Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of sixteen. It contains sexual content, including some non-consensual, and may offend some readers. If this subject is offensive to you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 47 – Fire and Ice

The dark eyes of Severus Snape showed surprise as Hermione gazed intently into them. She loved those eyes – dark and brooding, expressive and intense. She pulled him close, gripping his robes, and kissed him deeply. Her actions were startling him, and she liked the feeling of being able to catch him off guard. The sound of his sharp intake of breath had shown his excitement when she had playfully bitten his neck, and she knew that his was arousing him.

But he was holding back. He was always gentle with her, and seemed cautious of matching her passion, but she intended to give him no choice. She pressed her lips firmly to his, wrapping her arms sensuously about him, and after a moment, his hesitancy faded. Strong arms encircled her, and he returned her kiss fiercely.

It felt wonderful. Whatever it was that was making Hermione behave this way was filling her with a glowing fire. The intensity of their entwining tongues made her body respond powerfully. His hands were on her back, caressing her through her robes, but that was not enough. She needed him. She wanted to be rid of the fabric that kept their bodies apart – to feel his skin on hers. Reaching for his robes, she began sliding them from his shoulders. With her fingers trailing from his neck over his firm and strong shoulders, down to his back, she pushed his clothes out of their way, and pressed her lips to his skin, drinking in the musky smell of his body.

Snape tilted his head backwards, and she felt as much as heard the growl in his throat as she took the lobe of his ear between her lips. Without warning, Hermione pushed her tongue into his ear, and felt his instant response against her thigh.

He stood, pushing her to her feet and drawing her tightly against him. Hermione leaned back against the desk, pulling him with her, until she could feel his weight pinning her against the hard edge of the wood. He reached for her robes, and she smiled as he exposed her flesh. Strong fingers cupped her breasts and she arched her back in pleasure as his mouth moved to her ready nipples. The force of his lips was almost painful, but she could not help but hold him even tighter against her as though she could never hold him close enough.

As his mouth sucked hungrily at her breasts, Hermione wriggled her body against his, feeling his hands roam from her back down to her waist, then her hips. Almost imperceptibly, his fingers moved to stroke the inside of her thigh, then slowly upwards. Tingles ran through her body as she moaned slightly in anticipation of his touch, but instead, his fingers moved away, causing her to let out a soft gasp of frustration.

Suddenly, he caught her by surprise. His other hand had moved towards her, and long fingers had slid into her wetness.

Then they were gone.

With his mouth still firmly suckling her nipples, Snape shrugged off the rest of his robes. A sudden movement, and his fingers once again slid into her, and a moment later he was on his knees. Immediately, his tongue slipped between the folds of moist skin, finding the point that he knew could drive her to ecstasy. Hands caressed her body as his tongue probed into her – palms stroking her skin and eliciting aroused sighs, as her body was possessed by his.

The sound of scrolls hitting the floor, as Hermione reached round to push Snape's work aside, had an instant effect on the Potions Master, and he stood, pulling slightly away from her and holding her by the shoulders, at arms length.

"Hermione," he rumbled. "Not here!"

Since that fateful evening, more than seven months ago, they had never allowed this to happen in this room. Now, Hermione's almost careless action had mirrored that of Snape, when he had forced himself upon her. It was a stark reminder of how much things had changed.

For a long moment, Hermione gazed up into the troubled face of her lover. "Severus," she said, eventually, "what happened that night is a part of us. We can't hide from it – and I don't want to."

Hermione could feel Snape's eyes boring into hers, as though needing proof of what she was saying. She did not quite understand her own feelings about this – somehow she felt that she needed to make love to Severus here, as though to prove to them both that they had gone beyond their past. All she really knew was that she wanted him here and now, more than anything. Solidly, she returned his gaze, willing him to accept what he could not change.

"Make love to me, Severus," she whispered.

His face remained unreadable for several seconds, then seemed to crumple. Without another word, he pulled her firmly into his arms and kissed her. The force between them was so strong that it felt, to Hermione, that the air was being squeezed out of her by his powerful hold. The kiss was rough and passionate, as though all restraint had been washed away, and it felt like every inch of her body was on fire. Feverishly returning his kiss, Hermione stepped backwards, pulling him towards the desk, where he lifted her, and was soon crushing her to the hard surface. As Snape thrust hard into her, Hermione responded by pushing her hips firmly towards him. She wanted him deep inside her – penetrating her very being as well as her body. She reached down to grasp his buttocks, pulling him into her, in time with their rhythmic motion.

"This feels so good," she whispered breathlessly into his ear. The pressure between their bodies was bringing Hermione to a frenzy completely beyond her power to control.

"I don't ever want to stop doing this, my darling," he murmured softly, as his deep thrusts continued, slow and deliberate.

To Hermione, this sounded perfect. She was calling out his name as she climaxed, and he was kissing her ear, lovingly.

It was a long time later that Snape was groaning in pleasure as he made his final prolonged thrusts into Hermione, giving a more intense feeling of simultaneous pain and pleasure than she could have imagined. Her body was bruised from the hard desk and tender under the firm grip of his fingers, but she could not have felt more content, as though she had been given the release she needed, and the heavy rainclouds that had been above her, had finally burst.

"I love you, Severus," she told him, running her fingers into his hair and drawing his head down to hers to kiss him. "I love you, so much."

His fingers reached up to her face, and stroked her cheek, tenderly. "And you know how much I love you, my sweet." He kissed her nose. "But there's one thing I regret, and that is asking you to marry me." His face was serious for a moment, then his eyes gave away his amusement at her shocked expression. "If I had never asked, I could have listened to your wonderful reply again. To hear you telling me that you will spend the rest of your life with me."

- - -

"I can't believe that you two still haven't handed in your projects!"

Hermione, Ron and Harry were, once again, back in the library. Even after living with Hermione's attitude towards homework for almost six years, now, it always slightly annoyed the two boys when she expected them to adopt the same approach to it as she did.

Ron, in particular, did not take kindly to Hermione's words, and snapped back at her. "Well, we've already handed in our Care of Magical Creatures projects to Hagrid," he objected. "It's just my Charms and Harry's Transfiguration we've got to finish."

Part of the problem, Harry knew, was that she was right, but they didn't need her to remind them. As usual, they had left their work until the last minute, though they had had months to complete it. Even their projects for Hagrid, which they had actually enjoyed, had only been handed in the day before. Now they were left with the more arduous tasks of completing the less enjoyable work for Professor Flitwick, in Ron's case, and Professor McGonagall, in Harry's.

"We have until tomorrow morning, Hermione." Harry said, not looking up from his notes. "We'll be ready."

Hermione snorted, softly, but said nothing.

In the interests of peace, Harry was prepared to let the matter drop. He knew that Hermione was not intending to be unpleasant – it was just her usual way of showing them that she cared, and wanted them to do well – if only her manner wasn't so ... irritating. Still, it was Hermione. From the start of the first year, they had known what she was like, so why should they expect her to change, now? He shrugged inwardly, and continued with his work.

But it seemed that Ron was not as ready to ignore Hermione's attitude as his friend.

"What's your problem, Hermione?" He demanded. "What does it matter to you if we have to rush to finish this. We've finished all the work, we just need to write it up." He bent his head back to his work. "I don't even know why we're explaining ourselves to you!"

Hermione looked hurt, and said quietly, "I didn't mean anything," she said, apologetically. "I just ... don't understand why you always leave things to the last minute."

To Harry, it seemed clear that Hermione had not intended to start a fight, but Ron was, evidently, seeing red. "Just because you're sleeping with a teacher, doesn't give you the right to treat us like kids!" he snapped.

This remark threw Hermione completely off balance. "I don't mean ... "

"I suppose this is the effect Snape is having on you!" There was clear distaste in his voice as he spoke the name.

Immediately, Hermione was on the defensive. "Don't say his name like that. You make it sound like an insult!"

Harry sat back in surprise at the suddenness with which the situation had turned into an argument.

"Well, what do you want us to call him?" Ron asked, angrily. "Severus? Or do you think that we're not showing enough respect? Maybe we should call him 'Professor Snape'. Would that suit you?"

Tears were in Hermione's eyes, and her voice was little more than a whisper. "Ron, I know you don't like him, but ... "

Ron snorted. "Don't like him?" he mocked. "That's a laugh. We've hated him for years."

Hermione's hurt eyes turned to Harry. "Is that how you feel about him, too, Harry?" she asked, miserably.

What could Harry say? After the way that Snape had treated him, he couldn't be expected to like him, but he would never have told Hermione that he hated him. "You can't expect us to suddenly change our minds about him, Hermione," he said, hesitantly. "He's always made it clear that he hates us. 'Specially me."

Slowly, Hermione nodded, and began to pack up her things from the table. "I think I'd better leave you to your projects."

Harry watched helplessly as she stood, fighting tears back from her eyes, and picked up her bag. She turned to Ron, and seemed about to say something, but then changed her mind and turned away. At the doorway, she stopped. Hagrid had just entered the library, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment, then each stepped aside to pass. Hermione continued out into the corridor, while Harry watched Hagrid walk sullenly over to Madam Pince, speak briefly to her, then leave, looking moodily in the direction Hermione had left, without giving Harry and Ron a glance.

"She's in a right huff!" muttered Ron.

Troubled, Harry put his head in his hands, while Ron fixed his attention firmly on his work.

- - -

When Ginny Weasley found her brother and her boyfriend in the Gryffindor Common Room later that evening, she was less than pleased. She had heard the story from Hermione, having encountered her just after she had left the library.

"What were you both thinking?" she asked, annoyed. "She's supposed to be your friend."

Ron and Harry looked at each other in surprise. Ginny was probably the most quiet and accommodating person they knew. It had not surprised either of them when she had accepted the news of Hermione and Snape's relationship so calmly, but to see her leaping so strongly to their defense was unexpected.

Harry was unsure what to say, but Ron had no problem in finding words. "What d'you expect? " he snapped at his sister. "We can't just forget what a git he's always been. He's hated us since the day we stepped into the school."

"Things are different, now, Ron," she responded, trying to get some patience into her voice. "He's Hermione's boyfriend," Ron and Harry flinched at the word, but Ginny ignored this, "and you need to find some way to accept him."

Harry stepped in. "You've got to admit, Ginny, he's not an easy person to like."

"Have you ever tried?" she retorted. "Neither of you have ever even had a real conversation with him."

"Like he'd want to have a conversation with us," said her brother, angrily. "He'd have taken fifty house-points off us before we'd even managed a remark on the weather! If Hermione expects us to suddenly like him after all this time, then she's off her bloody rocker, because it's not going to happen!"

Ginny seemed to be running out of patience. "Look, Ron, I know you're worked up about the exams and your project, but you can't take that out on Hermione. Maybe if you'd followed her advice and done some revision, you wouldn't need to be so stressed!"

With that, she got up from the common-room sofa where she had been sitting next to Harry, and turned to her boyfriend. "And as for what you told me about Hagrid – I have a few words to say to him, too!" She stormed from the room, a look of grim determination on her face.

Harry turned to his stunned friend. "Ron," he began, thoughtfully. "You don't think Hermione's been brewing Polyjuice Potion again, do you?"

For a few moments, the two stared at each other, then began to laugh, hysterically.

- - -

Snape heard about the incident a little while after Ginny, and had spent most of the evening trying to make Hermione forget about it. The last thing he wanted was to start an argument between the two of them, which was inevitable if this line of thought continued. His attitude to her friends was no less hostile than theirs to him. Only the Weasley girl was any different.

Why should that be? He couldn't say that he liked her. Quite the opposite, in fact – he avoided having to deal with her whenever possible. Since the brief conversation they had had in the hospital wing, each waiting for their loved ones to wake, she had made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, whenever she was around. Ginny Weasley was ... well ... nice to him. She didn't go out of her way to try to talk – she had more sense and respect than that – but she was simply polite and pleasant. She had accepted the relationship between himself and Hermione without comment, other than her simple question of their age gap, which was understandable, and she had treated him like a normal person, having a normal relationship. He was unaccustomed to this. That had to be the reason he found it so awkward. He had no idea how to react to this, but she did not seem to mind, accepting his inability to respond in the same way she had accepted everything else.

And he was grateful.

Her brother and boyfriend, on the other hand, posed a problem. He hated Potter. He could neither explain nor justify it – even to himself – but he hated him. Everything from his looks, his voice and his mannerisms, to the way he flew, reminded him of his school enemy, and it brought out such loathing. Even after all these years, and James dead for so long, how could he not look at the boy with disgust? As for Weasley, there was nothing personal in that, apart from the association with Potter. In comparison with his brothers, he had little in the way of the talents of the oldest two, nor was he a great troublemaker like those damned twins. He would probably have gone unnoticed had it not been for his choice of friend.

And yet, they were also Hermione's friends. She cared about them more deeply than he could have thought possible. Certainly he had never had friends like that, either at school or since. He gazed at the sleeping girl next to him. He could not bear to see her suffer, and yet her tears had been as much for his inability to warm to her friends as for theirs to warm to him.

His thoughts drifted to the gift she had given him for Christmas. Since that day, he had remained true to his resolution of reading only one quote or page per day, and he had memorized many of the passages. In the light of the day's events, some of them had taken on a deeper meaning for him. So many of the quotes seemed to point to Hermione's discomfort with the situation between her lover and her friends.

'Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?" The words flowed through his mind, and he could feel her pain. She hated being in the position of loving two people who despised each other. For Snape, what did he care that her friends hated him, as long as he had Hermione's love? But although this was all very well for him, Hermione was the one being torn apart by the rift between them. Sooner or later, something would have to give, and it had been incredibly selfish of him not to have realized this.

Something would have to be done.

- - -

The next day was Friday, and the day that the sixth-year projects were due. It felt, to Ron and Harry, that weights had been lifted from their shoulders as they each handed in the hurriedly finished scrolls. All they had to worry about now were the exams, and they were still four whole weeks away! For now, they could relax.

"So what d'you want to do?" asked Ron, breathing a sigh of relief at the thought of the project being finally out of his hands. "Go down to Hagrid's?"

Harry agreed. They had not been down there for a while, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"Do you reckon he's read our projects, yet?" Ron wondered.

"I bet he's read yours," laughed Harry. "Anything to do with dragons and he's happy! You'll probably get an 'A'."

Ron frowned. "Bet McGonagall and Flitwick aren't so easy going, though," he muttered, taking a bag of Every Flavor Beans from his pocket, and offering them to Harry. "Still – could be worse. We could have had to do a project for ... "

The voice behind them interrupted with perfect timing. "Potter. Weasley." Snape's growl caught them both by surprise and they turned apprehensively. Just being spoken to by the Potions Master gave them a feeling of guilt, even when they had done nothing wrong. He had called to them from a little way down the corridor, and now caught up with them as they waited, apprehensively. Drawing near, though, he seemed to lose a little momentum, and hesitated before speaking again.

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley." He regarded them cautiously, as did they, him. With a nod of his head, he gestured to the empty Muggle Studies classroom beside them. "We need to talk."