14.

Salazar's Rooms - The Chamber of Secrets - October 1997

Bliss.

Utter, utter bliss.

Hermione gave up her breath to the sureness of his mouth and sank against him as his long fingers threaded through the heavy mass of her hair.

Right… All of it. Him This. Everything.

The brush of mouth, the firm curve of his lips, the press of him against her. Gods…gods. An opening lock, that's what this was. So much more than the tease of lips, the warmth of his breath, the hint of his tongue tasting her.

Severus groaned and the delicious sound rumbled through her. And it twisted the ache for him so much tighter in her belly.

"Severus…" Hermione fisted his coat, those infamous jet-carved buttons a wanted bite to her palm. Her other hand found his neck and she tunnelled her fingers through his hair. Silken. Thick. Not what she was expecting. What—

But then he deepened the kiss, his tongue finding hers. He tasted…sweet and dark and hot and—oh gods—his hand was on her arse and urging her— His high between hers, hard and right and sparking white-hot joy. Oh —oh fuck, he was going to make her come, just from, just from…

"Gods, girl…"

He eased back and his forehead rested against her. Hermione mewled and rolled her hips against the solid muscle of his thigh, desperate to find that spark of magic again. "Please, Severus…"

"It would be so simple. So easy to…" He growled —a hot ripple of sound that chased after the fading promise of her release— and his thumb again traced a slow line over her bottom lip. His dark eyes were warm. Beautiful. And Hermione fired with the urge to kiss him again —sleep be damned!— and to go right on kissing him through the night.

Severus' lips quirked upwards. "Quite…insatiable aren't we, Miss Granger?"

Fresh heat flooded her, a quick rush that raced and churned through her flesh, curling around that illicit and unsatisfied need still throbbing low in her belly. His voice. Gods and Merlin and all his little demon friends. His voice was sin and promise. "I…"

The warmth in his eyes deepened. "I am…aware of your inexperience, Hermione." His strong arms wrapped around her and she drew strength from him as she pressed against the length of his body, as she breathed him in. Green herbs and parchment and the sweet, dark hints of vanilla. "Your esteemed ancestor —from his portrait— has griped around Mr Weasley's…heavy handedness."

Hermione sank a mortified groan into his chest. "Am I never to have any secrets ever again?"

Severus's soft laughter rumbled through his chest. "Salazar is proud of you. Immensely proud. And protective. And he has waited a thousand years for you…"

"Now you're laying on the guilt."

"That I am." He let out a long sigh. "You are everything to him and I will honour that."

She huffed. "I had to hurl myself at an honourable wizard."

"You did, indeed."

"And it's serious?"

Hermione eased back from him to meet his dark gaze. Perhaps…perhaps, they were rushing it? Had he felt the strange fall of tumblers as the rightness of being with him in this way simply…dropped into place? It wasn't logical. Or even sane. But then neither was it even believable that she was now the right hand of Salazar Slytherin and set to do his long-neglected work in the wizarding world. "You're…sure, Severus?"

His large hand cupped her cheek and she pushed into the heat of it, her lips pushing the heel of his palm. "Look at me."

She blinked. For a moment, a haze of magic flowed around his face and there, under it…

"Severus…?"

A glamour. Severus Snape existed under yet another mask. He…he wasn't handsome and his nose was still a little too large, but there was a smoothness, a symmetry that Professor Snape had never shown. And his hair, straight, shining and full, ended in a curl against his shoulders. The hair she'd felt. His lips quirked upwards in the twitch of a self-conscious smile and the hint of white teeth made her blink again. Why…why had he hidden a perfectly good face under a foul mask?

Something hot and hard tightened in her chest. She bit out one word. "Dumbledore."

"A teaching glamour. I wasn't much older than the students I taught, but…"

"It made you the object of ridicule. And he didn't let you fade it down over time, did he?" She gritted her teeth. For some reason, Albus Dumbledore had been scheming against Severus Snape for a very long time.

Dumbledore had crushed this wizard, wilfully. Deliberately. And she would find out why. Then set his portrait on fire. It was the very least he deserved.

"I must…"

But those were questions for later and magic swirled again. Yes, he still had to maintain the illusion, of being the evil Death Eater and have a face that fit his supposed foulness.

Not that she cared. Hermione stretched up onto her toes and plucked a soft kiss from his lips. "I fell for this face first."

Severus' eyes closed and he drew in a long breath. He shook his head. "We're moving along strange paths."

"Good paths?"

His dark gaze fixed on her again, and a hot wickedness lurked there. His mouth ghosted hers, a hint of heat, of the smoothness of his lips, the very tip of his tongue teasing her upper lip. "Very good paths, I promise you."

A needy moan broke from her and yet more mortification swept through her. "You are evil, Severus Snape."

"Yes, yes I am." He drew back and took her hand. His mouth brushed her knuckles, the hint again of his wicked, wicked tongue there against her skin. He smirked at her, his gold-heavy eyes sparking with devilment. "Good night…Hermione."

Her name was a sin-filled rumble and quite distracted her. "Yes, it has been, hasn't it?"

And with that vagueness and Severus' following chuckle, she floated off to bed.