Chapter 13 – All Good Things
The dream that had begun so promisingly suddenly became annoying.
It had been wonderful to talk with Harry and Ron again. Having them on either side of her as they sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall reminded her of their happiest school days. In her dream, they had been telling her what a great couple she and Snape made – that was how she knew it was a dream – and then Harry had asked her what she was going to do with the rest of her new life. When she didn't answer right away, the boys began drumming their fingers impatiently on the table, prodding her for an answer. The noise continued until she turned to scold them.
It was then that Hermione awoke to realize that the sound was not stopping.
Hedwig was tapping on the window. The reflection of the full moon on the bird's white feathers gave her an almost ethereal glow, as if the owl were more spirit than animal. For one disoriented moment, Hermione thought that Harry must be sending her a message from wherever his soul was.
Then she remembered. After Harry's death, Hedwig had refused to leave Hogwarts. The snowy owl had refused food from everyone except the Headmaster, Hermione and Hagrid. There had been a short period when Hagrid had believed that only people whose names began with the letter H could handle the bird (apparently forgetting that Dumbledore's name wasn't actually "Headmaster"), but when Professor Hooch nearly lost a finger trying to feed the ailing owl, everyone acknowledged that the bird had simply chosen her parliament and would accept no one else.
Carefully disentangling herself from the comfortable knot of Severus' arms, Hermione threw the dress shirt Severus had worn that day over her naked body and opened the window, letting in a wave of thick summer humidity along with the owl.
She affectionately welcomed Hedwig. The bird seemed to be just as pleased to see Hermione, closing her great round eyes and giving a soft hoot as Hermione scratched her feathers in the best approximation of preening a human could give.
After a few silent moments of Hermione's attention and Hedwig's affectionate nips, Hermione removed the small piece of parchment that had been bound to the bird's leg. Hermione whispered, "I've got some bacon downstairs, will you wait for me to get it?"
Hedwig gently rubbed her beak against the end of Hermione's nose and blinked slowly. If Hermione weren't so vehemently opposed to anthropomorphism, she would have said that the bird was apologizing; Hedwig turned and silently winged her way back into the inky midnight.
Unrolling the parchment, Hermione was surprised to find that there was no addressee or other indication of who the note was for. As soon as she'd finished reviewing the brief message, she wished she hadn't woken at all.
The note was from Albus Dumbledore. The threat to Severus' safety was over; he was free to return to Hogwarts.
By rights, she should have been relieved. Severus was safe now; they could both get on with their lives with no fear of attack on the Potions Master. So why did she feel so bereft?
Well, that was a rhetorical question, she admitted to herself. Hermione knew precisely why she didn't want Severus to leave.
No one in her life had ever challenged her, infuriated her, excited her, comforted her, or understood her like the dour and dark man who had lived in her house – her parents' house – for the better part of the summer.
As incredible as the four days since Albus' visit had been (and she flushed at the memory of just how amazing it was), the intimate turn their relationship had taken had been a natural outgrowth of the friendship they had developed first. If they hadn't genuinely come to care for each other, there would have never been anything physical between them.
Now it was coming to an end.
There was little choice in the matter. Even if Severus might have been willing to stay with her – and that was a big "if" – it was already the end of July; there would be no time for Albus to find an acceptable substitute instructor for Potions classes much less a new Head of House before the school term started September 1st.
Sighing to herself, Hermione left the scrap of parchment on the dresser, pulled Severus' shirt off and walked back over to the bed that was washed in the silvery cool light of the moon.
Snape had rolled to his back and Hermione crept under the covers to take what had become her favorite sleeping position: lying on her left side, head cradled in the gentle swale between his shoulder and chest, right leg draped over his thigh, her hand free to stroke the pale skin that seemed to call to her. She sighed and tried to quiet her mind in preparation for sleep.
The first two nights they'd slept together – once they were actually ready to sleep – they had both woken each time the other had moved. The novelty of sharing a bed had made each sigh, turn and twitch impossible to ignore. Finally the exhaustion wrought by their less somnolent bedtime activities, combined with their frequent waking once they did fall into sleep, overtook them and by their third night together, the couple wouldn't have heard the Hogwarts Express passing through the room.
Hermione forced her mind to focus on the slow and hypnotically rhythmic breathing of the man beside her; she finally began to slowly relax. Just as she felt the soft fuzz of sleep stretch over her, a low rumbling vibrated under her ear: "That old man is getting tiresome."
"You know about Albus' message?" Hermione whispered, surprised and disappointed at his comment.
"It wasn't hard to figure out; he's the only one who knows I'm here and the only way he would send an owl would be if the – how would he put it? If the coast were clean."
Hermione reached over and turned on the small bedside lamp. It didn't seem that they would be going back to sleep any time soon.
"Clear," she corrected without thinking. "It's 'the coast is clear.' So I guess you have to go back..."
If it hadn't been for the sound of her voice catching, Severus would have assumed that Hermione wanted him to go. The slight tremor in her words, however, gave him the encouragement he needed to ask the question foremost on his mind. "Do you want me to leave?"
There are times when life is perverse, when misplaced emotions or bad timing prevents people from saying what needs to be heard or keeps necessary connections from being made. Even if it turns out later that everything worked out for the best, these missed opportunities are brutal and painful. Fortunately, this was not one of those times. Neither Hermione nor Severus could tolerate the uncertainty that would doubtless accompany a hedged or careful response. As a result, Hermione blurted out something she would never have dreamed of saying under any other circumstances: "No, I want you to stay. Here, with me."
The words hung in the air. To Hermione, the sound of her voice echoed in her head, growing ever louder, until it seemed she'd shouted the words. To Severus, her whisper had been like a soft rain over parched ground.
He gently tipped her chin up to kiss her only to see the threat of tears in her eyes. Twenty years of habit were difficult to break; his conditioned response to the stimulus of crying had always been a sneer and sarcastic comment. He couldn't suppress the smirk but he caught himself before saying anything, choosing instead to kiss her softly.
"I don't want to leave," he sighed as he kissed her forehead. Hermione's eyes closed and tears of anguish dissolved into tears of relief as they slipped from under her lids to meander down her cheeks.
"You don't want to, but..." she prompted, wrestling with the bittersweet happiness of knowing he would stay if he could. That would just have to be enough until they were able to be together. If and when that time ever came.
"But what?" Severus had shifted in the bed and was now leaning over her, brushing his lips down the column of Hermione's throat.
Hermione's voice picked up a decidedly husky note when she responded. "But you have to go back."
"Mmm..." He tickled her collarbone with his mouth, pausing only long enough to murmur, "Do I?"
"Yesss," Hermione was having difficulty concentrating as Severus' mouth slowly wandered over the swell of her breasts, leaving criss-crossing patterns of kisses over them and teasing all around but not touching her nipples. "You do. Ummm ... don't you? Ohhhh...."
Severus finally let his tongue flick against the hard pebble of flesh in the center of her areola. The sound of her breathing was loud enough that she nearly missed his response.
"Well, no actually," he whispered into the fleshy valley between her breasts and then began nibbling a path down her stomach.
The anticipation of Severus' ultimate destination had held Hermione's complete attention thus explaining the uncharacteristic delay before she responded to his comment.
"What!?" Hermione sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Severus out of the bed and causing him a mild case of whiplash. "What do you mean, 'no, actually?' How can you not have to go back to Hogwarts?"
"I am no longer officially a teacher at Hogwarts." He might as well have been telling her the properties of a bezoar, his tone was so nonchalant.
Over his life, Severus Snape would remember – vividly – the few times he was able to shock Hermione Granger into stupefied silence. This particular moment would always be the high-water mark in his memory and he treasured it. She was speechless for nearly 2 full minutes.
"How? What happened? Did Albus sack you? Did you quit? When? Why?"
Severus sighed melodramatically at the sudden re-emergence of the silly little girl from so many years ago and leveled his most fearsome Evil Professor scowl at Hermione. Granted, it was rather difficult to concentrate when the recipient of his trademark glare of a thousand painful deaths was gloriously nude and flushed with arousal.
A chagrinned Hermione took a deep breath which caused Severus' scowl to suddenly realign itself about a foot south of her eyes. She calmed herself before she started again. "Sorry. What happened?"
His eyes refocused on hers and he said, "It's all right; I probably shouldn't have surprised you like that. I tendered my resignation at the end of the last school year."
Holding up a hand to forestall any additional rapid-fire questioning, he continued. "I have never particularly enjoyed teaching, shocking as that admission may be for you to hear." He arched an eyebrow at Hermione. "However, it was, at the time, the best solution to a great many problems, not the least of which being the ability to pass information regarding the Death Eaters' plans and activities to the leader of the Order without raising undue suspicion.
"Once the Dark Lord was finally and unquestionably gone, I decided to put an end to my unfortunate and patently ill-suited vocation. Albus – thankfully – didn't utter a word trying to dissuade me. I'm certain he will be quite happy to never have to field another student or parent complaint about my pedagogical methods."
At this, Severus paused and looked at Hermione's shocked expression. Her eyebrows were carets and her lips were shaped into a nearly perfect "O." Before his imagination could run away with the possibilities of that expression, he continued to explain.
"I was to stay at Hogwarts this summer at Albus' request. He asked me to help orient the new Potions instructor but I strongly suspect that his real reason for having me stay on was that he knew I didn't really have any firm plans for my future. Nor did I – do I – have a place to live."
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, having finally found her voice.
"I have some acquaintances – no, not that sort, the more upstanding professional kind – who have been after me for quite some time to join them in the development of commercial potions. I must admit, I'm attracted to the idea of research with state of the art facilities and no annoying dunderheads to interrupt my work. Well, no classrooms filled with dunderheads anyway. I am aware that adults are not precluded from being obstinately stupid simply because they are older but at least I have the hope of limiting my exposure to thick-headedness to a few individuals rather than confronting it en masse every day for nine months of the year. Besides, it would be so much more satisfying to hex a fully empowered witch or wizard, someone who runs the risk of accidentally being able to defend and counter my attack. Hexing children is rather unsportsmanlike; the proverbial shooting of fish in a barrel. There's no challenge, no finesse to it."
Hermione was suddenly hit with the realization that Snape's sarcasm was a decidedly sexy part of the total package. That the talent of his tongue wasn't restricted to his repartee no doubt played a part in her realization but the fact remained that she was unquestionably attracted to his snarkiness. Whether it was because his attitude was almost overpoweringly confident or (as she suspected) because he had no compunction about expressing the very sentiments she herself had, there was no doubt that his scornful diatribe set off tingles through her. If she'd had knickers on, they'd be wet.
Hmm, that bore thinking on.
No, that bore acting on.
"Well, Professor," she said, giving emphasis to his soon-to-be former title, "it seems I interrupted your research. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a man's search for advanced knowledge and awareness." While speaking, Hermione laid back and stretched to turn off the light.
A large hand stopped her as she reached for the lamp; "Leave it," he growled. "I want this to be ... an illuminating experience for all concerned." His dark eyes flashed causing her nipples to tighten.
Picking up where he had been so unceremoniously interrupted – somewhere just around Hermione's naval, as he recalled – Severus kissed his way from that point down to the first curl he encountered. He then detoured down her left hip to mid-thigh and tasted his way across that leg to the other and back up again, licking his way in an ever tightening spiral until his mouth was poised over the bull's eye of her arousal.
He was more than talented when it came to his tongue, she decided; he was gifted. Hermione thought she would faint when he first fluttered his tongue across the knotted bundle of nerves he found. He added his fingers to the equation next, stroking the soft skin between her legs, then plunging into her and she went from being light-headed to being conscious of nothing but the sensations he wrought in her. The sudden release he triggered was incredible yet once she recovered, she found herself craving more.
"Severus – now," was all Hermione could pant out; it was all he had to hear. He was beginning to shake with need; when he finally did thrust himself into her, they both had to pause to catch their breath and regroup. He briefly rested his forehead against hers before taking her mouth in a way that was both completely possessive and entirely self-sacrificing. Her last coherent thought was of how beautifully they fit together and then her body broke through the tension that had been steadily building inside her and then she was nothing more than ripple of released energy in an infinitely black pool.
The dream that had begun so promisingly suddenly became annoying.
It had been wonderful to talk with Harry and Ron again. Having them on either side of her as they sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall reminded her of their happiest school days. In her dream, they had been telling her what a great couple she and Snape made – that was how she knew it was a dream – and then Harry had asked her what she was going to do with the rest of her new life. When she didn't answer right away, the boys began drumming their fingers impatiently on the table, prodding her for an answer. The noise continued until she turned to scold them.
It was then that Hermione awoke to realize that the sound was not stopping.
Hedwig was tapping on the window. The reflection of the full moon on the bird's white feathers gave her an almost ethereal glow, as if the owl were more spirit than animal. For one disoriented moment, Hermione thought that Harry must be sending her a message from wherever his soul was.
Then she remembered. After Harry's death, Hedwig had refused to leave Hogwarts. The snowy owl had refused food from everyone except the Headmaster, Hermione and Hagrid. There had been a short period when Hagrid had believed that only people whose names began with the letter H could handle the bird (apparently forgetting that Dumbledore's name wasn't actually "Headmaster"), but when Professor Hooch nearly lost a finger trying to feed the ailing owl, everyone acknowledged that the bird had simply chosen her parliament and would accept no one else.
Carefully disentangling herself from the comfortable knot of Severus' arms, Hermione threw the dress shirt Severus had worn that day over her naked body and opened the window, letting in a wave of thick summer humidity along with the owl.
She affectionately welcomed Hedwig. The bird seemed to be just as pleased to see Hermione, closing her great round eyes and giving a soft hoot as Hermione scratched her feathers in the best approximation of preening a human could give.
After a few silent moments of Hermione's attention and Hedwig's affectionate nips, Hermione removed the small piece of parchment that had been bound to the bird's leg. Hermione whispered, "I've got some bacon downstairs, will you wait for me to get it?"
Hedwig gently rubbed her beak against the end of Hermione's nose and blinked slowly. If Hermione weren't so vehemently opposed to anthropomorphism, she would have said that the bird was apologizing; Hedwig turned and silently winged her way back into the inky midnight.
Unrolling the parchment, Hermione was surprised to find that there was no addressee or other indication of who the note was for. As soon as she'd finished reviewing the brief message, she wished she hadn't woken at all.
The note was from Albus Dumbledore. The threat to Severus' safety was over; he was free to return to Hogwarts.
By rights, she should have been relieved. Severus was safe now; they could both get on with their lives with no fear of attack on the Potions Master. So why did she feel so bereft?
Well, that was a rhetorical question, she admitted to herself. Hermione knew precisely why she didn't want Severus to leave.
No one in her life had ever challenged her, infuriated her, excited her, comforted her, or understood her like the dour and dark man who had lived in her house – her parents' house – for the better part of the summer.
As incredible as the four days since Albus' visit had been (and she flushed at the memory of just how amazing it was), the intimate turn their relationship had taken had been a natural outgrowth of the friendship they had developed first. If they hadn't genuinely come to care for each other, there would have never been anything physical between them.
Now it was coming to an end.
There was little choice in the matter. Even if Severus might have been willing to stay with her – and that was a big "if" – it was already the end of July; there would be no time for Albus to find an acceptable substitute instructor for Potions classes much less a new Head of House before the school term started September 1st.
Sighing to herself, Hermione left the scrap of parchment on the dresser, pulled Severus' shirt off and walked back over to the bed that was washed in the silvery cool light of the moon.
Snape had rolled to his back and Hermione crept under the covers to take what had become her favorite sleeping position: lying on her left side, head cradled in the gentle swale between his shoulder and chest, right leg draped over his thigh, her hand free to stroke the pale skin that seemed to call to her. She sighed and tried to quiet her mind in preparation for sleep.
The first two nights they'd slept together – once they were actually ready to sleep – they had both woken each time the other had moved. The novelty of sharing a bed had made each sigh, turn and twitch impossible to ignore. Finally the exhaustion wrought by their less somnolent bedtime activities, combined with their frequent waking once they did fall into sleep, overtook them and by their third night together, the couple wouldn't have heard the Hogwarts Express passing through the room.
Hermione forced her mind to focus on the slow and hypnotically rhythmic breathing of the man beside her; she finally began to slowly relax. Just as she felt the soft fuzz of sleep stretch over her, a low rumbling vibrated under her ear: "That old man is getting tiresome."
"You know about Albus' message?" Hermione whispered, surprised and disappointed at his comment.
"It wasn't hard to figure out; he's the only one who knows I'm here and the only way he would send an owl would be if the – how would he put it? If the coast were clean."
Hermione reached over and turned on the small bedside lamp. It didn't seem that they would be going back to sleep any time soon.
"Clear," she corrected without thinking. "It's 'the coast is clear.' So I guess you have to go back..."
If it hadn't been for the sound of her voice catching, Severus would have assumed that Hermione wanted him to go. The slight tremor in her words, however, gave him the encouragement he needed to ask the question foremost on his mind. "Do you want me to leave?"
There are times when life is perverse, when misplaced emotions or bad timing prevents people from saying what needs to be heard or keeps necessary connections from being made. Even if it turns out later that everything worked out for the best, these missed opportunities are brutal and painful. Fortunately, this was not one of those times. Neither Hermione nor Severus could tolerate the uncertainty that would doubtless accompany a hedged or careful response. As a result, Hermione blurted out something she would never have dreamed of saying under any other circumstances: "No, I want you to stay. Here, with me."
The words hung in the air. To Hermione, the sound of her voice echoed in her head, growing ever louder, until it seemed she'd shouted the words. To Severus, her whisper had been like a soft rain over parched ground.
He gently tipped her chin up to kiss her only to see the threat of tears in her eyes. Twenty years of habit were difficult to break; his conditioned response to the stimulus of crying had always been a sneer and sarcastic comment. He couldn't suppress the smirk but he caught himself before saying anything, choosing instead to kiss her softly.
"I don't want to leave," he sighed as he kissed her forehead. Hermione's eyes closed and tears of anguish dissolved into tears of relief as they slipped from under her lids to meander down her cheeks.
"You don't want to, but..." she prompted, wrestling with the bittersweet happiness of knowing he would stay if he could. That would just have to be enough until they were able to be together. If and when that time ever came.
"But what?" Severus had shifted in the bed and was now leaning over her, brushing his lips down the column of Hermione's throat.
Hermione's voice picked up a decidedly husky note when she responded. "But you have to go back."
"Mmm..." He tickled her collarbone with his mouth, pausing only long enough to murmur, "Do I?"
"Yesss," Hermione was having difficulty concentrating as Severus' mouth slowly wandered over the swell of her breasts, leaving criss-crossing patterns of kisses over them and teasing all around but not touching her nipples. "You do. Ummm ... don't you? Ohhhh...."
Severus finally let his tongue flick against the hard pebble of flesh in the center of her areola. The sound of her breathing was loud enough that she nearly missed his response.
"Well, no actually," he whispered into the fleshy valley between her breasts and then began nibbling a path down her stomach.
The anticipation of Severus' ultimate destination had held Hermione's complete attention thus explaining the uncharacteristic delay before she responded to his comment.
"What!?" Hermione sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Severus out of the bed and causing him a mild case of whiplash. "What do you mean, 'no, actually?' How can you not have to go back to Hogwarts?"
"I am no longer officially a teacher at Hogwarts." He might as well have been telling her the properties of a bezoar, his tone was so nonchalant.
Over his life, Severus Snape would remember – vividly – the few times he was able to shock Hermione Granger into stupefied silence. This particular moment would always be the high-water mark in his memory and he treasured it. She was speechless for nearly 2 full minutes.
"How? What happened? Did Albus sack you? Did you quit? When? Why?"
Severus sighed melodramatically at the sudden re-emergence of the silly little girl from so many years ago and leveled his most fearsome Evil Professor scowl at Hermione. Granted, it was rather difficult to concentrate when the recipient of his trademark glare of a thousand painful deaths was gloriously nude and flushed with arousal.
A chagrinned Hermione took a deep breath which caused Severus' scowl to suddenly realign itself about a foot south of her eyes. She calmed herself before she started again. "Sorry. What happened?"
His eyes refocused on hers and he said, "It's all right; I probably shouldn't have surprised you like that. I tendered my resignation at the end of the last school year."
Holding up a hand to forestall any additional rapid-fire questioning, he continued. "I have never particularly enjoyed teaching, shocking as that admission may be for you to hear." He arched an eyebrow at Hermione. "However, it was, at the time, the best solution to a great many problems, not the least of which being the ability to pass information regarding the Death Eaters' plans and activities to the leader of the Order without raising undue suspicion.
"Once the Dark Lord was finally and unquestionably gone, I decided to put an end to my unfortunate and patently ill-suited vocation. Albus – thankfully – didn't utter a word trying to dissuade me. I'm certain he will be quite happy to never have to field another student or parent complaint about my pedagogical methods."
At this, Severus paused and looked at Hermione's shocked expression. Her eyebrows were carets and her lips were shaped into a nearly perfect "O." Before his imagination could run away with the possibilities of that expression, he continued to explain.
"I was to stay at Hogwarts this summer at Albus' request. He asked me to help orient the new Potions instructor but I strongly suspect that his real reason for having me stay on was that he knew I didn't really have any firm plans for my future. Nor did I – do I – have a place to live."
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, having finally found her voice.
"I have some acquaintances – no, not that sort, the more upstanding professional kind – who have been after me for quite some time to join them in the development of commercial potions. I must admit, I'm attracted to the idea of research with state of the art facilities and no annoying dunderheads to interrupt my work. Well, no classrooms filled with dunderheads anyway. I am aware that adults are not precluded from being obstinately stupid simply because they are older but at least I have the hope of limiting my exposure to thick-headedness to a few individuals rather than confronting it en masse every day for nine months of the year. Besides, it would be so much more satisfying to hex a fully empowered witch or wizard, someone who runs the risk of accidentally being able to defend and counter my attack. Hexing children is rather unsportsmanlike; the proverbial shooting of fish in a barrel. There's no challenge, no finesse to it."
Hermione was suddenly hit with the realization that Snape's sarcasm was a decidedly sexy part of the total package. That the talent of his tongue wasn't restricted to his repartee no doubt played a part in her realization but the fact remained that she was unquestionably attracted to his snarkiness. Whether it was because his attitude was almost overpoweringly confident or (as she suspected) because he had no compunction about expressing the very sentiments she herself had, there was no doubt that his scornful diatribe set off tingles through her. If she'd had knickers on, they'd be wet.
Hmm, that bore thinking on.
No, that bore acting on.
"Well, Professor," she said, giving emphasis to his soon-to-be former title, "it seems I interrupted your research. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a man's search for advanced knowledge and awareness." While speaking, Hermione laid back and stretched to turn off the light.
A large hand stopped her as she reached for the lamp; "Leave it," he growled. "I want this to be ... an illuminating experience for all concerned." His dark eyes flashed causing her nipples to tighten.
Picking up where he had been so unceremoniously interrupted – somewhere just around Hermione's naval, as he recalled – Severus kissed his way from that point down to the first curl he encountered. He then detoured down her left hip to mid-thigh and tasted his way across that leg to the other and back up again, licking his way in an ever tightening spiral until his mouth was poised over the bull's eye of her arousal.
He was more than talented when it came to his tongue, she decided; he was gifted. Hermione thought she would faint when he first fluttered his tongue across the knotted bundle of nerves he found. He added his fingers to the equation next, stroking the soft skin between her legs, then plunging into her and she went from being light-headed to being conscious of nothing but the sensations he wrought in her. The sudden release he triggered was incredible yet once she recovered, she found herself craving more.
"Severus – now," was all Hermione could pant out; it was all he had to hear. He was beginning to shake with need; when he finally did thrust himself into her, they both had to pause to catch their breath and regroup. He briefly rested his forehead against hers before taking her mouth in a way that was both completely possessive and entirely self-sacrificing. Her last coherent thought was of how beautifully they fit together and then her body broke through the tension that had been steadily building inside her and then she was nothing more than ripple of released energy in an infinitely black pool.
