A/n - Reviews are still fabulous! Here is another long bit of the story. I tried to cut it, but I didn't want to break up the perspective. Hope you enjoy! cue maniacal writer laughter Ahem, sorry. Another conversation laden chapter, though with many emotions. Oh no, I've already said too much!
Chapter 8
"What do you mean you're in love with Snape?" Ron yelled.
This was turning out to be harder than Hermione thought. As Ron's face turned a nauseating shade of red, she gulped at the rising regret and empathy. A tiny part of her wanted to take it all back, if only to stop torturing him. The larger potion was resolute to press forward and make a clean break.
"When I was at his apartment…one thing led to another," she grimaced as she spoke. Everything she was saying sounded so horribly cliché. "You were right all along. It's better if we just…end this now."
"How can you say that?" Ron asked, incredulous. "I was happy until all this stuff with Snape."
"I wasn't," she replied, glad to be finally on honest ground. "I don't want to be a wife, Ron. Of all the things I can do, I can't magically turn into someone else."
"How can you do this?" Ron asked, tears welling in his eyes. "What about Harry?"
"He's not our child," Hermione stated firmly. "He has nothing to do with this."
No matter how glad Hermione was that this was finally happening, she couldn't ignore the heaviness in her chest or the sick feeling in her stomach. She had loved Ron once, very much so, and causing him pain was something that she never wanted to do, even if it was for the best.
"So it's over…just like that," said Ron, his face suddenly terribly pale. "After three years?"
"I'm sorry," she answered, surprised by her lack of tears.
"I love you, don't you know that?" he asked softly.
"I do," said Hermione as that familiar lump rose again in her throat. Her voice was terribly strained, "I still love you…in a way…but that's not enough. You deserve something that I can't give you."
Hermione hugged him, his body falling against her, and the tears came rushing in at last. She was going to miss him.
"I'll tell Harry," Hermione said as she drew away, wiping at her face. "I'll tell him that you'll visit him tonight, like always."
Ron nodded, rubbing his face with his sleeve as he stumped from the room.
Hermione could hardly believe that it was finished. It was over. The sick feeling in her stomach magnified as the full measure of what she had just done sank in. However, she had grieved for their relationship long ago, and now was not the time to feel sorry. Ron was her first in so many ways and it was hard to see the end, but the prospect of a new beginning on the horizon lifted her spirits.
She swallowed hard, bracing herself for Harry's reaction, before crossing the hall to his room, where she found him sitting up, reading a newspaper. "Harry," she said as she approached the bed, "I need to talk to you."
When he lowered the paper, he looked instantly worried. It was impossible not to notice that she'd been crying. Harry was groping for the parchment when Hermione hurriedly said, "I broke up with Ron."
Harry sighed, taking parchment and quill and jotting a quick note that Hermione could read from the side of the bed. "It's about time."
"What?" she asked in disbelief.
Shaking his head, Harry wrote, "I'm sorry, but you've been unhappy for ages. It had to happen sooner or later."
"You should have mentioned that a long time ago," Hermione said with a weak smile.
Harry just returned the smile and nodded.
"Oh god," Hermione exclaimed causing Harry to flinch. "I almost forgot. Snape identified the curses. He says that he can make an antidote for one of them immediately, the one that's damaged your muscles. He's working on it now."
His eyes wide, Harry scribbled, "What about my breathing?"
"He said that's going to take some work," she answered. "But when you're strong again, the coughing won't be so bad anymore."
Harry smiled the first real smile that she had seen on his face in a very long time. Suddenly, he started writing again. "Thank you Hermione."
"You're welcome," she said as she hugged him gently. She could have hugged every stranger on the street after seeing Harry truly happy. As she released him, she said, "I should go see where Snape has gotten himself to."
Again, Harry started writing, "What happened to Severus?"
Grinning, Hermione had forgotten that she had said that in the room. "That's a story for another time," she replied simply.
Harry gave her a shrewd smirk before scrawling, "Ron will be fine."
She only nodded before saying, "He'll be to see you tonight. You should get to work writing down everything that he'll need to hear."
Harry cocked his head to one side with a smile.
"Or read," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "You know what I meant."
Harry was still grinning at her when she left the room. As she traversed the hall, she still felt dizzy and a little nauseous. Assuming that Snape had found the potions lab, she headed in that direction. That lab was always full of people, she thought with a smirk. Snape was probably having a ball. Peeking inside the door, she was astonished to find the room deserted. She smiled when Snape's annoyed voice met her ear.
"These asinine people don't have any soma. What kind of morons do they have working here?"
Silently making her way to the door, Hermione said, "Are you lumping me in with the morons?"
Snape jumped, dropping the bottle of newt's eyes he was holding.
"Judas woman," he admonished deeply, "don't do that." As he repaired the bottle, he added, "That's why I told everyone to leave."
Hermione grinned, "Because they snuck up on you in the closet?"
Snape looked to be trying to repress a smile but gave in, saying, "No, they were bothering me…by talking loudly."
"Is that a crime now?" Hermione laughed.
"It is when I'm working," he replied.
Hermione glanced to her right, laughing at what she found. "Here," she said, taking the jar of soma from the shelf. "I guess you just needed a lower eye level."
Chuckling, Snape replied, "Or someone short." The smile fell from his face before asking, "Did you succeed in letting Mr. Weasley down easily?"
"I wouldn't use the word easy," Hermione said wearily. Smirking suddenly, she said, "Before I forget, which one of us is it that you give a damn about?"
"You have a fifty percent chance of guessing correctly on the first try," he responded before turning away and resuming his perusal of the shelves.
"Ron sure is lucky," Hermione said, smiling at Snape's deep chuckle. "Well, I have patients to see. I really should go if you don't need me."
"I'm fine for now," he replied, his voice unreadable.
"Well then," she said, "I'll leave you to your work."
"The potion will be ready later this afternoon," added Snape.
"Good," she said as she turned toward the door. "Then I'll see you later."
"Definitely," he replied--his voice suddenly nothing but velvet.
Clearing her throat and smiling, Hermione left the potions lab. His voice speaking that one word was enough to make her think forbidden thoughts. Although, she quickly reminded herself, they weren't forbidden anymore. As she commenced her rounds, she began to view her leap of faith in seeking out Snape as more of a stroke of genius.
>
As the day wore into afternoon, Snape had located all the ingredients for the antidote and was waiting rather impatiently for it to turn a brassy yellow. A watched potion never turns he thought, walking to the window to watch the street below.
The notion of Hermione's temptation was beginning to trouble him. He was a man--that was certain. And she was clearly a woman now--that information was dreadfully clear after having spent the night with her breasts pressed against him--but one question kept floating across his otherwise methodical mind. What did she want with him? Was she genuinely interested in him, or was she using him to escape from Weasley? It was best not to question it, Snape decided, just benefit from it until she inevitably came to her senses.
More problematic was her damned cleverness. It was utterly too sexy to stand and it made him look upon her differently. It had been entirely too long since he had flirted with a woman and she was fascinating him on a more profound level than any woman had ever voyaged, and he knew quite well that an emotional attachment would only get him into trouble. Again, he chose to put off those thoughts and enjoy the present. After all, he might never again have the good fortune of pleasant company, especially with such a pleasant woman. If prison had taught him one thing, it was to appreciate what was and not question it, aloud anyway.
Checking the potion, he found that it had matured while he mused. Siphoning a glass full, he departed for Potter's room only to find him napping. Gently, Snape shook the boy awake.
As soon as Harry's eyes opened, Snape said, "Drink this. It tastes worse than it looks, but it will immediately stop the deterioration of your muscles."
Harry took the glass and gulped a few times before stopping, his eyes beginning to water.
"Delicious, isn't it," Snape said sarcastically. "It will also make you quite drowsy. We will begin the regeneration process tomorrow after you have gotten a full night's rest."
Finishing the glass, Harry had hardly set it on the bedside table before he was asleep, dangling halfway off the bed. Chuckling softly, Snape repositioned Harry and pulled the covers over him. Turning to leave, Snape discovered Hermione watching from the doorway.
"You've turned into a regular medi-wizard," she said with a smirk as he met her at the door.
"All thanks to you," he replied rather sarcastically.
"My shift is almost finished," she said in a casual voice. "If you're hungry, we could get something."
Quickly reminded that he had forgotten to eat in all the excitement of the day, Snape found that he was starving.
"Lead on," he told her, gratified by the relief in her eyes as much as her satisfied grin.
Snape followed her to the staffroom where she collected her cloak and then down the steps and into the amber light of the sunset.
"Do you know where you want to go?" Hermione asked as they stepped outside.
"I believe you're the choosy one," Snape replied.
"I forgot," she giggled. "There's a Vietnamese place a little east of here."
Appalled by her choice, Snape asked, "You won't eat Cajun food, but you'll eat that rubbish?"
Laughing, Hermione said, "So I'm not the only picky one."
Snape gave her a sardonic smile before saying, "There is a small wizarding bar that serves very good Italian. Do you have anything against Italian food?"
"Not yet," Hermione answered dryly.
Chuckling, Snape said, "It's this way, if you think your tiny legs can keep up."
Hermione laughed quietly as they began walking down the street.
"How does it feel to be single again?" Snape asked after a few blocks.
"Strange really," Hermione answered with a sigh. "That reminds me, I can't believe you stuck us in that room together."
"It seemed like an opportune time," Snape laughed softly. "This is our stop," he said, halting as they reached the restaurant. He waited patiently, anticipating Hermione's reaction.
"Here?" she asked skeptically. "In an old warehouse?"
Snape smiled, "Yes." As soon as he opened the door, the sounds of the crown inside filtered into the night air, "After you."
Hesitantly, Hermione entered in front of him. Apparently disoriented, she stopped just inside the door. Snape placed a hand on her back, smiling at her twitch of surprise, and directed her through a narrow doorway into the seating area. Furnished with small, round tables, each topped with a red and black checkered tablecloth and a single unlit candle, the lounge was humid and rather dark. Snape chose a table close to the door and sat to Hermione's right. As they took their seats, the candle burst to life, causing Hermione to flinch.
"Why did it do that?" she asked.
"So that they'll know we're here."
Just then, a skinny man in a stained, grey apron arrived at their table.
"Good evening," he said cheerily. "Our specials this evening--"
Snape swiftly interrupted, "We would like a large order of lasagna and a bottle of pinot noir. The brand doesn't matter as long as it is very cold."
"Right away sir," the waiter chirped before leaving.
"How do you know I like lasagna?" asked Hermione.
Snape chuckled, "If you don't, I suggest acquiring an affinity for it. When I said very good Italian, I meant very good lasagna."
"Then you're in luck," she replied with a smirk. "I just happen to like it."
The waiter returned promptly with the wine, adequately chilled. The conversation started out simply as Hermione described some of her patients from the day. Snape stopped her in the middle of a rather grotesque story concerning an unfortunate man and a run in with a set of bewitched hedge clippers.
"Perhaps you could save that one for after the meal," he advised before she plowed right on into the next tale.
By the time she ran out of patients, their food had arrived. Snape had nearly forgotten how hungry he was until the scent of the rich sauce reached him. He took a generous serving before passing the platter to Hermione, who also took quite a large piece. He had to chuckle as she again ravenously attacked her dinner.
"What?" she asked.
"It's not going to run away if you don't finish it immediately," Snape replied, still laughing.
"What if it did?" she contested. "What would you say then?"
Laughing, he answered, "I would say that we're both going to have food poisoning."
Hermione choked on the sip of wine that she was taking. Giggling, she wiped her mouth with a napkin while Snape regarded her in the candle light. Her skin was a dusky peach in the muted glow of the room, making the copper in her eyes much more distinct. Hair pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck, he could see the creamy skin in that heavenly dip where neck turns to shoulder. Her lips, curved into a content smirk, held a tiny bit of sauce at the corner.
"I can't take you anywhere without you wearing the food," he teased as he reached out to wipe away the offending bit.
As he did so, his knuckles grazed her cheek. The soft skin was superb, as was her return. Tilting her head, she skimmed her cheek against his fingers. Snape held the touch as she rubbed her skin again his and met his eyes. The want staring back at him was powerful, causing another long-overlooked response below his belt. Startled, but ever so intrigued, Snape drew his hand away leisurely.
"I believe I got it," he said lowly, hearing the slight waver in his voice.
"Thank you," she breathed, clearing her throat before gesturing to her plate. "This really is very good."
"Yes," Snape smirked, "very good." However, he definitely wasn't referring to the meal.
Without fail, just as he expected, Hermione succeeded in steering the conversation to literature. Her breadth of knowledge on the subject didn't fail to impress him either. Not only had she read quite a lot of modern work, her understanding of the classics rivaled his own.
They finished their meal and had almost finished the wine when Hermione stated quite matter-of-factly, "Jane Eyre is one of the best novels ever written."
His elbow on the table and his head reclining on a fist, Snape teased, "I would expect a woman to say that."
"No really," she said. "Sure, it gets a little slow toward the middle, but come on. He kept his crazy wife in the attic. That's priceless, especially for the time that it was written." She paused, raising an eyebrow as she asked, "You don't have a crazy wife in your attic, do you?"
Laughing at the absurdity of the notion, Snape replied, "A few skeletons and sordid past perhaps, but no wife."
She was giggling as she checked her watch. "Oh dear, it's nearly eleven."
"I know," Snape said with a smile. "I told you that ten minutes ago before you went off on your Bronte expedition."
"Oh," she replied sheepishly, her grin giving away her amusement.
They stood from the table and Snape began ushering her toward the door.
"Shouldn't we pay first?" Hermione protested as they passed through the bar.
Just as Snape feared, the pudgy man behind the counter spotted them, calling out, "It's good to see you again Snape. You and your lady friend have a fine evening." This was exactly what Snape was trying to avoid.
"Thank you Andrew," Snape replied. "The meal was delicious." He quickly directed Hermione out the door.
As they headed down the sidewalk, Hermione asked, "What was that all about?"
Seeing no way to avoid the details, he reluctantly explained, "Almost five years ago now, Andrew's son Seth became a Death Eater. Albus and I helped Seth fake his death to avoid retaliation when he decided he wanted out."
Hermione stopped abruptly, the street too dark for Snape to see her expression. "Were you successful?" she asked.
"Our food was free, wasn't it?" he replied, replacing his hand on her back and urging her to walk. He still didn't like discussing Dumbledore.
They had only made it a few steps when she halted again. The nearby streetlight cast a shadow across the very uncompromising look on her face.
"You know," she said with conviction, "you can pretend that you aren't a good person, but you made the mistake of proving to me that you are." She took a step closer to him, staring up with resolution as she continued. "You can be as elusive as you want with everyone else as long as you understand that I know the truth."
Quickly, she began walking again, leaving Snape staring after her. A few strides and he had closed the distance, glancing down every now and again to see the same stubborn look on her face. He couldn't understand what he had done to provoke her, though she didn't seem angry. What she said was actually quite significant to Snape. He couldn't recall anyone having referred to him as a 'good person' since Dumbledore.
The reminder of the journey to Hermione's building passed in silence. When they arrived at her step, she turned to him, her expression softened.
"Look," she said, "sometimes what I'm thinking just comes out and then I feel stupid for having said it. I don't need to feel stupid, do I?"
"Not at all," Snape replied, still confused yet relieved that she wasn't upset.
"Good," she said, perking up a bit. "Do you want to…no…you probably don't…it's late."
Chuckling, he answered, "One cup and then I must go."
Smiling, Hermione led the way to her apartment. As soon as they entered, she removed her cloak and went straight to preparing the kettle. Snape cast a fire in the hearth before taking up his seat on the arm of the sofa where he studied her, thinking all the while about what she had said. It wasn't long before she headed toward the couch with two cups, reminding Snape forcefully of the previous night and just how much had changed in that short time.
As he joined her on the sofa, he noted that she was gazing at the fire and didn't look about to speak.
Choosing his words carefully, Snape said, "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly was the inspiration for your declaration a little while ago?"
She sighed and set her cup on the table, prompting Snape to do the same since what she had to say was apparently very important. Snape wanted immensely to hear the explanation.
She wiped her hands on her lap nervously and gave him a fleeting glance before pulling her legs up and kneeling on the couch to face him. Snape shifted toward her and put his arm across the back of the sofa to show his undivided attention. Looking more timid than he had seen her since her school days, she rubbed her hands on her thighs again before she started to laugh.
"I don't know how to do this," she giggled.
Mystified, Snape asked softly, "Do what? You clearly haven't forgotten how to talk."
She gave a faint laugh, "It's that…I don't want to hear you tell me how horrible you are or how sordid your past is after…" Her voice faded in another giggle.
Thoroughly engrossed, Snape watched her eyes dart anxiously before again meeting his. He was beginning to become concerned, "After what?"
She placed her hand on his forearm that lay across the sofa, "After I…"
Sliding her hand little by little up his arm, she suitably answered his question. Tickling the receptive skin at his collar, she pressed her fingertips into the tense muscles at the back of his neck, sending a delightful twinge down his back. She was advancing toward him and her eyes looked doubtful, though somehow inspired. As she trailed her fingers along the side of his neck, he sighed as the sensation washed over him, paralyzed by the touch and distracted by the same stirring he had felt at dinner.
"I know who you are," she whispered, putting her other hand gently on his knee and sliding it slowly up to his thigh, "even if you don't."
Her eyes held all of the desire that he had seen earlier and a playful spark. As the hand on his thigh resumed its ascent and the hand on his neck slid down to his chest, he seized both, educing a startled gasp from Hermione.
"That's good to know," he sighed, looking past the whys and wherefores, releasing her hands and instead seizing her waist. He pulled her to him, lying back and she acquiesced, sliding her body to meet his. As they came to rest, her atop of him, he pressed his lips to hers. As the warmth of the lyrical kiss spread through his body and her hand reclaimed its station at his neck, he was ever so glad to be alive. The heavenly burden of her body and the unbelievable softness of her lips were magnificent, challenging his every effort to keep his hands at the small of her back, lest she see anything else as offensive. He was going to let her set the pace from here.
Tumbling down his jaw, her lips found his neck, biting lightly before resuming the thrilling kisses. Snape gasped as she nipped again a bit harder before moving up to his ear. As she took the lobe in her mouth, he moaned, unable to keep still any longer. He left one hand to rest on her back while the other traveled to her bottom. As his hand reached its destination, she pulled away, causing Snape to fear he had offended her. When he opened his eyes however, he found her opulent gaze had not wavered, though she was unbuttoning her robe. He watched her intently as each button revealed more of the white shirt underneath. Snape tentatively began unfastening the bottom buttons, which must have inspiring her to shift her attention to the undershirt. By the time he had finished with the robe, she was already half finished with the shirt, her rose-colored brassiere on display at her breastbone.
His breathing distressingly shallow, Snape looked on in awe as she pulled the shirt from the waist of her skirt and dispatched with the mess of fabric, revealing the rounded, pert breasts still held captive by their satin prison.
He had been ever so right. Robes did her absolutely no justice. Graceful and lean, her youthful body was stunning. Overcome with want, he dragged his fingers across her waist and up her belly, glorying in the toss of her head as she struggled to catch her breath. Taking hold of her sides, he guided her back down onto him, moaning as her thigh swept across his unmistakable arousal. He kissed her hard, rewarded agreeably with her tongue. Sinking deeper into the blissful concourse, he slid both hands to her bottom, pressing her against him. She shifted her hips in reply, inciting him to thrust against her.
A strident knock at the door jarred them both. Snape was struggling to order his thoughts as Hermione put her hands to his chest and sat up quickly, looking toward the door. The knock sounded again, more insistently this time.
"So help me," Snape whispered, "if that's Weasley I'm going to kill him."
"Shh," Hermione replied, putting her hand over his mouth.
"Hermione?" Ron's muffled voice came through the door. "I know you're in there. I saw you come home…with him."
"He's drunk," Hermione whispered.
"Is he still in there with you?" Ron called.
"What should I do?" asked Hermione quietly.
"Let me kill him," Snape answered, though it was entirely unintelligible through her hand.
Ron knocked again. "If you don't answer me, I'm coming inside."
"Let me kill him," Snape tried to say again, still muffled by her makeshift gag.
"Come on," Hermione whispered, climbing to her feet and grabbing his hand. He followed her into a pitch-black room and shut the door. "Damn," she breathed, "my wand's in my robe."
"Allow me," Snape replied, taking his wand and sealing the door a few more times than was entirely necessary.
Standing behind Hermione at the doorway, Snape heard the apartment door open.
"Hermione?" Ron called again.
"Ron," Hermione shouted to him in what must have been her best impression of a sleepy voice. "I'm in bed. Go home."
"Is he in there with you?" Ron asked loudly.
In the darkness, there was no way for Hermione to appreciate the smug nod that Snape gave the door.
"No," she answered. "Now go home."
"I want to talk," Ron protested.
"Let me kill him," Snape breathed in her ear only to receive a sharp elbow to the ribs. He had to put a hand over his mouth to muffle his surprise.
"Not tonight," Hermione responded steadfastly through the door. "You need to go to bed and sleep this off. Please go home."
"Fine," came Ron's dejected reply, "but this isn't over."
"Just go home Ron," she said, her voice strict. "We'll talk when you're sober."
"This isn't over," Ron repeated before his footsteps retreated and Snape heard the click of the latch.
"Well," Snape said slowly, "that was awkward."
Hermione sighed deeply. "Do you ever feel that no matter what you do, it's the wrong thing?"
He chuckled, "All the time. Do you remember who I am?"
She laughed softly before saying, "I never meant to hurt him." Snape could hear the anxiety in her voice. "Was I supposed to pretend for the rest of my life, merrily skipping along praying someday I'd be happy?" Her voice was steadily getting louder. "Why does this have to be so damn hard?"
In the darkness with her back to him, Snape was at a loss. He wished that he could see her face, his anger at the interruption replaced by unease. He wanted to try to reassure her, but as she was half-naked, that seemed wholly inappropriate.
"When you're born, they should give you a pamphlet detailing all the situations you should avoid in life," she went on as she flipped the light switch.
Snape squinted against the sudden brightness. He watched her walk from the door to the closet and pull out a robe, wrapping it around herself before traveling to the bed.
As she crossed the room she said, "Number one should be shun relationships with other people at all costs, the subtext being that relationships are without doubt a pain in the ass."
"I'm glad we're on the same page with that line of thinking," Snape replied, still hovering near the door.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione looked up with an apologetic smile, "I'm only venting." She laughed softly, "And I seem to have chosen the most inopportune time to do so, seeing as I finally managed to get you into my bedroom."
Chuckling, Snape asked, "Weasley's ambush was another elaborate ruse, was it?"
"I wish," she giggled. "I'm sorry I dragged you in here. I didn't want to rub it in, you know. I shouldn't have lied to him…about what happened between us, I mean."
"It's not so much a lie now, although the chronology is a bit off," Snape suggested, crossing the room and sitting next to her on the bed.
"Oh no," she sighed. "Don't think for a second that I regret…well…"
"Throwing yourself at me?" Snape finished for her, hoping to inject some levity.
"I did not," she protested with a laugh.
Snape chuckled again, "Call it what you will."
He smiled at her, wondering whether he should excuse himself or wait for her to finish with him. With the mood sufficiently ruined, she would probably much rather be alone.
Hermione smiled back, "You must want to get back to your room."
"It is getting late," he replied, unable to ignore the building tension.
"What would you say if I asked you to stay with me again?" she asked innocently, her eyes beseeching him.
"I would say that I'm wasting your money on that room," he answered.
She giggled, "That's what it's for."
"Then I would say all right," he said quietly, unsure why he indulging, thinking that it would be in his best interest to distance himself.
"Then I'll be right back," she said, standing and going through a very narrow door that Snape thought led to another closet, though it turned out to be the bathroom.
Snape stood as well, removing his shoes and robe. He wasn't going to sleep entirely clothed this time. He also opted to leave the bedroom door sealed until Hermione said otherwise, just in case Weasley chose to make another unscheduled visit. Unsure where she intended him to sleep, he awaited her return.
Scanning the tiny room, he found the books that he thought had been glaringly absent from the rest of the apartment. They sat stacked along almost every wall. The bed took up most of the room so there was really no room for cases. Thankfully, there was one window, a minuscule one at that, through which he could see the clear night sky.
Snape was gazing through it when Hermione returned, clad in a long t-shirt and little else. He didn't have much time to benefit from the sight as she switched off the light, casting the room again into blackness. Blinded yet again, Snape was relieved when Hermione took his hand and led him to the bed, answering his quandary about sleeping arrangements. As he laid down, his hands behind his head in an attempt to remain relaxed both in mind and body, Hermione crawled under the covers next to him, resting her head on his chest.
"Don't you want to get under the blankets?" she asked just as he closed his eyes.
"If I do," he replied sincerely, "neither one of us will sleep."
"Oh my," she said softly, "your voice is even better down here."
He grinned as her head left his chest and he felt her moving about. Suddenly, he felt her lips on his and he drank in the tender kiss. As she kissed him, he was blissfully unaware that she had unbuttoned his shirt until he felt it tugged from his waistband.
"What are you doing to me?" he breathed when her hand went wandering on his bare chest.
"It only seems fair," she replied in a whisper. He could hear the smile in her voice as she ran her hand across his chest again, finally pausing on his side before again resting her head on his chest. "You're heart is throbbing like mad."
"Go to sleep," he whispered, thinking that his heart wasn't the only thing throbbing again.
"Goodnight," she murmured.
"Goodnight Hermione," he replied softly.
More comfortable than he had been in years, Snape lie awake for a long while, listening to Hermione breathe and waiting for her eyelashes to cease batting against his skin. He contemplated how he had managed to permit her to over run his mind. Had he been that lonely when she showed up that he latched onto her? Nevertheless, the fact that he hadn't touched the bottle of bourbon since arriving and that he had eaten an entire meal without becoming queasy led him to believe otherwise.
And why was he allowing her to make him do things that he had never done? This would make the second time that he slept next to a woman without having fulfilled some carnal need or another. She was affecting him--that was the only word he could think of to suffice--or was she merely distracting him. None of that would matter if she went back to that boy.
Eventually, she dozed off and he stopped worrying about her dealings with Weasley. If she did change her mind, it wouldn't be unexpected, though it would be disheartening. Flirtation--and probably even sex--he could handle with grace, but his respect for her was transmuting rapidly into fondness, and that was bothersome, given that he had already had enough of being disappointed for one lifetime.