Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 19: A Glimpse of What Could Be, or Intermission

This was Snape's home?

This outside was shabby and the hedges were overgrown, though not quite as much as the other residences on the street. Probably thanks to a bit of magic. The siding was a dingy grey so dark Hermione had first mistaken it for black. The whole neighborhood was equally as rundown with an air of abandonment hovering over it like an oppressive thundercloud.

She couldn't imagine growing up in such a place. Then again, she'd been rather fortunate having parents as well off as hers were.

Hardly any of the inside registered when Snape opened the door and escorted her in. Bookcases. That was it. They were everywhere, stretching floor to ceiling and surrounding the room almost entirely. Only one small arch opened into another room in the distance. There was a fireplace too. A sofa and two overstuffed armchairs, though none of it screamed visitors were welcome. In fact, she had the impression he rarely, if ever, entertained.

She took in all of those details in the back of her mind, almost absently. Largely because Snape stood directly in front of her making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

Snape's hand shook slightly when he reached towards her, bringing his hand up as though to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear or cup her cheek. Yet he did neither, letting his arm fall limply back to his side instead, his hand balling into a fist tight enough to make the tendons stand out in stark contrast as his knuckles were bleached of all color.

"I won't break," Hermione breathed, restraining herself from simply launching herself forward and into his arms. It almost seemed like an invisible barrier separated them, and only Snape had the power to cross it.

"You've been crying," he commented, voice carefully neutral.

"The funeral was yesterday, and today I remembered I wasn't going to…"

"Your parents," he surmised.

"Yes," she agreed gravely, ducking her head to hide the evidence of the fresh tears welling up in her eyes. Holding them back burned, but she refused to cry again. The last several days had been spent doing little else. At least she had Dumbledore's death as a legitimate excuse to explain away her emotional state. The boys hadn't thought twice about her puffy eyes and waterworks.

"Have the bruises healed?" Snape asked stiffly, shifting and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes. The salve helped speed things along. Thank you." Since when were they so formal with one another?

"I felt it. He was, and I…," Snape began, fading off as a pained look pinched his features.

"Hey. No, Severus, look at me," she insisted, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet her penetrating gaze, "there was no way you could have known Crabbe would try something so insane. You are not to blame."

"I left you in a defenseless state."

"It was the best option at the time."

"You are so lucky the Dark Lord was otherwise occupied," he breathed, shaking his head despite her hold. "When I think about what he would have done had he learned of you there…."

"But he didn't," Hermione reminded him boldly, that knowledge giving her strength. It proved the monster wasn't as all-powerful as he liked to believe or convince others of.

Snape's arms uncrossed, but still he hesitated to touch her.

"I won't break," Hermione repeated, desiring any intimacy he was willing to bestow on her.

"My mother never liked being touched after my father would…take her unwillingly. She would flinch and cower into herself. I don't wish to do that to you. I can't stand to see you like that," Snape admitted frankly.

She hadn't even considered not wishing to be touched after what had happened. Should it repulse her? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that the idea of him doing the touching didn't. But hadn't she skipped hugging the boys as she usually did at King's Cross Station that afternoon? She'd thought it was simply because she was in such a hurry to see Snape. But had it been more? Something subconscious possibly.

Perhaps. But Snape was in a category all his own. And Hermione understood on a fundamental level that he'd never deliberately hurt her and that she was safe with him physically. Maybe that made all the difference.

Hermione was positive Snape saw her desire written plainly across her face, and knew how much she was craving him, but still he hesitated.

"But it's something more than that," she guessed, not having missed the dark shadow that crept over him.

He glanced at his hands then clenched them into fists.

"I killed him," he stated baldly. "I killed Albus. He was as defenseless as you, and I killed him."

Sympathy washed over her. Hermione could only begin to imagine all that he was experiencing. The self-recriminations. The guilt. The uncertainty. The resentment. And probably a whole slew of other emotions she couldn't yet guess at.

"You did as he asked. It wasn't a betrayal," she tried, studying his face.

"I know that," he snapped, tension tightening the lines bracketing his mouth even as his lips thinned and he fired obsidian blades from his eyes at her.

She ignored the sting his response gave her, knowing how close to the edge he was and how he'd not meant to lash out at her. One day they'd get around to discussing his temper and habit of taking it out on her, but not right then.

Reaching out to clasp his hands, Hermione frowned when he shifted farther back, away from her. Snape was little more than a wild animal. One that had suffered years of abuse, and struck out at anyone close, unable to distinguish friend from foe.

"Severus?" Hermione breathed, inching closer.

"You shouldn't want to touch me," he said gutturally, the words dragged through broken glass until they were little more than a torn and mangled mess.

"Why ever not? I want to be here for you. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to do what you had to do," Hermione argued.

"Understatement. I'm a murderer now. And you are –"

"Don't call me innocent. It's been some time since I could say that," Hermione insisted, huffing impatiently.

"My fault as well," Snape murmured, closing his eyes and sighing loudly.

"Actually, I was referring to the fact You-Know-Who has been hunting my best friend for the last six years. The fact that one of my schoolmates was killed during a school tournament. That I saw my mum killed while we were Christmas shopping. Not our marriage," Hermione said bluntly, making her annoyance with his martyrdom obvious. There were times he reminded her so much of Harry, and not in a good way.

Snape's face was still unreadable, but at least now he was meeting her gaze head on.

"You're still a worthy and honorable man. You won't…sully me by touching me. Whatever imagined blood you believe to stain your hands won't rub off on me – no more than my Muggle blood will dirty you," she insisted, finding it an apt comparison.

"There is nothing wrong with your heritage," he growled aggressively, finally reacting in a way that was familiar to her, "but the things I've done…"

"Let me help you, Severus," she said pleadingly. When he only watched her, she added, "Because honestly…I think it will help both of us."

A derisive snort escaped him at that.

"It will," she insisted stubbornly, refusing to be deterred. "I need you. I need to feel you to help me forget what Crabbe tried to do. Please, Sev."

His eyes snapped up at the use of the nickname, and he looked utterly thrown. Hermione wasn't sure why. Hadn't anyone else ever thought to shorten his name like that? She'd never been one for nicknames, but it suited him. Softened him somehow. Made it easier for her to take a step forward and initiate things now.

Reaching out, she caught his hand and pressed it flat to her chest, precisely over the spot Crabbe had bit her the deepest. The only place that hadn't completely healed yet. It hurt a little, the spot still tender, but the sting grounded her, rooting her in the moment. She was there, with Snape. Not back in that room, bound and incapable of stopping Crabbe.

"I trust you not to ever hurt me," she coaxed, sensing he was close to caving.

"You're so strong," he praised, shocking her. He was never one to dole out compliments, and that was one of the highest he could have possibly given her, second only to calling her brilliant. One of these days he'd do that as well. She was certain her intelligence would someday impress him.

Snape's hand glided up to cup the back of her head as he continued staring at her in awe. The feel of his rough hand, calloused after so many years of stirring countless cauldrons, left her feeling cherished and safe. A far cry from her encounter with Crabbe. This relationship was give and take when it came to their physical encounters, and right now Snape appeared willing to give her whatever she wished to take.

"Kiss me," she commanded, granting permission so that there would be no mistaking her willingness and desire.

His mouth fastened on her's in an instant, their lips lining up seamlessly. He consumed her, devouring her passionately. Her need for him racketed up with a speed that alarmed her. She was on a racetrack careening out of control, yet found the experience to be nothing short of exhilarating.

Hastily, Hermione unbuttoned her pants and shoved them down, unwilling to break the contact just yet to tug her shirt over her head. Then she set about removing Snape's clothes, getting them off in record time. Particularly since he wasn't helping her. No. Snape was doing nothing more than cradling her head, fingers carded through her hair as he savored her mouth, plunging his tongue in over and over to caress hers.

Once Snape was completely undressed he stepped back. Hermione followed, maintaining their kiss until he sat down in the dark armchair she'd noted earlier, placing his hands palm down on the armrests. Hermione yanked her shirt and bra off, leaving her as naked as he was, and moved to straddle him.

The hungry look Snape fixed on her drove Hermione to reach for his erection. Her fist enclosed the rigid rod, amazed as always at how hot he was and how smooth the skin was. Hermione stroked him, up and down, pumping him from root to tip. Watching, Hermione saw a bloom of pink fill his cheeks and his breathing quicken, his chest rising and falling shallowly. When she ran the bulbous head of his cock through her slit, deliberately guiding it in a circle against her clit, his eyes rolled back in his head, and a strangled moan escaped him.

He was allowing her total control, his body hers to use as she pleased. It was a rush. Particularly when he groaned, "Hermione," as she sank onto his length, taking it in fully in a single motion. She welcomed the abrupt stretching.

She was so wet and ready for him that her body gloved him and weeped in joy at their joining. It had been too long.

"Put your hands on me," she begged, straining to push her chest forward more, offering her breasts for him to relish as he typically did.

Strong fingers bracketed her waist, sliding around and up her back to press her shoulders, urging her forward until she compiled and kissed him again, nipping his bottom lip.

"My breasts. Play with my nipples, Severus," she breathed into his mouth, following her words with a swipe of her tongue across the spot she'd abused.

"Like this?" he asked huskily, lightly tweaking her nipple. His touch was feather light, barely registering as little more than a tease.

"A little harder," she insisted. "I won't break. You know how to make me feel good. Do it."

The tips of his fingers ghosted across the sensitive undersides of the swells. It was more ticklish than anything, and made her squirm in his lap, grinding her clit against his abdomen.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, one part bliss, one part humor, and one part agony. His reaction was intriguing enough that she wiggled again, appreciating the, "Ahg," he gasped when her inner walls clenched around him as she did. "Witch," he accused, nudging her neck with his nose.

"Severus," she said warningly, demanding he do what she wanted.

Finally, finally, he complied, palming her breasts fully and massaging them with a finess she'd never again take for granted.

Hermione rose up on her knees in gratitude until only his tip remained inside of her, before dropping back down and taking him in all the way to the hilt. "Oh!"

"Please do that again," Snape requested, harsh breathes panted against the column of her throat as he pressed a string of kisses down its length.

Happy to comply, Hermione did so again, once, then twice, before the urge to ride him in earnest took over. She set a steady pace, gasping every time his length stroked against a sensitive spot inside her and moaning when her clit ground against his pelvis.

"Put your mouth there," she pleaded, leaning back and bracing her hands on his knees to give him better access.

"What an enticing view," he breathed, scorching her with his liquid gaze as he took in her new position.

"Please. Please, Sev," she begged, appreciating his shutter at her entreaty.

Snape listened, needing no further encouragement, though he did linger on the last remaining bruise, lapping at it gently with the pad of his tongue as though to sooth it. His hands ran all over her body, worshiping her, as he allowed her to use him. Hermione rocked her hips, chasing the bliss.

"I'm close," she announced.

"Good. I want to feel you explode around me, feel you clench me so hard I don't think your body will ever release me," Snape answered, the words raw and seductive enough to send her careening over the edge and doing exactly as he wished. "Yes," he growled, filling her with a rush of warmth and clutching her tightly against him.

Afterwards, Hermione curled up on his lap, content to laze there in a boneless heap. He'd pulled a throw off the back of the chair and draped it over them while his fingers idly stroked her side where his arm was looped around her waist. Her head rested on his shoulder, her whole body relaxed and satiated.

There was no other way to put it – they were cuddling.

"I can guarantee us two days of privacy here, and no more. After that you will need to go to the Burrow. No where else is safe," he informed her quietly, breaking the temporary spell that had fallen over them.

For just a moment, she'd forgotten all about the war, and Voldemort, and their respective parts. They'd simply been a couple enjoying time with one another.

"Does that include today?" she asked cautiously, afraid to hope for more time with him. She should just be grateful he wanted her with him at all during this momentary lull.

"Yes," he sighed, giving her hip a brief squeeze. "What will you tell your friends?"

"I'll tell Harry and Ron what I did to my father, but I'll tell them I did it to both of my parents," Hermione decided, sounding resolute and sure even to her own ears.

She'd thought it over on the train ride home, and determined that it was time to at least be a little bit honest with her mates. They deserved her trust, and with everything else going on, she thought they'd understand. Though mostly, she felt things had finally reached a point that Harry might feel more relief at believing they were safe, than guilt that she'd been put in the position in the first place.

"And you will be with both of them next year? I expect the Ministry to fall before too long, you will each have a target on your backs," Snape warned, poorly concealed concern peaking out like rays of sunlight on a partly cloudy day.

His worry reminded her of the danger they were in, the pair of them more than most. He was already spying, but she'd agreed to do so as well. She'd need to keep him updated on their whereabouts. Something to think about for later. The coin might work, but there should probably be another way too – just in case one of the boys found it and saw that she'd shared vital details with someone unknown. Of course she'd also prepared a little something for him that might work, but she wasn't sure how frequently he'd check it.

"I'll be with Harry until the end," Hermione confirmed, figuring that'd reassure him that he'd have the information he needed whenever it was needed.

"How fortunate for Potter," Snape drawled, using a tone she'd not heard in a very long time. In fact, it was one she usually heard him reserve for Harry or Lupin directly.

Why? He couldn't be…he wasn't….

Was he jealous of Harry?

"Severus…," Hermione began carefully, knowing it would be a sensitive topic, and that he'd not appreciate hearing her conclusions. No doubt, if Hermione asked him outright, he'd be defensive and lash out at her for daring to suggest such a thing. Despite that, she plowed on, reminding him, "He's my best mate, closer to me than a brother."

"I did not ask," Snape said crisply, every muscle in his body tensing noticeably against her.

"No, but it seems like you are –" Hermione cut herself off before accusing him of being jealous, knowing he'd probably kick her out early if she dared. Instead, she settled for saying, "- implying Harry is using me."

She felt as some of the tension drained from him, and relaxed slightly herself as his stilled fingers returned to tracing idly over the crease of her hip.

"We both know he'd not be alive today if not for you," Snape said confidently, welcoming the opening she'd given since it meant putting Harry down.

"I can say the same. It goes both ways," she informed him, pursing her lips in disapproval. His hatred of Harry was completely irrational.

"You will be spending a great deal of time alone with him," Snape said bitingly, finally acknowledging what they both knew his real issue was.

"He's like a brother to me," Hermione said softly, resting her hand low on his chest. His abdominal muscles fluttered, flexing briefly before relaxing again. It was an intimate caress, partly because she could, but also a reminder that her relationship with him was significantly different. "I've never thought of him as anything else. Never. Nor does he consider me in any other light."

"Your feelings are your business," Snape said, shifting his gaze away. Walls were closing in around him. The doors that had previously been thrown wide were suddenly locked, with her trapped on the outside.

One step forward, two steps back. That was the name of the game where they were concerned. He could only allow himself to be so vulnerable to her.

Guess now wasn't the time to ask about the prophecy and his role in it either.

She'd almost forgotten all about it. Then his attitude towards Harry had reminded her. Perhaps that conversation could wait until just before she left.

Procrastinating much? Yes. Yes, she was. But considering her time with Snape was going to be precious little in the coming months, she didn't want to potentially spoil what little they had.

"Of course," she murmured, letting the topic drop.

"Did Filius give you any trouble?"

It took Hermione a second to recall that Filius was Professor Flitwick's first name. When she did, she immediately knew what he was referring to. "No. Not exactly. He asked if I needed to see Madam Pomfrey once breakfast was over the morning after the fight. I pretended I didn't understand, and he left it at that."

"So he believes I took advantage of you. Wonderful," he grumbled, scowling mutinously.

"It will reinforce your reputation as an evil Death Eater," she said mockingly, hoping to make light of it.

"As if I need any help with that at this point."

"I don't know about that. Personally, I think your intimidation factor has diminished significantly recently," Hermione said honestly.

"That is because you know me better than anyone else in the world," Snape said quietly, his eyes closing as he made his confession.

"I see past all of the bravado and show you like to put on," she allowed, scraping her nails gently down his sternum.

"You see more than you should," he quipped, though a line crinkled in his forehead before disappearing.

"Only because you let me," she replied, grateful that he did.

"Hmm. I suppose that is true," he said almost grudgingly. "Are you hungry? I can make us something," he asked, shifting her slight frame as he made to get up, their moment of intimacy at an end.

"You cook?" she asked, startled despite herself.

When had he learned? He'd grown up at Hogwarts, then almost immediately begun his teaching career, so house-elves had been preparing his food for the majority of his life, and probably his parents before that. Though maybe they'd not…

"You don't?" he asked, snorting and shaking his head at her.

"No," she said decisively.

That earned her a soft chuckle as he fully extracted himself from the chair. "I'm sure Mr. Weasley will have a few thoughts about that next year," he added, pausing by a bookcase to study a row of book spines.

The humor in his words caused her to suddenly realize he wasn't jealous of Ron. Not in the least. And that was despite Ron being the one everyone knew she fancied for the last few years. Snape must have already known it wouldn't go anywhere.

Why was she so focused on if he was jealous? Was she jealous of the mystery woman who had hurt him?

No.

But perhaps she could admit to being a bit disappointed that he didn't believe himself capable of giving Hermione more of himself. Except…well…he had. The last few months things between them had undeniably deepened. He'd done it consciously, and even just acknowledged it aloud.

"Here," he said, abruptly tossing her a book about edible fungi. A gleam of amusement morphed his usually harsh features as he joked, "Guess you will be relying on this then."

"Funny, Sev. Real funny," she accused, watching his bare bum as he strode unabashed from the room.

Hermione heard him moving about in the kitchen, and figured this might be her only chance to explore the vast collection of books that filled the room. If his cooking was anything like Mrs. Weasley's, he'd be in there at least an hour.

Wrapping the throw around her shoulders, she wandered from bookcase to bookcase. The topics were precisely what she expected to find – more books on Potions, Defense, Magical theory, and the Dark Arts – precisely what he had in his rooms at Hogwarts.

There was one though, already out and on the table beside the chair they'd recently occupied. It was old. Older than most of the books at Hogwarts, and so worn that magic wasn't even capable of holding it together anymore. The spine was cracked into multiple pieces, and the broken sections were merely resting on one another. It must have been a first edition.

Opening the cover, Hermione found a handwritten note.

For your help last night. I believe you will find page 467 enlightening. Or perhaps not.

Draco

Curious, Hermione turned quickly to the page mentioned. The handwritten text was Middle English, but she understood it perfectly. It was about the Repetita Cupiditatem spell. Probably, this was where Lucius Malfoy had first come across it.

Scanning the text, it soon became apparent that this was the origin of the spell. Everything. So much more about the theory and intentions than Snape had been able to locate in the other books he'd acquired. Everything someone skilled in spell development would need to create an effective counterspell.

So why hadn't Snape mentioned it to her?

The sound of his smooth tread filled the air as he approached, so Hermione hastily closed the book and pretended not to have seen it when he came into view, focusing on digging her trunk out of her discarded robes and enlarging it instead.

"I think I'll keep this. Just in case," she said, holding up the book on fungi he'd given her before she tucked it inside. He chuckled again, lips turned up in one of his rare, genuine smiles.

"Dinner is ready," he informed her casually, as though they were an ordinary domestic couple. It felt nice to pretend, even if she knew it wouldn't last.

"Thanks," she said, reaching up to cup the back of his neck and haul him down for a kiss. He went easily, holding her close and returning the kiss until she was dizzy with the need to breathe.

"Severus, while I'm here…I know we've found a way around the spell with the potion…," she said tentatively, noticing when his eyes flickered towards the book she'd just discovered. He didn't say a word about it though, so she continued, "but…well, what I mean to ask is, while I'm here, can we be together?"

"Together?" he asked cautiously, an edge of warning sharpening the word.

"Sexually," Hermione clarified, feeling warmth churning low in her center. It'd begun the second she realized Snape hadn't immediately jumped on the chance to rid himself of her.

"What do you think we did earlier?" he drawled lazily, a predator toying with its prey.

"I meant again," Hermione said, struggling to keep her voice steady and even. If she had her way, she'd be too sore to even walk by the time she left here.

"Oh?" he inquired, stepping into her personal space, and making her crane her neck to look up at him. He was a lazy lion, deceptively fooling his prey into believing he was too mellow to bother with it just before pouncing.

The musky aroma of his natural sandalwood scent mingled with their arousal from earlier, and she had the sudden urge to run her tongue all over him and lick him up.

"I want you again. Now," she admitted, dropping the throw blanket.

She was an offering, and judging from the heat in his gaze, he liked what he saw.

"Dinner will get cold," he said calmly, though he made no move to retreat. Probably, he just liked teasing her.

Running his fingertips softly up her side, he paused with his hand spanning the bottom of her ribcage.

"So use a Stasis Charm," she stated tartly, a challenge and an invitation rolled into one.

"Did I not satisfy you well enough?" he practically purred, gliding his hand back down and over to grip her wrist.

"Only one way to be sure."

Snape had her other wrist in an instant, backing her up against the side of the bookcase and pinning her there with her hands over her head as he kissed her. It was rough and passionate, a clashing of wills and a freeing of weeks worth of pent up desire.

They didn't have class to get to or students to avoid. There was no need to be quiet or careful. There weren't curfews or patrolling responsibilities. There was nothing to interrupt or distract them.

Hermione didn't even notice when he released his hold on her. At least not until he caught hold of the back of her thighs and lifted her up. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Hermione braced herself on his shoulders just in time for him to position himself and impale her.

There was no resistance, despite the lack of foreplay. She was always ready for him, her body silently begging to be filled by him anytime he was close.

Snape bucked into her fast and hard, one hand managing to catch both of hers again to pin them above her head. The sound of books cascading to the floor made her think, 'If only everyone could see the bookworm now.' The stray thought made her laugh, and she smothered her giggles against his neck.

Her laughter didn't last long.

"You find this amusing?" Snape grunted, driving into her so forcefully that her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Ugh!" she cried out, gasping, and raspily answered, "I won't if you keep doing that."

"Yes," he agreed, bucking into her in a frenzy.

Hermione nibbled on his ear, making him jerk and strain into her. Their coupling was quick and rough, each finding release in no time at all.

His whole body pressed against her, sweat slicked and sticky, keeping her in place. Hermione secretly liked the sheen of perspiration, considering its source. She was also grateful that he'd let her take charge earlier, having needed it after Crabbe, but she definitely preferred this. Preferred when he seemed out-of-control with need for her. Preferred when he played her body like a master pianist composing a moving symphony.

By the time they made it into the kitchen, each having taken a few moments to freshen up and at least partially dress, dinner needed to be reheated. Apparently, they'd been too caught up earlier to actually use a Statis Charm.

Hermione could barely keep the smile off of her face as they ate. Content, well, more like blissed out, so that her whole body was feeling like she was floating on a cloud and utterly relaxed. At one point, Snape even chuckled at her for her obvious enjoyment of their interactions thus far.

"This is really good," she commented, taking another bite of the lemon and herb chicken he'd fixed for them.

"Cooking is no different from brewing potions. A delicate combination of ingredients to produce the desired result. Though even a novice can produce something passable simply by following instructions – a feat you've more than proven yourself capable of doing. That's why I'm surprised you can't," Snape taunted drolly.

"Of course I can follow a recipe," Hermione huffed, planting her hands on her hips and pinning him with a disapproving frown. "I refuse on principle. I hate the idea that my place should be in the kitchen merely because I'm a girl."

"And if you prepare a meal with the person you are sharing it with? Is that also demeaning and a declaration of your place because of preconceived gender roles?"

The question was both a challenge to her way of thinking and a true inquiry. She thought it over and imagined herself working in the kitchen alongside Snape. It'd probably go much like their potion making had, though possibly with a bit more playfulness considering they were experimenting with a spell that could have disastrous results. She could actually imagine him smiling and laughing with her as they worked, strange as it sounded.

"I suppose not," she finally answered, giving him a half smile.

"Then I look forward to your help at breakfast," he said smoothly, returning her smile. She sensed that he was looking forward to it as much as she was, which gave her pause.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I should be studying for an exam?"

"After hearing your thoughts on the subject, I am very curious to see how dismal your efforts will be," he admitted, taking a bite of his meal and making a show of relishing it, making it clear he expected whatever she made to fall far short.

"You plan on mocking me." Probably, he was already stocking up on cutting remarks he could use.

"Only if your attempt is inedible," he said frankly.

"It won't be!" Hermione huffed. "I don't fail."

"No, you succeed at everything you do," he stated, infusing a quartz hard vein of honesty in the words. Watching her glow with pride, he shook his head, ruining the words by adding, "Don't look so pleased with yourself, Granger. I was merely stating a fact."

Hiding her amusement, she asked, "This was your childhood home?"

"It was," he confirmed.

"Were there many children your age around? It didn't appear very populated," she ventured.

He looked so guarded as he answered, "There were two."

"That must have been nice. Not being totally alone, I mean. I didn't really get on well with others my age before Hogwarts," she continued.

"I don't imagine you did," he said flatly.

Despite the way he made it clear he didn't wish to continue the idle chitchat, Hermione continued, asking, "Was it difficult hiding the fact you were a wizard?"

"I didn't."

"Oh?" she gasped, surprised. It had been made abundantly clear to her since first learning she was a witch that secrecy from Muggles was paramount. "Are you still friends then?"

"No."

The clipped abruptness, edged sharply in flinty steel, made it clear she was treading on dangerous ground, and he would not entertain this line of conversation further. So instead, she remarked, "Smart to keep it, considering you spend most of your time at Hogwarts." Part of her knew it was pointless though. He simply wasn't willing to share more of his childhood with her right then.

"It isn't worth much, but after the war you should be able to sell it and decide where you'd like to settle," he said offhandedly, ignoring the glare she gave him for referencing what he expected to happen. She had no desire to darken the limited time they had together.

"Were the bookshelves your idea?"

"Why am I not surprised that they are your favorite part of this place?" he asked, laughing outright.

"Because I'm predictable," she said teasingly, but also not. She wasn't exciting or mysterious – the traits Lavender and Parvati were always saying interested a wizard.

"Only in your love of literature," he promised, waving his wand and sending their empty dishes to the sink where they began cleaning themselves. Hermione studied him, wondering at the tenderness she detected behind the statement, but before she could ask, he elaborated, saying, "I highly doubt anyone else would dare argue with me as you do. I must admit it still catches me off guard when you verbally disagree with me."

"Someone needs to keep you on your toes," Hermione said, feeling smug that she could hold her own with him, and that he recognized it.

"Yes," he said, heat filling his gaze. She could feel it stroking over her sensually. A velvet touch sliding between her legs. Her breath caught in anticipation. Nothing was hidden or concealed. He wanted her, and wanted her to know it. "The bedroom is upstairs. Would you like to see it?"

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded. Her body still felt tender from the two rounds so close together they'd already engaged in, but she did not want to pass up the offer.

"Yes," she breathed, accepting the hand he held out to her. She'd follow him anywhere if he kept looking at her like that. The promise of decadent pleasure a surety.

When he shifted a bookcase aside to reveal a hidden staircase, she had to bite back her questions, not wanting to slow their ascent to his room. And when they reached the equally dark room, in line with the theme of the rest of the house, it really was like entering the devil's lair.

Facilis descensus averno.