Chapter Thirteen

Draco had taken to his room almost a week ago. He didn't bother to come out, and the house was left to wonder how he managed to eat or use the restroom while he was barricaded.

The others didn't know. About the deaths.

Hermione kept forgetting, and she began to think she was going mad. At the moment, the most prevalent thought in her head was going to get something to eat from Dobby. She almost forgot all those things that had happened only a few days prior, which weighed so heavily on the minds of those who knew the truth. Even Harry and Ron managed to look respectably oppressed as the environment had taken on a depressing air. They didn't even know what was wrong.

Presently, Hermione was thinking only about that egg she was going to have poached, with a side of salad and cilantro salsa. It was the mechanical way she allowed herself to think, above the other things. Food had no emotion - deaths were filled with the mourning and loss of her friends, and she couldn't handle it. It was so much easier to think in the mechanical sort of way, and she wondered if that was how Severus conducted his life.

And then there was Severus. That night was the last she'd seen him. It was an embarrassing situation, really. She'd woken up before he had, and there was no way of saying what they had done in those hours which neither of them remembered. Hermione assumed they had slept, but Severus was probably off cursing himself for a 'lapse in good judgment.'

She was stronger than him. He had told her that they might make love as equals. And maybe for a moment, she thought he could be stronger, and that he might bear the burden of the strong as the weak could not. But then, she had guarded the dream that night, hadn't she? And it was her power that he feared.

Honestly, it was almost ridiculous, the situation. Here she was, a seventeen year old virgin who'd never even looked at a man twice. She didn't know exactly what he was, but he undoubtedly had more experience than her in these sorts of things.

Arabella Figg is dead. The thought intruded on her. It forced its way in, and Hermione almost cried before the mirror in the front hall. The reflection was so distorted, so disgusting, she couldn't look at it. The grin made her ugly, the power was deceitful. Who was she but a used, misguided little girl with no capacity for emotion?

Having eaten her breakfast in Dobby's little side-kitchen, Hermione resolved herself.

She entered the prefects' bathroom and turned on all the scentless taps, tossing in a gem from her box as well. The vapor rose, and she breathed it in. Her breath was rose and spice. She stepped into the water and watched, fascinated, as it took in her skin and her hair, which also took on the scent.

She touched her skin in the right spots, and waited for his response. He was in the library, researching some potion or other, and then he had felt her excitement. The languorous sort of excitement that could only mean that one thing. She waited for him to take another breath before continuing with herself. He had stopped doing whatever he was doing, and had stopped avoiding her mind.

She stepped out of the water and gently slid her robes over her still wet skin. It was more for his reaction than anything, because now she could feel that he was waiting, anticipating her movements. That was all for the best anyway. She walked barefoot through the cold, slightly damp hallways of Hogwarts until she pushed open the door to Severus' temporary bedroom. There, she removed her clinging robe and arranged herself on the bed, naked but for the sparse cover her hair could afford her. It was still wet, and longer because it was pulled straight by the water.

The last of it, and the most important aspect, was the belt she had used to tie her satin bathrobe together. She waited for him there. And she could feel his thoughts ranging from one to the other quickly. At first it was astonishment, at finding her where she might be - and then wonder, perhaps not believing that she would be so daring. But she was, and he was on his way, to make sure. He was walking briskly, frankly ignoring the questioning glances of the two he encountered on the way.

Finally, he arrived, breathing harshly and perhaps somewhat angrily. Never mind, it could be to her benefit.

"Hermione!" He gasped from the doorway, trying to look away from her naked body without actually doing so.

"Good morning, Severus," She responded, not at all deterred by his outburst.

He seemed to settle himself. "I wont ask what you're doing, as it's fairly obvious. But don't you understand that this is a period of mourning? What has -"

"And because we are mourning, does that mean we're likewise dead?" She asked civilly, it was her honest opinion. "I don't see the problem with this, except your recalcitrance."

"And I would have no complaint, but the impropriety-" He was cut off yet again.

"Since when have assassins been known to follow the rules of propriety? We live in this world together, we may as well share our comfort. Where is the wrong in that, and who will have the right to understand it?" She repeated it all as she had thought of it during her bath.

He was silent for a time, and so she took the opportunity to hand him the satin belt. "Go on. It's what I want, and I know it's something I can concede to you." She never said it aloud. But they both well knew that she was giving him power over herself. The opportunity to abuse her trust, to take what he wanted and leave her bereft.

He silently turned the satin over in his hands, and finally reached for her wrists, tying them up tightly. He then pulled her violently toward himself, by the wrists, so that they should meet halfway. His kiss was demanding, somewhat angry. Had she offended him?

Too soon, he was leaning over her, tying the ends of the satin to the wires of his headboard. She was trapped, finally, and was that the way she'd wanted it.

He ran his hand down, over her breast and across her belly. "You're wet.'

"You wanted me wet - the rain clouds in our last dream, the meetings at the lake." She smiled up at him, surprising him.

She pushed up against his still clothed body. It was still another armor for him, and her nakedness was her handicap. He looked up at her sharply, realizing her thoughts. And at that moment, he removed all of his clothes but his funny looking pinstripe socks. He untied the knots which left her as an extension of his bed and set her arms loose.

"Severus, I don't-"

"It isn't about that. It can't be." He pulled the belt from her wrists and flung it across the room, watching in satisfaction as it landed behind a chair, where it lay invisible.

The taste of him became that scent which she could not recognize. It was so sweet and dark and very much like the crushed black rose. She wanted to know what this was. She'd fought off the sensation those weeks ago, at Grimmauld Place. But now the scent overwhelmed her and she could only search for the one thing they both needed. She kissed him so that their tongues were jumbled and their breaths short. His hands weaved through her wet hair, grabbing the ends of it.

Many things were different in this way. They had both been seeking each other out through the eyes, masking their apprehension at first. There was nothing like that now, as they had both found what they needed. Time passed, and she did not realize any of it. There was no such thing as bodies, even though she looked back with her eyes and found his naked figure above her. She wanted to scratch at whatever made him not hurry up. It was so close, that thing she wanted to reach. He placed a hand beneath the small of her back, lifting her hips off the bed to meet him.

A pang of ache registered in the back of her mind, but she was still set on that one thing. She wanted to find that pressing weight on her subconscious, the necessity of something.

"How bad is the pain?" Severus asked, worry etched onto his face.

Hermione set her jaw in frustration and moved her hips against him. "Not so bad that you should stop," she urged. It was very close now, yet still fleeting at her fingertips.

This was all happening much too slowly. A tap at first, but he may not have noticed. She proceeded to push against his shoulder, forcing him to roll onto his back. There, that was satisfactory.

It was a heady feeling, having him underneath her. So now she could control it, and the last was ever closer. She rode him as the sensation swept over her. The scent of the perfume gem, the texture of sweat beneath her fingers. She touched him gently all over his body, and stopped when he hissed in response. The soft skin of his forearm was sensitive. His ears as well.

His eyes were squinted shut. "Hermione, stop. I'll-"

"Wait for me." It came out in a moan, and Hermione set her teeth in grim determination. This would be finished properly.

She sat up with her hands gripping his thighs, straddling him where they joined. He held onto her hips, balancing her, and the rhythm was driving her completely insane. It was just too much adoration, affection. She could feel each beat of his heart before she came. There was little room for anything but the tempo; Hermione fixated herself on the blood's pulse beneath her fingers as she tightened around him. He tensed, all around, for a second, and there it was. The impossible little speck of a goal was right in front of her, right beneath her.

She didn't even think to move off of him before saying contemplatively, "You know, I just realized. I've been obsessing over an orgasm for weeks."

He grunted in understanding sort of way before realizing what she'd said. "You what?"

"Well, that's why I gave you such a hard time. There was something I hadn't felt yet, and I guess I wanted to know what it was. I …Er…know now. So, that's good."

He laughed, lifting her off of him. There was that brief moment of mutual embarrassment as a wet, smacking noise emitted from between them as they separated. He grimaced and Hermione laughed at him, after which she realized that she had left her mental walls down for far too long.

"Oh, ew."

He raised an eyebrow at her, curiously watching the play of disgust on her face.

"…Draco. I think we just gave him a wet dream." She knew Draco would channel a monkey and fling shit at her tomorrow for this. Maybe it was a sign that he was feeling better.

"Wet dream?" He asked, confused. That was simply adorable. Snape. Adorable. Hmph.

"You know..er… Nocturnal emissions," She muttered under her breath, sighing resignedly.

"Oh." He agreed, "Ew."

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Alrighty then. I've got another chapter under my belt and it took me long enough. I really like this one, except you guys might not. You can say I took the coward's way out by trivializing Draco's pain. I'm sorry to any of you who've lost loved ones ( I have, so I know the feeling ) but you must understand that I'm not writing this at all in Draco's point of view. Hermione is just going through a confusing time right now, and so she doesn't really have her priorities straight. Snape on the other hand, has always been a little screwed up, and he knows that he has to look for comfort where he can find it.

I hope you liked this chapter, and it's my slow reentry into the fandom. I've been reading a lot of romantic poetry and novels, and lots of stuff. Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, so you might find me taking on some of their writing habits.

Other than that, I don't really have much to say. I'm really tired and going to go to sleep after this. Tell me if you notice any inconsistencies, please. Thanks for R n' R!

Rested and Relaxed (read and reviewed as well)

Jenny