor in the corner were two bowls. One filled with water and the other with food. The dent in the mound was evidence that Crookshanks had already been using it.
On the small table, complete with a whole chair, Hermione saw a note, so set Crookshanks on the floor.
You get a vacation. I do not.
Not signed, or even an initial. That was no surprise. So, if he wasn't off on his duties and he wasn't teaching, then Hermione had to wonder just what his job was. Reporting to some secretive department of the Ministry? Reporting to Dumbledore? Would he take offense if she asked?
Now that his whereabouts were established, and Crookshanks was settled, Hermione was free to search through anything and everything.
The kitchen, the formal dining room that looked ready to host a funeral dinner, and the sitting room at the front were all completely normal to her surprise. Hermione could almost believe that her parents had decorated it all, though with less flowers than her mother liked to scatter about, and no pictures of family.
It was the other front room, behind the narrow door that spoke something of her host's personality. A low whistle escaped as she eyed the walls and all the books stored there. Given a chance, she could probably sit in there until she grew old and not get bored with the offerings on the shelves.
Now she was torn. Which to explore? The rest of the house, or this room and all the lovely books? Basic planning won out: it'd be easier to investigate the other rooms if she were alone, and these books, these wonderful, wonderful books, weren't going anywhere.
Hermione cast longing, sorrowful looks at the room as she left it, and headed back up the stairs. This she remembered well, even as strangely debilitated as she had been, each stair as she had mounted it, firmly holding on to his arm. The first door, on her left, opened to a bright, sunlit room filled with a dizzying array of plants. The wall had been replaced by a generous amount of windows, as was the roof, to let in the maximum amount of natural light, even through the trees that surrounded the house. There was no doubt that there were charms to prevent any curious soul from peering in.
It made sense that some things would be more convenient to grow himself, though Hermione failed to recall any potion that required anything of the small tomato plant currently sporting a trio of ripening fruits.
Tucking her observations away, she closed the door and moved on. She already knew what was behind the second door on the left side of the hall, so she turned her attention to the right side. It came with a complete lack of surprise, that the first door was to a well-stocked and meticulously neat workroom. Calling it a laboratory didn't fit with its appearance, as it was clean, well-lit, warm, and nothing like the Hogwarts dungeons at all.
The room seemed to reject her foreign presence though, sending cold shivers up her back, and she retreated quietly. The next door was a basic bath, and not nearly as interesting as the one she had used. The last door caused a furrow to appear on her brow.
A bedroom. The smaller size and lack of attached bath led Hermione to believe that this was a guest bedroom. Crossing to the dull, ivory-colored dress with silver hardware, she opened the top drawer to find it empty.
Empty.
Irrationally, unreasonably, Hermione was angry. Leaving the drawer ajar, she marched back to the bedroom she had spent the night in, to the--now that she noticed--stupidly masculine chest of drawers and yanked open the top drawer.
His clothes.
"So, tell me, had you been planning to get me into bed? Or was it just luck that I decided to do so of my own will?"
He had one foot through the door. "Excuse me?"
"Last night. You planned on me sleeping in your room. Not the guest room." Hermione leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, and did her very best not to completely rage at him.
"Ah," he said calmly, and entered the house fully. Closing the door and locking it, he avoided meeting her eyes as he removed his cloak--The Cloak--and hung it up on a hook next to the door. "The cloak," he began, and finally looked at her. "It--"
"Don't lie to me," she hissed, and uncrossed her arms, hands balled into fists at her sides. "What, you thought because I was being a flirt at the Ministry, that gave you permission to just carry me off to bed? That because I was your responsibility that meant I was your property? You disgust me!"
His mild reaction caught her off-guard; this was hardly the man she was familiar with. "You kissed me, twice, at the Ministry. I count that as more than flirting." One eyebrow arched in a vague amusement. "So if it had all taken place in the guest room, it would have been perfectly acceptable?"
Hermione's jaw clenched briefly. When she answered, it was with an aggressive and terse, "Yes."
"I see. I apologize then for not taking you to the guest room. I don't find the bed as comfortable there. It's entirely my fault."
"Good. Apology accepted." Stay mad or let it go? Her anger was rather silly, but it had begged for a target, and she refused to turn it inwards. Yes, then the only thing was to let it go. "Now, I think you said you would explain about your cloak."
He almost-smiled at her, which irritated Hermione, but then gestured to the sitting room. "Tea perhaps? And then explanations. More... demonstrations?"
Then he did grin, and Hermione scowled. "Tea and explanations I would appreciate. Demonstrations, no thanks."
"As you wish."
While Hermione waited, Crookshanks sauntered in and hopped up on her lap. As her hand caressed his back and sides, his yellow eyes slipped closed as he purred. It was a comfortable and soothing setting, listening to the preparation of tea from the back, almost like home. Correction, this was her home for an indeterminate time to come, and it was best to get used to it.
One thing she could rely on was her cat. He was such an excellent judge of character, human or animal, that if Crookshanks was unbothered by his surroundings or new housemate, then Hermione would manage. Until the situation bothered Crookshanks, she was safe, and that was the whole point of this infuriating ordeal.
"As I said," he stated, entering the room with a strangely petite tea service, "I've had that cloak since I was in school. My first year. The resizing charm was something I found in the library when my legs started outgrowing it."
Hermione accepted a cup of steaming tea and blew over it gently. "It really is nice."
There was no cup for him, though one waited empty next to the fine teapot. "It was expensive when I got it, and those of the same kind now are even more so. It was quite ordinary, other than its quality, when it came into my possession though." He sat, relaxed, in a chair that looked perhaps one size too small for his long frame; he inhabited in easily though, so his hands rested on the grips as if it were his throne.
Watching him over the rim of her cup, Hermione took a sip. "You said night was its element. What did--" She stopped when he held up one hand.
"It's a bit of a long story, and easier told from beginning to end." He paused as Hermione nodded, then began to speak again. "Oh, they started simply enough, things easily enough done on your own; I was only in my first year, after all."
The knowing grin made its way to Hermione's face before she could stop it.
Smoothly, he acknowledged it. "I would not curse my own clothing, and there were certainly no self-help curses I was aware of. I had to resort to the library like all the other know-it-alls."
The grin immediately vanished to be replaced by irritation.
"It only annoys because it's the truth, Miss Granger. Or may I refer to you more personally, as you did me last night."
The irritation grew. "Hermione's fine," she ground out. There was certainly no point in being formal, and it would only add to slight strain that threaded through the house.
"I meant no offense, Hermione," he said, drawing out her name to make it almost...
Hermione took a large swallow of tea.
"I could have been called a know-it-all in school. Why do you think they detested me so? The Gryffindors who only needed to get by on charm and a quick joke, even at the expense of other students." He leaned forward slightly, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair, though that did not show on his face. "James Potter, Head Boy, the top student... in Gryffindor. Not the school's top student, but that name is left out of conversation because he was in Slytherin at a time when being in Slytherin was a crime."
He sat back, and his hands loosened, but he did not relax. "Your House, it's your home, your family. Have you ever heard the saying 'one rotten apple spoils the bunch'?"
Hermione nodded, and refilled her cup, but did not look away from him for more than a second or two at a time.
"What do you think happens to the bunch when a quarter of the apples are rotten?"
"It would be... very hard to stop the decay from spreading." Hermione thought her voice sounded very... crude, violating his tale with its presence.
"Of course. I suppose I don't need to lecture you on such things, but an apple can be... soft, and not be rotten. It simply appears to be bad and is thrown out with the diseased and worm-infested ones. And there--"
"It goes bad, and more quickly. Surrounded on all sides, the skin proving inadequate defense, the meat already bruised, damaged, but not bad, succumbs under the pressure until it collapses." Hermione could not meet his gaze, and simply stared into her cup, her heart beating quickly.
"You're quite knowledgable about fruit."
And suddenly the mood was snapped. Hermione began laughing, and had to set her cup down or spill tea all over Crookshanks. "I would never call you a fruit, Severus."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Thank you. I'm sure the temptation was there. But this is not about school or grades or rivalries or even fruit." His eyes gleamed suddenly as they raked over Hermione.
"Fruits or vegetables, Severus. Your cloak," she said, her eyebrows raised at the look and what she thought it had been implying.
"Very well. There are simple charms if you look long enough. And if you're smart enough and industrious enough, you can modify them to suit your purposes. My cloak was on the receiving end of the first charm I ever modified. After that, there were other charms, mostly inconsequential, that I put on it for my own convenience. They're really not worth mentioning, as I'm sure you would have your own set if you were making one." The notion seemed to suddenly occur to him as he tilted his head to one side. "You're going to make yourself one, correct?"
Hermione nodded eagerly.
"I'm sure you'll be entirely successful with it. As the times grew more uncertain, the things I tried became more desperate. Some I managed, and others I did not. Again, inconsequential, as I know the things you're most curious of. I think I can clear them up with one answer."
Cup half-way to her lips, Hermione stopped, and watched him carefully, eyes revealing the depths of her interest. She watched him stand and leave the room. The cup almost fell from her fingers. "Severus?" she said tentatively.
He didn't answer, but then was gone for less than half a minute. When he returned, he was carrying a large book; he dumped it unceremoniously in her lap, and reclaimed his seat. Crookshanks protested loudly, having it almost dropped upon him, and fled her lap.
Hermione's hand was trembling when she set down her cup. It looked like... hair, or fur covered it. Long, black, coarse hair, like a yak or possibly a llama. The same way she had caressed Crookshanks, she caressed the book. It was much softer than it appeared, like a long-haired cat really, but more wild.
"Have a look," he said.
His words reached her ears easily, but her eyes were looked on the book in her hands. She let her fingers trail over its cover, almost lovingly, before she opened the heavy cover. The first page said plainly The Dark Arts. She stared.
"I believe it's blood, but have not tested, nor do I think it matters. The contents are much more... tame than what they're penned in would lead you to think."
"Where'd you get this?" Hermione asked, and realized her voice sounded very far away in her own ears.
"I'm not at liberty to say, but rest assured, it is a rarity among rarities. More for reputation than anything."
It was true, she found as she looked through the yellowed pages. It might have been written in blood on some sort of horrid skin, but the things contained were strangely timid. It was like someone had prepared to write the most frightening catalog of Dark Arts, but then chickened out. Still, it was fascinating. "So what did you use?" Hermione asked, flipping page after page.
"You're almost there. You'll know it."
A page, then another, and when she turned the next, she paused.
Night is its element.
Water made cloth, silken ecstasy, electric against her skin... The memory itself made her shudder. To have that against her naked skin would no doubt induce feelings of such a magnitude to make her faint.
As coats and hats and shoes were cut from the hide of a beast, so his cloak had been cut from the hide of darkness. Once wool and silk, it had been given life through the technique contained on the page she was staring at. Night was not its element; night was its brother. "How?" Her voice, distant before, was absolutely tiny.
"I might show you, if I had good reason," he said, and she shivered as his breath washed over her ear. She hadn't even noticed him move to stand behind her.
Her head shook of its own accord. "I couldn't."
"I don't mean that; I mean a simple exchange of knowledge. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hermione?"
Hermione's eyes closed and her head tilted back. To try and stem the tide of heat rushing through her, she took a great breath of air.
"It feels so lovely against your skin. Some nights, when I was so deep into the Dark Arts it was never light, and the others feared my presence even though I slept, I would wrap myself in it. I discarded the flimsy constraints of wizard and Muggle alike, and soaked in the essence of it, let its touch seduce my naked flesh. I was rotten to the marrow of my bones, and there was one that never refused my touch."
A knot twisted itself into a painful lump in Hermione's stomach. Manipulator, seductive, he knew she had pronounced those inflectives the night before with a whole heart; the words that had streamed from her mouth had been simple and unmistakable, and he knew it.
"Voldemort offered me nothing. He promised power, and everything that went with it, including an army of concubines if we wished it, but I needed no cowed toys with dull eyes, broken spirit, and open legs. Until I had a woman I could respect, I had the simple, sometimes overpowering affection of the night. Hermione."
Hermione turned her head and blindly sought his mouth with her own. Who needed the cloak?
"I wasn't flirting. You seduced me."
His eyes were half-lidded and glittered mischievously. "I explained my cloak. What you wanted."
"You seduced me."
"You don't want me to?"
"You're complicating this situation by doing it. I'm not your lover, no matter what we just did." Hermione stared at a spot on the ceiling over the bed, refusing to look at the man next to her.
He made a small noise that didn't sound sincere in the least. "You didn't listen very closely to my story, did you?" He kissed her shoulder.
"Please, I'm asking you to not confuse the situation by doing that again. I'm here because there is a threat against my life, not because I want to take you as my bed partner." Still, she kept her eyes firmly on the ceiling, even as he touched her exposed skin with soft hands and gentle kisses.
"I act. You respond. It's simple." He suddenly grasped her wrist tightly and rolled on top of her. "And you respond so... loudly and vigorously. How can I resist, Hermione?"
Though her eyes had flashed with anger, the ice in them melted with the utterance of her name. "Try," she whispered, staring at him helplessly. "Please. You make me feel so..." She swallowed, her mouth thick with saliva.
"Good, Hermione. Good."
Hermione moaned slightly as the length of his body pressed against her own. "Yes," she whispered, and didn't resist when he kissed her once more.
TBC