Title: Morning After
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They are JKR's not mine
Author's note: A Tearstains piece
She woke while he was sleeping. He slept on his side, sheets tangled tight around his legs and arms outstretched towards her. There were mere inches between them and Hermione couldn't decide whether it felt right or wrong.
She slid away from him and dressed quietly, wincing as her clothing rustled, anxious not to wake him. He looked different while he was sleeping: vulnerable and innocent, yet still as terrifying as he was when she was eleven years old. He was terribly contradictory and she wondered why on earth she had tangled her life with his.
There was parchment and ink on his bureau, as if he had anticipated her early leaving. (Had he known she would come? Did he know her that well?) She wrote quickly, with little regard for legibility or niceties.
She folded the parchment over once, creasing it firmly with her ink stained thumb. With one last look over her shoulder, she left.
He woke, as usual, alone. But his bed felt different and his body was unusually sore and he was confused in a way that was only vaguely familiar. His mind was filled with images of naked bodies and tangled limbs and whispered sayings which may or may not have been true.
He picked up the piece of folded parchment from beside him, unfolding it with hands that were steady through years of practice. Her writing was rushed and he squinted to make out the words.
"Severus, I won't stay away, Hermione"
He tucked the parchment into his secret drawer, putting away the previous night to get ready for the day.
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They are JKR's not mine
Author's note: A Tearstains piece
She woke while he was sleeping. He slept on his side, sheets tangled tight around his legs and arms outstretched towards her. There were mere inches between them and Hermione couldn't decide whether it felt right or wrong.
She slid away from him and dressed quietly, wincing as her clothing rustled, anxious not to wake him. He looked different while he was sleeping: vulnerable and innocent, yet still as terrifying as he was when she was eleven years old. He was terribly contradictory and she wondered why on earth she had tangled her life with his.
There was parchment and ink on his bureau, as if he had anticipated her early leaving. (Had he known she would come? Did he know her that well?) She wrote quickly, with little regard for legibility or niceties.
She folded the parchment over once, creasing it firmly with her ink stained thumb. With one last look over her shoulder, she left.
He woke, as usual, alone. But his bed felt different and his body was unusually sore and he was confused in a way that was only vaguely familiar. His mind was filled with images of naked bodies and tangled limbs and whispered sayings which may or may not have been true.
He picked up the piece of folded parchment from beside him, unfolding it with hands that were steady through years of practice. Her writing was rushed and he squinted to make out the words.
"Severus, I won't stay away, Hermione"
He tucked the parchment into his secret drawer, putting away the previous night to get ready for the day.