Chapter 14 – Where the Heart Is
She wasn't fully awake but she knew he was not there. Not just away from the bed or the room, but gone. He had left her.
The emotions hit her physically, as if she'd been punched in the gut -- sucker punched, to be precise, as there'd been no hint of this coming. The feeling was definitely one of having been on the wrong end of a bludger. First there was the inability to breathe, then nausea, and finally a throbbing pain in her belly that seemed to feed on itself, forcing her attention to it and intensifying the more she thought on it.
And she hadn't even opened her eyes yet.
Her pain and embarrassment existed on so many levels that it was hard to piece out exactly what her primary feeling was. The thoughts careening through her mind were a Jackson Pollock montage of her deepest fears – that she'd been too needy, she'd been an incompetent lover, she'd snored, she'd been too pushy, that she'd been too … too Hermione.
Her body finally demanded that she attend to some rather basic functions, regardless of the debilitating blow her ego and heart were suffering. As she slowly opened her eyes, the beauty of the sunrise utterly mocked her emotional state and then she saw it.
It would have been difficult not to see the parchment; it was floating about a foot in front of her face.
With the passing of the danger to Severus, the anti-magic wards were no longer needed. She thought idly that Dumbledore must have been able to cancel the charms from a distance. The idea that he might have been in the house last night while Severus and Hermione were being intimate was not a thought her already frazzled nerves would allow her mind to consider.
Knowing that the note was likely some pathetic brush-off and apology from Severus, Hermione made to snatch it from the air so she could burn it but as she grabbed for it, the parchment jumped back from her hand. She tried again – several times – each with the same result. Her curiosity finally got the better of her and she slowed her motions, now intrigued. This time, the letter allowed itself to be caught.
Hermione,
Before you foolishly convince yourself that I have left you for any reason other than dire emergency, please do me the kindness of reading all the way through this note. I trust your unstoppably inquisitive nature will ensure that my meager request is met.
Hermione caught her breath at first and then rolled her eyes. Only Severus could manage to perfect snarkiness on paper.
I am currently at St. Mungo's attempting to calm a distraught Neville Longbottom – something I'm sure no one ever imagined, least of all Longbottom or myself. Once the situation has stabilized I will come home, assuming you haven't already thrown my possessions into the street, and will try to patiently endure the infinite questions that have doubtless already begun forming in your mind.
S
Completely chagrinned at her initial and blessedly incorrect assessment of the situation, Hermione re-read the note several times, each review bringing a different set of emotions to the fore.
First, there was an odd mix of embarrassment and pleasure that Severus was able to accurately predict her reaction upon waking to find him gone. There was also a bit of annoyance at his foreknowledge that there would indeed be a number of questions she wanted to ask. Then there was her concern about why Severus was at St. Mungo's, why Neville was involved precisely, and what he meant by stabilized.
She took a small measure of comfort in the fact that she hadn't pitched his clothes out the front door but that was more a function of the early hour – she hadn't thought of it yet. Of course, the fact that he had left his clothing should have been a clear indication that he hadn't turned tail and run from her; on the other hand, she likely would have been too angry to realize that before scattering his wardrobe all over the lawn.
Most importantly, though, was the way her heart jumped at that one unassuming little phrase, the one she'd missed the first time she had read the note: "I will come home."
He thought of this – her house, her bed, her arms – as home.
Feeling rather like a prisoner who'd been expecting the Dementor's kiss but found herself unexpectedly set free, Hermione slid from the bed and sauntered to the bathroom. After taking care of her more immediate needs, she washed her hands, brushed her teeth and started her shower.
Hermione let her mind wander as she automatically performed her daily routine. Eventually her thoughts organized themselves into an agenda for the morning. Wrapping the bath towel around herself, she charmed her hair dry and into a French braid (oh, how she had missed the benefits of magic for handling such mundane tasks!), and prepared to accomplish the objectives her semi-conscious mind had set for the day.
First, she needed to go to the market; she had a simple shopping list and was pleased to make her first solo grocery expedition. Then it was back home to put everything away. She wasn't sure when Severus would return or if he'd had anything to eat so she set the water to boil and began mixing a vinaigrette to make a pasta salad that would be ready for him, whenever he got in.
Between the early morning emotional roller-coaster, the adrenaline of finishing all her preparations, and the nervous energy she spent pacing as she waited for Severus to come back, Hermione was exhausted by the late afternoon. Peeling off her clothes, she crawled into the guest room bed and dropped into an unrousable sleep.
At least this time when she woke, she thought, the surprise was a much happier one.
The room was filled with the soft purple colors from the last flicker of twilight. Hermione was on her side, completely nude except for the quilt and a man's arm draped over her waist. He was curled protectively around her; all her curves were nestled securely against him.
People talked about "spooning" but that didn't even begin to describe how completely he was fitted around her. For a brief moment, her mind flashed back to a diorama she'd seen during a childhood trip to the Natural History Museum. The display had been of a prehistoric man wearing a bear skin draped over his back, the bear's head on top of the man's, and the animal's arms wrapped around him. He had looked completely protected; that was how this felt. She snuggled her backside against him contentedly.
A tickle first, then a firmer pressure behind her attracted Hermione's attention. He was beginning to harden in response to the movement of her hips. His deep and even breathing sounded like that of a sleeping man but given his nature, she didn't doubt for a moment that he might simply be waiting to see what she was going to do next.
Turning slowly in his arms, she held her breath to see if he awoke but he only sighed a little and pulled her closer. Once he settled back into peaceful silence, she insinuated her right leg between his and set her hand to tracing patterns over his warm flesh.
Severus couldn't be sure if it was the last vestige of a dream or his first awareness upon waking. Either way, he wished the tickling across his skin would stop or at least move further down.
Groggily, he remembered who was attached to those fingers and just why he was so eager to have them move elsewhere.
He captured the hand that was meandering through the swath of hair that led from his naval, brought it to his lips and gently kissed each finger.
"Hello," a voice murmured against his chest.
"Hello indeed," Severus' words were soft and low; the rumbling of his voice set off reverberations of an entirely non-acoustic nature through Hermione.
She pulled away from him to stretch, cat-like, arching her back and reaching her arm over his ribcage. Relaxing herself again, she dragged her fingers over his chest, watching the goose bumps rise on his skin in the wake of her fingernails.
Suddenly, she was very interested in exploring the reactions she might get with different touches in various and sundry locations. Before she could begin her experiments, however, he rose up on one arm and looked down on her. An eyebrow arched over a coal-black eye and a smile that could only be described as wicked slowly broke over his face.
"I believe I owe you an apology," he began, the fingers of his free hand lazily tracing her hairline down over her ear and along her jaw.
Hermione actually had to restrain herself from laughing outright. Severus Snape never apologized unless there was something to be gained by it. The question was what was his agenda? She may have been sorted into Gryffindor but she had always been an excellent student; spending the summer with Severus, she had learned to keep her mouth shut and her ears and eyes open until she had all available information.
"I didn't want this to happen," he continued as he let his touch drift over her neck to her shoulder.
Despite the demon of fear that suddenly rose in her mind ('See, he IS regretting this!' her insecurity screamed), she held fast to her strategy of waiting until he finished what he had to say before she reacted.
"I didn't mean to be gone so long. Perhaps I can make it up to you somehow?" Severus' words took a few seconds to penetrate the buzzing panic that droned in her ears but once his comment burned through to her awareness – and his hand slipped over her collarbone – the smile that took over her face beggared his for wickedness.
"Did you know," she responded to his uncharacteristically blunt entendre and let her gaze travel from his lips to his eyes and back again, "that I went to the grocery store while you were gone?"
The apparent non-sequitur had its intended effect as his hand stopped where it was gently molded around her breast. "No, I didn't," he began. "Why? What did you buy?"
Hermione smirked. Recognizing his expression on her face, Severus decided he was having a very bad influence on her and was appropriately thankful for that.
She then detailed her purchases, punctuated by kisses. "Sausages," she said as she sat up and tenderly mouthed his collarbone. "Tomatoes." She nuzzled the skin at the base of his throat. "Bacon." Her tongue stroked his left earlobe. "Beans." His right ear was nibbled. "Eggs." She kissed his lips. She'd bought an entire larder full of breakfast-worthy ingredients; there would be no need to wake up early in the morning.
Perhaps she should have been sorted differently, he thought before giving himself up to the sensations her body was awakening in his.
Severus had been resting on his right elbow, but now Hermione pushed him over onto his back as she continued kissing him. She worked her way from his earlobes which were a favorite, based on his very vocal response, down his chest which generated appreciative moans, across his nipples (quiet sighs – perhaps not his favorite but still good), to his naval where she got more of a response, and finally to the top of his pubis (a sharp intake of breath here).
Scooting down the bed to settle herself more comfortably, Hermione began her dissertation: "I have decided to engage in a little research project. Subject: one Severus Snape. Hmm, given the allotment of time, perhaps I should choose just a section of said subject – for now. But then, can one really separate a part from such an integrated whole …?"
"Miss Granger," came a growl from further up the mattress, "do you plan on talking your subject to death?"
"Oh no, Professor," she was nearly purring now as she looked at the man laid out before her. "This will definitely be a hands-on examination of the topic."
Hermione took her time, thoroughly cataloguing the areas – in addition to the obvious locations – that seemed to respond to her best, and discovering where Severus preferred a firm or gentle touch. What she may have lacked in experience she more than made up for in enthusiasm and attention to detail; not a centimeter was left unexplored. Severus had had to stop her more than once lest her studies come to an abrupt hiatus.
He let her satisfy her curiosity until he couldn't tolerate not touching her any longer. Reaching for her, Severus brought Hermione's mouth to his and hummed against her lips, "My turn." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and brought her into his lap so that she sat facing him.
Strong, broad hands pushed the hair back off her face. Severus studied her intently before beginning to softly brush his lips and fingers across her skin, kissing her forehead, cheeks and lips, stroking her arms, shoulders and back, losing himself in the myriad textures he encountered.
Hermione had been throbbing before he began. She had never realized how arousing it could be to give pleasure but she was nearly growling with need; whether it was need to satisfy Severus or herself was irrelevant, she just craved more.
Scooting closer to him, she pressed herself against his length, earning a groan from him and a shudder from herself. Severus lifted her so that he could reach more of her skin with his mouth; Hermione took advantage of this and positioned him at her entrance then sank down onto him.
His head rested on her shoulder as they both struggled against the quivering desire to simply pound out their release. He raised his head slowly, his fine black hair mixing with her unruly curls, and pulled back to look into Hermione's eyes. Placing his hands at her hips, he slowly lifted her, setting her at a rhythm that was slow, languorous … tender.
The eyes that had commanded her attention as a student through intimidation now held her fast with their vulnerability. Hermione could only hope that he was able sense the joy and freedom he released in her.
He could more than sense it, it was written all over her face. It was powerful and a bit frightening to realize just how deeply they affected each other. How did he go from being such a private, hidden man to wanting to show her so much of what was in his heart? This was magic of a completely unexpected kind and he felt powerless to resist it. Oddly, he didn't seem to mind.
The pressure inside each of them had built again until the slow pace they had taken was no longer enough. He stopped her movements and told her to lie down across the bed. He settled onto his knees and stretched her legs up against his chest, entering her slowly.
She wondered if she would ever take for granted the way he felt inside her, as if he were the only solution to an unsolvable equation. "Complete" wasn't the right word and just as she slipped into the vortex of her release she knew what the feeling was.
Home.
