The morning after

Severus lay nude on Hermione's hearth rug with his burning eyes squeezed shut against the harsh morning sun for some time, feigning sleep. He knew that once he opened his eyes, his life would change forever.

Or perhaps it already had. All that was left was to face it.

A muffled groan came from the woman sharing his rug and she rolled over.

On top of him.

She was warm, familiar and naked. And, gods help him, he wanted her again – despite everything. Merlin on a bike, this was completely wrong. He was married, albeit going through a rough patch, and she was seriously on a rebound – a rebound of less than 24-hours.

'Shit, I've ruined our friendship and our working relationship' he thought, remembering their wizarding underground railroad plans. 'I can't do this. I just can't do this.'

He cleared his throat and opened his eyes. Her eyes were screwed shut against the morning and he could see the pulse throbbing in her temple and in the side of her breast – which was obviously, painfully full and leaking copious amounts of milk onto his own bare chest. He was stunned to realize that it didn't bother him. Maybe it was because he had hoped to have a child with Sophie soon, despite their decision to cease trying. 'Or maybe,' a traitorous part of his brain said, 'maybe, it's because it is Hermione and you're completely comfortable with her no matter what.' He shook his head slightly, winced at the hang over headache it dislodged, and then filed that tidbit of information away in case he and his wife ever had children – then snorted. Hell, he'd be lucky if his wife ever spoke to him again. In response to the noise, Hermione shifted against him again.

"Hermione," he said, softly, "Hermione, love, you need to wake up."

"Jeff," she sleepily whined. "Just 10 more minutes, please?"

All thoughts of shagging the lovely woman lounging on his chest again shot right out the window. He roughly pushed Hermione aside and stood. Surprised at his own sudden anger, he began searching the lounge for his clothing and a blanket or burp cloth to purge his skin of the warm milk – and her.

"No, Hermione, it isn't Jeff," he spat. "So sorry, but you were lactating on the wrong man this morning. I'm so happy I ruined my marriage by fucking a woman who can't remember my name in the morning. It's so gratifying."

"Severus!" she gasped, coming fully awake in an instant. "I – wait, what are you doing, we need to –"

"Talk?" he growled. "That's what we should have done last night. Talk about our spouses. Talk about how we were feeling. But no, we have to wind up in bed and fuck everything up."

"Actually," Hermione said, standing with her hands on her hips. "We didn't make it to the bed, I seem to remember you were so eager that I was bent over the back of the sofa instead. Then a little later, you pounded me into the floor. I'm sure my arse has the rug burns to prove it. Don't turn into the greasy git on me this morning, I can't handle it."

"Greasy GIT! Well, I'm glad that I finally know how you really feel about me, Hermione. Nice to know you've always want to shag the 'greasy git,' I, however, never wanted to shag an infant know-it-all!"

"Stop! Just stop. Severus, name calling isn't going to resolve this situation –"

"Resolve? Oh good, please tell me you still have Dumbledore's old Time Turner hidden away?"

"Don't be a smart arse."

"Don't pretend we can resolve this. We can't. We're fucked, Hermione."

"I know. I know."

She began to pace angrily for a few moments before visibly forcing herself to calm down.

"Yes, of course we need to talk. Not yell, talk. We're friends, Severus. We can handle this and the consequences together," she said, suddenly feeling naked, she wrapped a blanket from the back of the sofa around her shoulders and winced at the pain it caused in her engorged breasts. "Fuck, that hurts."

She sat down on the sofa gingerly and proceeded to curl into a ball. Tears were forming in her suddenly haunted eyes, from the pain – both emotional and physical. Still furious and now searching out a stray sock, Severus locked eyes with his friend and felt his sudden anger dissipate. Sighing, he sat down next to her.

Neither spoke.

"Are you okay?" he said after a good 10 minutes of strained silence.

"No," she said. "Actually, I'm not. I can't think straight. I'm hung over, my tits hurt like hell – and after all that alcohol I can't nurse even if she were here, and I forgot the non-engorgement charm last night, so now I'll have to pump and that hurts even worse. Not to mention the fact that my best friend now hates me because I forced him to –"

"You didn't force me to do anything," he interrupted quietly. "I seem to recall being a very willing participant last night. All that you may have forced me to do was acknowledge the fact that I have feelings for you."

"What?"

"Please don't make me repeat it, Hermione," he said, running a hand over his face tiredly. "It was difficult enough to admit in the first place. I am married, after all."

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to digest what he just said. She had feelings for him as well – had a little crush on the cruel potions master since her sixth year, as a matter of fact. But that hadn't gotten in the way of their work or their friendship. Now, she thought, everything is probably ruined. 'And I'm lactating through the fucking blanket,' she thought ruefully. 'Joy. If that doesn't scare him off, nothing will.' Moments later, Severus broke the silence.

"Where is your pump, Hermione?" he said, gently. She told him and he brought it to her, before going to her kitchen to rummage for breakfast and give his friend some measure of privacy. He tried not to notice the tears streaming down her cheeks as he watched her profile from his place at the stove. And he winced as he heard the Muggle electric contraption whir and her pained gasp as it went to work.

'Ouch. Maybe Sophie and I don't want kids,' his inner voice automatically said before his conscience could remind him – again -- of his deeds. The magnitude of what had happened between Severus and Hermione suddenly hit him.

'Oh, gods, Sophie,' he thought miserably. 'What the hell have I done to us?'

He shuddered -- and the stoic man who had faced down Voldemort for years and lived to tell the tale leaned against the counter and wept as the pump's whirs filled the silence and the smell of burning eggs and toast polluted the air of his friend – and now lover's – home.

Tbc

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Sorry for the horrible, unbelievable delay. Real life, in the form of a toddler and my dissertation, attacked. But, I'm back and I need some fiction release, so look for regular updates once again.