Worth Waiting For

by Kyra4

SSHG, set 6 years postHogwarts. A common cold serves as an uncommon catalyst... Some of my fics are rated M for language only. This is not one of them. This is M for a reason, people. COMPLETE

1. Chapter 1

WORTH WAITING FOR

Standard Chapter 1 Disclaimer: All of the characters and any recognizable places belong to JKR, not to me. I am not benefiting financially in any way from writing Harry Potter Fanfiction. To the contrary, it takes time away from my coursework, and from original writing that I maybe could benefit financially from. Gah! What can I say, I'm just hooked.

A/N: This was written as a Christmas gift for a good friend. (She wrote me one too!) The things she asked me to include are as follows:

Rating: NC-17, baby

Five things to include:

1. Snape has a fetish, and I don't want it to be any Muggle fetish I've heard of before.

2. They work in the same sphere, but they don't work together every day.

3. They're both secretly in love with each other.

4. Nargles (Luna says they infest mistletoe).

5. Waffles.

Three things NOT to include:

1. Hogwarts (it can be mentioned, but I'd rather not see it).

2. Harry, Ron, or McGonagall.

3. Giants.

I'll just take the bull by the horns and say right here that I included every single thing she asked me not to, except giants… but they are only mentioned, not "seen", and I think she's forgiven me :P

You see where she asked for an NC-17 rating? Yeah, right up there. So, this fic gets a little smutty. I might end up posting later chapters over at Adult Fan Fiction. If I do that I'll provide a link to it in my profile page.

NOTE: However much of the fic I post HERE is edited down to a "hard R", or M as the case may be, omitting certain words and… um… deeds that would blatantly exceed the M cutoff for this site. At this point, with this first chapter, I will wait a couple of days and take my cues from my reviewers- so far the majority of the reviews have been enthusiastic, but one person has suggested that the fic is inappropriate for this site. If I get anymore reviews to that effect, I will probably take it down. It is not my intent to offend anyone… but let me say again that this is your warning- if you don't approve of sexual content in M rated fics, then hit the back button now.

This is Severus Snape / Hermione Granger, post-Hogwarts. My first non-Dramione het pairing fic. And it's going to be about 3 – 4 chapters long. Thank you to Maureen for beta-ing!

Still with me? All right, let's go!

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"Merlin, what a day," Hermione said tiredly, sliding into the worn vinyl booth across from Padma. It felt later than it was… but that had to do as much with the time of the year as with the long hours she'd been working lately. The sun was setting early these days, and the weather was terribly cold. She unwrapped the scarf that had been looped several times about her neck, stifling a yawn behind it as she did so.

Thursday night at eight-thirty sharp; it had become a weekly ritual between Hermione and her former Ravenclaw year-mate. Back in school Hermione had never really had a close girlfriend; she supposed that Ginny was the nearest thing she'd had, but that had really been a friendship of convenience, when one came right down to it. Not that she disliked Ginny; that wasn't it at all… but the two young women had never really had any common interests. The basis of their relationship, such as it was, had been all the time they'd spent together during their holidays, not to mention being Housemates at Hogwarts. It had been more a question of being thrown together by circumstance than making any sort of an effort at friendship. They hadn't chosen each other; it had been sort of like… well, Hermione liked to imagine that it had been sort of like sisterhood- not that she had any reality-based idea of what sisterhood was actually like. And now that the baby of the Weasley clan was a mother herself- to twins, no less- all grown up and married to the savior of the wizarding world, Hermione had less in common with her than she ever had… for all that she was godmother to baby Lily. Ginny, for all her characteristic redhead's feistiness and spunk, had settled beautifully into the domestic sphere, whereas Hermione was the same as she had ever been- a certified workaholic.

As was Padma Patil. The two young women had recently found each other in the course of their work- the first time Hermione had seen either of the Patil twins since their parents had yanked them out of school at the end of their sixth year- which had been six years ago. She had connected quickly with Padma, who was quieter and more serious than her twin Parvati- with whom Hermione had shared a dormitory during her time at Hogwarts. These days Padma was as work-obsessed as Hermione, and like Hermione, more or less had a black hole where her social life should be. And as the two enjoyed one another's company, and it was helpful to be able to tell parents and other concerned parties who thought they were overworking themselves that they'd been out to dinner with a friend only a few days ago, what had begun as a single catching-up-on-old-times date had morphed naturally into a weekly tradition.

Now Padma leaned forward across the table, a hint of a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. "He's here," she said quietly. "Just arrived five minutes ago."

"What?" Hermione's gaze swept the length and breadth of the greasy spoon diner that had become Padma's and her regular dinner spot. Finally she made him out, alone at the end of the bar, half-hidden in shadow, perusing a menu with singular attention. She tore her eyes quickly away; looked back at her dining companion. Padma was no longer making any attempt to hide her smile- in fact, she was practically grinning from ear to ear.

"You know he's here because of you," she said.

"Nonsense," Hermione hissed, heat and color rising to her cheeks in an instant. "He's here for the same reason we are; it's conveniently located, he works late, and the food's not too atrocious. That's all. He probably comes every night… he hardly seems the type to cook for himself."

Padma shook her head. "I ate here alone two nights ago, and he wasn't here then. He fancies you, Hermione."

Hermione's jaw clenched. "If you don't stop teasing me, you'll be eating here alone tonight, too. I mean it, Padma! He does not fancy me!"

Padma shrugged and schooled her face into an expression of cool indifference. "All right, have it your way," she said nonchalantly, picking up her menu. "I'm just saying is all. It's perfectly obvious; you ought to stop wasting time. He's dead sexy, Hermione."

"Are you mad?" Hermione snuck another glance at the end of the bar in spite of herself. "He is old enough to be our father!"

Padma rolled her eyes. "There are many more attractive words for what he is than old, Hermione. Worldly. Experienced. Mature. I'd have thought that would be just what you'd be looking for in a man."

"Maybe so," Hermione admitted reluctantly, "if I were looking for a man. But I don't have time for one right now. Mature or otherwise. So can we please just drop it and eat?"

"Your loss, my friend," Padma said calmly, "your loss."

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Hermione turned the key in the lock, pushed open her front door. It was nearly ten at night… and if there were ever a time in the course of her day that she allowed herself to relent and wish, even the tiniest bit, that she had someone to share her life with, this would be it- when she returned from a long day's work to a flat that was cold, dark and empty.

She hadn't minded it too much as long as she'd had Crookshanks, but the cat had been middle-aged already way back when Hermione had first acquired him, and had finally, just a few weeks ago, succumbed to the old age that had been creeping slowly but steadily up on him. Since he'd gone to that giant milk dish in the sky, arriving home at night had become almost more than she could bear. It was a quick thing, the wave of loneliness that washed over her each evening as she stepped into the emptiness that was her home- not so much as a friendly meow to greet her- but it was also profound.

As usual, though, she shook it determinedly off- illuminated the room, started a fire and hot water for tea all with a word and a practiced flick of her wand. She had no time for wallowing in self-pity on this or any other night, she told herself sternly- but this night in particular she still had work to do and loads of it. She was giving a big presentation in the morning, and her audience was going to be tough.

In addition to holding a part-time teaching job at Hogwarts- just two days a week; Advanced Muggle Studies and a newly introduced class on non-human relations, both of which were offered only to seventh-year students, she had recently started her own organization for the advancement of non-human rights in wizarding society. And though she had the support of the Ministry, as Arthur Weasley had been appointed Minister of Magic following Scrimgeour's death at the height of the war against Voldemort, she also had her fair share of opposition. Actually, more than her fair share of opposition. The status quo of wizarding society hadn't really changed much in centuries… and a lot of people liked it that way.

Some of her toughest critics would be at her presentation tomorrow. Including but not limited to one Draco Malfoy, now the official head of the Malfoy family- as Lucius has died some months ago in Azkaban- with all the rights, privileges, and political clout that came hand-in-hand with his newly inherited, vast sums of money. He'd remained carefully neutral during most of the war, lying low ever since the tragic night that Snape had spirited him away from Hogwarts- the night that Dumbledore had died. But Draco had never truly changed his spots, and was likely the most powerful, and vocal, opponent Hermione would have to contend with in her quest.

She needed to have all her ducks in a row. It occurred to her that perhaps tea wasn't the way to go tonight after all. No- better make it coffee. Strong coffee.

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She fell diagonally across the bed not long before dawn, without even bothering to turn down the bedclothes. It wouldn't do to get too comfortable- she only had an hour or so to rest.

Ah… ah… mmmh… AHHH…

She'd never felt anything like this before. This was- Oh- her back arched as she gave a great, shuddering gasp- this was TOO intense! The long black hair of her paramour dragged silkily down her body as he planted a hot trail of kisses over her breasts and down her tautly trembling stomach, which was hitching with her breath.

This was almost too good to be borne… she was on sensory overload.

Ohhhh… mmh… wait…wha-what are you… oh, my GOD!

He'd reached the apex of her thighs, had pushed them apart with unyielding strength; he was not going to give her the luxury of being shy. She could hardly breathe, so intense was her anticipation as he planted a kiss on first one inner thigh, then the other. And then- sweet Merlin, and THEN-

She would have rocketed straight up off the bed if he hadn't been holding her hard by the hips; pinned to the coverlet, helpless to do anything but endure one crashing wave of ecstasy after another, moaning with complete abandon now, her body beginning to fall into rhythm with his tongue, even as her mind was screaming at her that men's mouths did NOT belong THERE- what would her mother say?

And then her capacity for rational thought was swept completely away by the rising tide of sensation, and his hands were moving again, sliding all over her body, so warm and big; up to her breasts to flick at nipples so sensitive they ached… back down to the place where no man's hands, no man's mouth, had been before… and something was building now, low in her belly; something was… something… was…

Oh… OHHHH…

And she woke up.

She was groggy and disoriented, still atop the covers, in a room that was illuminated by watery, mid-winter morning light… with her legs flung wide and an empty, aching need inside and a name on the tip of her tongue and- she gave a shuddering gasp and blushed crimson with the realization- both of her hands thrust well inside her knickers; in the selfsame place her dream lover's mouth had been only seconds before. She pulled them out as if they had been burned; they were sticky; her thighs were sticky too. Still blushing furiously, she turned to look at the clock-

And screamed.

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Over sixteen hours had passed by the time she staggered back through her front door, nearly light-headed with fatigue; it had been the absolute mother of all long and trying days. When she'd glanced over at the clock that morning, still flushed and panting from her dream, it had been to discover that she had slept until a mere half-hour before she was due to give her presentation. She'd been planning to be at the Ministry, setting up by then!

She'd virtually hurled herself out of bed, stumbling and barking her shin on the nightstand in her haste. She hadn't had time to shower, which was an enormous handicap on this of all days, considering the state in which she'd awakened. She was going to have give her presentation at the Ministry… wet! And not squeaky-clean-from-the-shower-wet, either. No, an entirely different sort.

She'd washed her hands vigorously, her face slightly less so; had magicked the wrinkles out of her best business-robes and the snarls out of her hair; had conjured herself a cup of coffee even while stuffing parchments helter-skelter into the leather satchel that had been a gift from Harry on the occasion of her being appointed Hogwarts' youngest teacher in over two hundred years (she'd even beaten McGonagall by three years!) It really bothered her to be missing the little morning routines that meant so much to her- holdovers from her Muggle childhood. She really enjoyed brushing the kinks out of her hair, not charming them away- boiling water for coffee or tea, rather than simply magicking it up. Normally these routines grounded and soothed her; reminded her who she was and where she came from; helped her keep perspective and braced her for the coming day.

She really could have used the comfort and confidence they brought her, today.

The presentation had not been a spectacular failure, which she supposed was some comfort, at any rate, but it had certainly not been an unbridled success either. Draco Malfoy, impeccably dressed and groomed, wearing his hair longer now, in obvious emulation of his deceased (slimebag) father, lounging in his chair with his usual air of inherent superiority and cool disdain, had put her through the wringer, all right- every bit as much as she had expected, if not perhaps a wee bit more. She'd hardly managed to get out a word that he hadn't questioned and picked all to pieces. The most encouraging thing about the whole ordeal was that the other members of the panel she'd presented to had promised to mull over her proposals and give her a reply in a week's time, rather than rejecting them outright.

After that she'd barely had time to catch her breath before flooing directly to her office at Hogwarts to teach. She'd stayed at the school for dinner in the Great Hall, and then returned to her office for a long evening of marking papers, followed by a late-night research session- a quest for any information that would help further her organization's cause- in the school library. She still could hardly get over the fact that as a professor she now had around-the-clock access to the treasure-trove of knowledge contained therein.

As usual when it came to books and research- a heady combination, to be sure- she got carried away and lost track of time. So by the time she dropped into bed on this night- managing to burrow under the covers this time, though it felt as if she'd used up her last reserves of strength to do so- it was with a sense of exhaustion so deep that it was nearly a physical ache.

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His head was between her thighs again, and she was so sensitive there that even his hot breath her exposed skin was driving her to distraction… when he flicked his tongue out, it was almost more than she could bear.

UMMM! Oh God! Wha… what are you-? AHH!

Shhh.

One of his hands began to rub soothing circles on her tummy, the other holding her by one hip as he tongued her mercilessly. She tossed her head helplessly back and forth, unable to do anything but lie there and ride the building wave of... of SOMETHING… that was possessing her body, making it feel things it had never felt before- making it DO things- oh God, dirty things- she was pushing up against his face now, against his mouth- urging his tongue deeper, the friction greater- and now his hand had left her hip; it was snaking between her legs and his fingers were joining his tongue, rubbing, teasing, finding her opening, starting to press in-

OHHH-!

Her hips bucked straight up off the bed. In one fluid movement he was stretched out beside her and they were face to face again. He was leaning over her; jet black hair falling across intense, nearly black eyes. She stared dazedly up into those eyes as one of his hands buried itself in the thick, unruly curls that fanned out about her on the bed and the other wandered slowly back down, over her stomach ,lingeringly, tauntingly, to that PLACE- and then started to rub again, in those tight little circles that drove her mad, and her hips were gyrating now, in rhythm with his fingers, and there was that sense of something building again, something that was going to be oh, so good when it broke over her, it was driving her into a frenzy, and- and-

And she woke up. Again.

With her fingers where they didn't belong- again.

And to add insult to injury, this time she woke with an extremely unladylike snort- because, she found, she could no longer breathe through her nose. It was plugged solid, and her head was pounding. She felt groggy, and unrested, and utterly unwell.

"Ugghh." She groaned as she rolled over and buried her face in the duvet. It was almost tempting just to clear her day and stay in bed.

There was just one problem with this potential scenario. Hermione did not ever clear her day.

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It was a punishing day, too.

Her schedule of research, meetings, recruiting members, publicity and funds for her organization, and marking students' papers left her no time either for lunch or dinner. She subsisted on coffee all day long, and when she returned home past ten at night, she had to force herself to eat a few bites of some three-day-old take-out she scrounged from the fridge. She almost threw it up. She had no appetite whatsoever; if anything, she had counter-appetite. Her nose was actively running now, and her body ached. She took a long bath with her hair piled on top of her head, before pulling on two layers of flannel pajamas and collapsing into bed.

And of course…

Her hands were fisted in his coal-black hair as he suckled at her breasts, first one and then the other. Her head was thrown back, right off the edge of the bed, and her body was moving with wild abandon, in time to the rhythm of his fingers, two of which were thrusting in and out of her now as he rubbed and flicked with his thumb.

And this time- this time she was positive that the feeling that was building inside her was finally going to reach its breaking point… and oh God, how she wanted it… and it was coming- it was coming- it was… SHE was… cumming… oh… so… HARD…

It broke over her in rolling waves of sensation, her hips bucking against his hand, her back arching like a bow, and it was so good, it was GOOD in a way she'd never known good could be, and it was lasting and lasting, she was gasping, nearly sobbing with it, her voice not her own as she cried out in the throes of ecstasy, begging him not to stop, oh God this was what she'd been waiting for all this time, oh please-

Don't stop, oh please, Severus, don't-

"-stop! Severus, don't stop!"

She woke herself shouting out, and she was cumming in reality as well as in her dream, her fingers working furiously, and she couldn't stop herself, even as she tossed her head from side to side in a futile attempt at negating the situation she found herself in, even as she blushed scarlet with shame, she was still cumming, and hard.

It took several moments for her to come down; minor tremors, the aftershocks of an incredible orgasm, were still wracking her body a full five minutes later as she lay panting, staring up at the ceiling in shock, tears beginning to gather in the corners of her eyes.

"What… is… wrong… with…me?" she whispered between hitching, almost painful breaths. "I can't have him! I shouldn't want him! He was my teacher… my teacher! What is WRONG with me?" And she threw herself onto her stomach, and burrowed her face into her pillow, and cried.

Why did she only want what she couldn't have? It tore her up to come home to a dark, empty flat every night when all around her, her friends were getting engaged, getting married, starting families. And the only man in whom she'd ever felt more than a passing interest since she'd left her school days, and her whirlwind teenage affair with Quidditch superstar Viktor Krum, behind her was… was… her erstwhile teacher!

Severus Snape, former Potions Master and current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts; Severus Snape, unlikely war hero, whom Harry had watched kill Albus Dumbledore atop the school's highest tower, who'd been condemned and hated as a foul, black-hearted traitor until it had come to light, in the course of the epic final battle of Voldemort's second war, that he had been acting with great reluctance, and only upon Dumbledore's express orders; that he'd been loyal to the late headmaster and to the Order of the Phoenix all the time. Severus Snape, who, at great risk to his own life and limb, had betrayed Voldemort at the crucial moment in order to give Harry Potter the edge he needed to win the war.

Severus Snape, reinstated to his teaching position in the wake of the war and given the Order of Merlin to boot; her co-worker now, who nodded to her when they passed in the halls at Hogwarts; who had once pulled out her chair for her when she'd arrived late and frazzled for dinner in the Great Hall. Severus Snape, the dark figure at the end of the bar every time she and Padma met for their weekly rendezvous. Severus Snape, who was bound to attract her with his fierce intelligence and dedication to his work; dark, quiet, enigmatic, brooding. And old enough to be her father. Or, as Padma had it, worldly; experienced; mature.

Severus Snape, who'd once called her an insufferable little know-it-all, who would never, in a million years, return the interest of a silly little girl like her. Severus Snape whom she could never have; who would laugh her to scorn if he had any idea of her stupid, childish crush…

She pounded her pillow with her fists and howled in frustration.

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She felt no better that morning than she had the previous one. In fact, she felt worse. In addition to being stuffed up, headachy and unrested due to her vivid and… disturbing dreams, now she was puffy-eyed and exhausted from crying- she felt, in effect, worse than if she hadn't gone to bed at all.

Something had to be done.

As she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, she made a mental note to stop by a potions shop on the way to work and pick up a large dose of Dreamless Sleep potion.

The next few days blended one into another- a haze of snow and aching-cold weather; of breathing through her mouth because her nose was so consistently plugged. Of meetings, and research, and presentations; and teaching, and marking papers, and headaches; and late nights in the library, and Slytherin students who seemed to sense the weakness in her and gave her ten times more sass than normal.

If there was anything to be thankful for, she supposed, it was the semblance of normalcy that returned to her sleep. Even with the potion, her slumber was not entirely untroubled- she began starting awake two or three times in the night, heart thudding in her chest, positive that there had been a dream- a powerful dream- that had been just on the verge of ripping through the thin, false veneer of potion-induced peace. But she didn't wake any more with sticky fingers, or with frantically intense orgasms crashing over her, or with that name on the tip of her tongue.

And that, at least, was a relief.

Or so she told herself, so many times and with such vehemence that she even began to believe it.

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"Hermione, my God! You look awful!"

"Why thank you; it's nice to see you too," she said wearily, sinking into the booth across from Padma. She criss-crossed her arms on the worn laminate surface of the table and dropped her head onto them.

"Hermione, I'm serious. You shouldn't be here; you're ill."

"I'm not, I'm just tired," she insisted, raising her head, aware even as she spoke that the congested, nasal quality of her voice was giving her away.

"Bollocks," Padma said flatly. "How long have you been unwell? Last week you were fine."

"I- it's just- I've been having some trouble sleeping lately. I've been having these…" almost against her will, her eyes flicked to the end of the bar, seeking out the man among the shadows there, and her voice dropped to a raw whisper- "these dreams."

Padma looked from Hermione over to Snape, and then back again. Hermione could almost see her friend's sharp mind working furiously, and she knew immediately, with a sinking feeling deep in her stomach, that in her sorry state she'd gone and let her guard down, and had said too much. She knew it even before the slow grin spread across Padma's face.

"Hermione Granger," Padma said, leaning forward over the table and dropping her voice conspiratorially, "you've been having naughty dreams, haven't you? You bad girl! You've been having wet dreams- about him!"

"Oh God," Hermione choked, and raised her hands to cover her suddenly burning face.

"I knew it," Padma whispered gleefully, "I've known it for ages! You do fancy him right back! Look, why don't we ask him to join us right now? I'll just nip over and get him, won't be a minute-"

"NO!" Hermione's voice was strangled, but the desperation in it was unmistakable. "Padma, please- no. I'm just- I can't- not now. Please? I don't- I'm not- not up to it right now." (And I never will be, she added mentally)- but it would be enough of an accomplishment, for the moment, simply to get Padma off of this disastrous track. Invite him over, indeed! What on earth for? So her humiliation, bad enough now that Padma knew what she'd been dreaming about lately, could be made complete? So Padma could blurt out that she, Hermione, fancied him, and he could grace her with one of those singularly haughty looks- his trademark- as if she were something he'd just scraped off the bottom of his boot? How would she ever face him again after that! She wouldn't, that was the long and short of it- she wouldn't be able to bring herself to look at him ever again. She'd have to resign her teaching position! Merlin, it would be a catastrophe.

"All right," Padma was agreeing, with obvious reluctance, "all right, Hermione, but only because I can see you're not well. Next week, he's eating with us."

Next week you're eating alone, Hermione thought mutinously… but she didn't really mean it. She valued Padma's friendship, and she valued these dinners- even if she wasn't particularly hungry tonight. And she'd just bought herself a week's time- she'd figure something out. She would. Just not tonight. She was just so tired right now… Merlin, she was so tired.

"Thanks." Her exhaustion was showing plainly in her voice now; she was aware of it, and knew that Padma was too. "Listen, I think you're right… I shouldn't be here, I'm not… feeling great, and I'm not all that hungry. I'm sorry, Padma. I'll see you in a week?"

"You must be mental. As if I would send you out alone in the snow, in this state. We'll get some food to carry out- both of us- you probably haven't eaten anything in at least two days, I know you, Hermione- and we're taking it back to your flat, and eating there. And then I am personally putting you to bed. That's what you're going to agree to, in return for me not calling him over here right this minute." Her voice turned threatening; "I could still do it, you know. Maybe we ought to let him be the one to take you home and put you to bed-" (a meditative look came over Padma's face that terrified Hermione far more than the threatening tone she'd used a second ago-) "yes, in fact, that might be a better course of action altogether…"

"For God's sake, Padma, no! Can't you see that's the last thing I want?"

Padma shook her head sadly. "You're fighting the inevitable, Hermione. Or actually, no, it's worse than that. You're fighting what was meant to be… but it's not inevitable, not anymore. Your chance is slipping away and the person you're hurting most by letting it go is yourself."

Hermione was already on her feet.

Moments later, as Padma, laden with carry-out boxes, preceded her out of the diner's door, she couldn't help herself taking just one last glance over her shoulder; her eyes seeking out the man at the end of the bar.

He was looking straight back at her, his own eyes as dark and hooded and inscrutable as ever.