Chapter 27

After dropping her book in tiredness for the third time, Hermione finally capitulated, and reached across to the bedside cabinet to switch off the lamp there. She was in her parents' room, preferring their large bed to her own, a childish single, and had spent the day clearing the master bedroom of their few remaining possessions, for they had taken most of their things to Australia with them.

She'd purchased fresh bedlinens on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley the previous day, preferring the subtle magic imbued in the very threads, to anything she might find in a Muggle department store. Today she had moved all her own belongings into the room, putting her own stamp on things. Hopefully it would not be too long before the house was sold, but until then, and certainly for the duration of the Christmas holidays, Hermione wanted the bedroom to be her own, rather than feeling like a small child who had snuck into her parents' room without their knowledge.

There was a bunch of hand-tied herbs and wildflowers that she had bought from the apothecary, preferring the natural scents to the over-perfumed, farmed blooms in the local florist shop. The smells reminded her of the Hogwarts grounds, and the Potions classroom.

She closed her eyes against the dark, and wrapped the duvet tightly around herself, in an attempt to provide the physical comfort that she was missing so desperately. There was no denying it, she had become obsessed with her professor – desperate for the private times they spent together, needing the heady rush that occurred when her blood pumped faster through her veins, the way her mind span when he looked at her in that particular way – as if he wanted to devour her whole. To be the subject of such fulsome desire was intoxicating, and Hermione could not get enough of it.

This was probably why the Sorting Hat had placed her Gryffindor, all those years ago. Hermione knew that she had an obsessive personality, and when she did something, whatever it might be, from studying to sex, she undertook it with her entire heart and soul.

It was pointless to try and fathom her attraction to the dark wizard, and she had certainly tried to do exactly that, on many occasions over the preceding months. Despite his many obvious flaws, the fact remained that she could not get enough of his touch, of his surprisingly passionate kisses, of the way his delicious voice would drip filth into her ear as he made love to her, and of the sheer joy of just being alive that she felt, when she was with Severus Snape.

He had told her, sharply, that he could not see them together outside of the cloistered environs of the castle walls, and it was a sad statement that was probably true. What had she been thinking, that they would waltz out together and be accepted by all and sundry as a couple? The professor and his student? Of course not. She would be better to accept his words, that they were purely meeting a mutual need, and that their interactions would cease once she completed her course of NEWT study and left the school.

Hermione had never dreaded the final exams so much in her life.

-xxx-

However late at night it was, and however tired she had felt whilst reading her book; now that the room was dark, and she had signalled to her body that it was time to sleep, Hermione found that blissful oblivion would not come. The reason was undoubtedly because she had not been particularly active today, preferring to mooch around the house, doing a little sorting out of the bedrooms, but not much else, and now had a surfeit of excess energy.

The previous day had been much busier, for she had met up with Harry and Ginny in Diagon Alley, and spent many hours walking the cobbles, going in and out of the shops that were doing a brisk Christmas trade. They had met Mr and Mrs Weasley for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, and both had expressed their regret at Hermione not being at the Burrow for Christmas, in the absence of her parents, and tried to persuade her to come.

"Dear, it is my house, and I shall invite whomever ever I wish to stay there, whatever my youngest son might think!" Molly had insisted. "We consider you and Harry our family, and whilst I'm ever so sad that you and Ronald are not together, it shouldn't stop you being around each other, surely?"

Hermione guessed that Ron had not been entirely honest about what he'd proposed in the Three Broomsticks, on her birthday. She doubted that he'd gone home to his parents and admitted that he'd booked a room so that they could get up close and personal in private, and then had a tantrum when she'd taken offence and refused.

But, they were his parents and therefore that was his choice. She had no business trying to come between a mother and son, and she wished Ron no ill will – despite being a little pissed off with his attitude, he and Harry were still her best friends in the world.

If she was honest, the idea of two weeks surrounded by Weasleys what not actually what she wanted right now. Hermione loved them all, but the solitude that her family home promised was far more appealing at present.

Managing to lose Ginny in Twilfitt and Tatting's, Hermione had snuck away to the wizard's personal clothing section and had purchased a black silk dressing gown for her professor, since the one he liked to wear at rest in his chambers had clearly seen better days; and was old and worn in parts. She had it wrapped in a plain gift box, before secreting it in her beaded bag, the extension charm swallowing it up, away from prying eyes. She didn't fancy explaining that to the notoriously nosey Ginny Weasley.

Not that she'd get the chance to give it to him, Hermione thought, crossly, turning her pillow over for the fifth time and struggling to get comfortable. She tried to allow her eyelids to droop closed, but they sprung wide open again at the sound of a quiet knock on the front door.

Her stomach lurched, partly with fear, but mostly with excitement. The sensible side of her should be frightened that there was an unexpected visitor at her door in the middle of the night, but her wild side was already hoping against hope that it might be … just might be … him, having changed his mind.

She was out of bed and halfway down the stairs before the cold December night had even registered, not having stopped for a dressing gown or slippers; and had reached the bottom before realising that turning on a light could also have been a good idea. She didn't care, though. That familiar shot of adrenaline was pushing her forwards.

Bloody stupid Gryffindor, she berated herself.

As she walked down the short, narrow hallway to the front door, the quiet but insistent knocking sounded again. Through the small pane of glass in the door, Hermione could see the shape of a tall person, shrouded in the darkest black.

He was here.

Swallowing her excitement in a single, rather painful gulp, she fumbled with the lock and latch before pulling open the door wide.

Professor Snape stood on the doorstep, his expression unreadable, his wand drawn in his right hand, but held low. He was illuminated by the light of the clear moon.

"You do not perform any check as to who is at the door before opening it, in the dead of night, Miss Granger? And where is your wand? How very remiss of you."

"I knew it was you."

He quirked his eyebrows in a brief questioning arch, and down again, suggesting that he did not believe her.

"I did know," she insisted. "Will you come in, or do you plan on standing on my doorstep all night?"

There was a brief flicker of amusement in his face, as he absorbed her rather cheeky words, but he made no move to come inside.

"Alice Longbottom is dead," he told her, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Dead? Oh Merlin, what happened?"

"I performed Legilimency on her. Her heart was not strong enough to cope. She died whilst I was still inside her mind."

Hermione was shocked. That must have been a horrendous experience for him, to be inside the mind of a person who was dying. She searched for what he was not saying. What did he need? How was he feeling? What could she do for him?

He would need comfort, and reassurance that Alice Longbottom's death had not been his fault. She had no doubt that Snape would have done everything he could to bring Neville's mother back, as he had managed to do for his father. He must be carrying a terrible guilt and sense of regret, right at this moment.

He would need to feel alive. He would need to know that his body lived on, that blood flowed through his veins, and that air filled his lungs.

All of this, she could provide.

She stepped onto her own doorstep, her bare feet touching the cold brick, and slid her hand up his cloaked chest, and around his neck, tugging his face down towards her.

Hermione planted a kiss on his cheek, which was freezing cold, so she kissed her way to his ear, trying to warm the cold flesh.

"I am here for you. Please, let me help you," she whispered, against the chilled skin of his ear; when she reached it.

-xxx-

If there was anything that would weaken his resolve faster than a curse shot from the end of an unfriendly wand, it was the sensation of Hermione Granger's warm lips gently kissing their way across his face, before whispering words he'd hadn't known he needed to hear until that very moment.

Without a second thought, Severus growled out the pain he hadn't realised he was suffering, as he wrapped his long arms around this small girl, gathering her into his tight embrace as if he were a drowning man and she was the key to his survival. How something so tiny could comfort him so entirely, he had no idea.

As he buried his face in her neck, his lips pressed tightly against the curve of her shoulder, Severus felt her arms link around his back, stroking him through his thick winter travelling cloak, accepting him entirely. He breathed heavily, unwilling to move, drawing strength from her. It was the most unsettling, but also the most sublime, feeling. It was as if her mere proximity was rejuvenating him, restoring his strength and calming his heart. He supposed this was what true comfort must feel like, but the truth was, he really wouldn't know, since he'd never received any, not even as a child. Neither Eileen nor Tobias Snape had been in any way affectionate towards their only son.

"I am here for you," he heard again, quietly against his ear.

Severus was unable to formulate a verbal response, for the various feelings coursing through his chilled body were taking over his mind to such an extent that lucid speech seemed an impossible task at present. He gathered her body in tighter, sliding a hand down her spine and slipping it inside the back of her tiny shorts that he liked so much, feeling the warm of her bare arse against his palm.

She must have been in bed, since she was wearing her pyjama shorts, which Severus supposed was unsurprising, given the lateness of the hour. He took a firm handful of her luscious arse and squeezed it, letting out an involuntary groan as he straightened himself, withdrawing his face from her neck.

"Kiss me, little girl, before I run mad."

Granger tugged his head down and obeyed, pressing her soft, hot lips to his cold ones with a hard crash and a sigh of relief, as if she desired him as deeply as he desired her. Merlin, this witch could kiss. He worked his lips against hers to open her mouth, pushing his tongue deeply inside, and this time the sigh was his own – a desperate noise that urged her to kiss him harder.

He lifted her from the ground as they kissed, open-mouthed, his hand still inside her shorts, and he was gratified to feel her legs wrap around his waist. Severus trailed his fingers further down, sliding two between her arse cheeks and toying with her most private hole, tickling the sensitive skin there and enjoying the gasp of surprise she let out, into his mouth.

"Inside," she hissed, as he continued to attack her lips, which made talking rather difficult.

Not putting her down, he stepped over the threshold, still kissing her, and felt her reach behind his back to give the front door a good slam, and heard it click shut. He walked down the hallway with her in his arms, placing her on the bottom step of the staircase, evening the height difference so that they were looking one another in the eye. They were both breathing heavily, their upper bodies pressed together, and the girl looked deliciously debauched with her tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips.

"Divesto," Severus muttered, and his travelling cloak, followed by his long black frock coat, removed themselves from his body and hung on the coat stand to his left.

He felt more exposed, in this intimate position in the girl's own home, than he'd ever done in school with her. They were crossing a line. Despite the forbidden nature of their in-school interactions, being here together felt more threatening, because it was so … real. It was tantamount to admitting that they had both chosen this, chosen each other. They were not constrained by their roles within the castle, and were free to be their true selves.

"It would be useless for me to pretend that I do not desire you, Granger," he muttered, his voice low.

"Well then, don't pretend, Professor," she shot back, with an appealing glint of mischief in her eye.

"I think Severus would be appropriate at this juncture."

"Are you going to call me Hermione, then, Severus, rather than Granger?"

Severus enjoyed her cheek. He enjoyed everything about this young witch, and it would be a sham if he attempted to convince himself otherwise. He needed to recover from the trauma of the day, of hours spent inside the mind of a woman driven insane by the Cruciatus. He was magically almost depleted, certainly, it had taken every ounce of concentration he possessed to Apparate here, to the girl's home, without splinching himself.

Magically depleted, yes. Physically depleted, definitely not. His need to release some of his pent-up energy was huge, and certainly throbbing in the front of his trousers. He wasn't entirely sure he could wait, she was so fucking tempting.

With a rumble that rolled up from his gut, Severus pushed forwards, lowering her to be seated and then pushing further so that she was effectively laying up the stairs, the carpeted steps pressing into her back as he arranged himself above her.

"I need you," he bit out, pressing his lips to her mouth, and his hard groin to her hips.

She inhaled sharply as she opened her lips to his attack; and allowed him the access he so desperately needed. Severus felt her hips rise up against his, and he rubbed himself upon them, seeking the friction that would bring him the most pleasure.

"Ye Gods," he hissed, frotting against her whilst holding his upper body rigid, his hands flat on the stair, beside her head.

Risking overbalancing, he lifted one hand and slid it under the hem of her sleep vest, running over her soft stomach and finding the pert tit that he sought, fondling the firm breast with desperation, as if it had been months since he'd last done so.

"Fucking hell, girl," he moaned again, every part of his body utterly aroused by her.

"I do have a bedroom," she breathed, as he sucked on her neck, flickering his tongue along the sensitive cords there, that made her buck her hips against his, with pleasure.

"Then I suggest we find it, with some haste," he replied, reluctantly pulling himself from above her, and extending his hand to help her up from where he'd spread her along her own staircase.

Granger took his hand and rose to her feet, turning around neatly and headed upstairs, before looking over her shoulder after she had taken a few steps and beckoning to him, with a teasing, flirtatious look upon her face. Severus roughly pushed up the sleeves of his white shirt; and took the stairs two-at-a-time until he was standing only one step behind her. Quick as lightning, he ran his hands up her bare legs and took hold of those tiny shorts, hoicking them down in one smooth movement, right to her ankles, and held them there for her to step out of. Once she had done so, he did not allow her to ascend another stair.

"Hold on," he instructed, placing each of her hands upon the bannister either side, before guiding her legs open so that each foot was secure against the walls of the staircase.

He then sat on the stair below her; and twisted himself around so that his head was between her legs, looking upwards. And what a fucking view it was. Her little pink cunt was spread open above him, and Severus could smell her arousal from his vantage point. Using one hand to support himself in position, he used the other to gently stroke along her folds, slowly opening her up even further, so that he could uncover her trembling clitoris, and the gasp she made sent a hard shot of arousal straight to his cock.

Holding her open, he raised his mouth to her pussy, touching the tip of his tongue to her entrance, and licking the beginnings of her fluid from around the sweet hole.

"Oh, Severus …" she breathed, as he watched her little hole flinch from his touch.

"Stay there, Hermione."

It was not a request.

He transferred his attentions to her needy clit, firstly tickling the surface with the end of his tongue, and when he heard her gasp, beginning to swirl his tongue around the whole bud, with precise, sweeping strokes that circled the hardening clitoris, licking faster as he felt her thighs begin to tremble against his ears.

"Severus, I … I just …"

"You just need to come, Hermione," he answered, in between swirling his tongue around her soaked cunt. "And you shall. Hold tight and let it happen."

Severus pressed his mouth firmly against her, creating a seal around the top of her pussy where he could lash her clit without mercy. The girl was shaking against him, and he used the hand that had been holding her open to grasp her thigh, providing more support for her, since they were halfway up the stairs in a distinctly precarious position.

Flickering his tongue like the nib of an enchanted quill, racing across a parchment, he felt her clitoris begin to throb, and her vagina begin to contract under his chin. He had her. She was about to come, beautifully, all over his mouth, and Severus couldn't fucking wait. He had gone too long in life without this particular pleasure, and now he had it, he would do it as often as he fucking could.

He squeezed her thigh, hard against the trembling flesh, as his rampant tongue slurped and lashed her over the edge into a spectacular orgasm, dripping fluid around his mouth as she writhed her hips against his face, grinding her climax into his willing mouth. The little pants and screams that she made as she finally let go were almost too much for him to bear, and he ripped open his trousers with his spare hand, pulling out his cock and tugging his erection hard, even as he was still licking her clit, enjoying the way it twitched with sensitive aftershocks.

The girl must have felt him wanking, as she descended two steps, her legs either side of his body and still holding onto both bannisters, positioning herself so that her wet entrance was directly above his hard cock. She wasn't going to take him on the staircase, was she? Mind, he had just done effectively the same thing.

She lowered herself; and used her hand to gently guide the bulbous head of his dick inside her. He gave a shout of surprise, and of pleasure.

"Can I help you with that, Sir, or would you rather masturbate on my stairs?"

He smirked; and Severus knew he must be unattractively slack-jawed with arousal.

"Get yourself down my cock, Granger, before I put you in detention," he managed to say, through gritted teeth.

She obeyed.

The feeling was fucking astounding, as his erection became slowly sheathed in her tight, wet cunt.

No sooner had she reached the base, then she pulled herself up again, the upward motion feeling just as sublime as the descent. The little witch did it again. And again. And once more, speeding her movements each time until she was fully fucking him on the staircase, using the bannisters to support her, so that she could move hard and fast upon him. Holy shit, he would not be forgetting this in a hurry. Not that he had forgotten a single one of the times he had fucked this girl.

"Do you want to come, Severus?" she asked, pulling up her skimpy vest so that her bare breasts were exposed, before returning her hands to the bannisters.

"Teasing fucking witch," he hissed, his face sweating with effort and an extreme level of arousal, as he watched her youthful breasts bounce as she rutted against him. "Your tits ... Merlin, girl … those tits …"

He was incoherent with pleasure, all thoughts of the day forgotten, his only goal to spill himself inside this delicious witch, an act that was not likely to take much longer, for with the additional support of the narrow staircase, she was practically milking his cock as she sat on his lap.

"Ungghhh," he groaned, reaching to grasp one of her breasts, and squeezed it hard, thumbing her erect nipple roughly with his thumb. "Coming. Go faster. Coming now, girl …"

And he was. Her hips sped to a blur as she took the friction to an extreme level, leaving him with no choice but to shout his relief as he released, thrusting his hips upwards with each spurt, giving her everything he had.

"Oh, ye Gods," he murmured, unable to stop the pulse of his cock deep inside her, not wanting the lovemaking to end. "Holy fucking hell, Hermione Granger."

He pulled her down to lay on top of him, his sweaty hands lain on her equally sweaty back, where she had so exquisitely pulled up her vest to expose her breasts to him as he'd approached climax.

Severus didn't even look around at the Muggle home where he had just fucked this girl along the length of her own staircase. Very soon, his old bones would protest at the position they were in, but for the next few minutes, he was perfectly comfortable indeed.

-xxx-

Snape followed her through the door of her parents' bedroom, and Hermione was exceedingly glad that she'd spent the afternoon creating her own little haven in it. He stilled her hand as she reached to turn on the electric light, drawing his wand from the back pocket of his trousers, which he held up with his free hand, as they were still unfastened after their activities on the stairs. Muttering an incantation under his breath; and moving his wand as if he were signing his name in the air, two clusters of small floating candles appeared on either side of the bed, burning softly and throwing a low, golden light across the room.

"I thought you didn't approve of foolish wand waving, Sir?" she asked, smiling both at him, and at the gorgeous lighting he had conjured.

"You are impertinent, Miss Granger," he grumbled, and he toed off his boots, leant over to pull off his socks, which he stuffed inside the boots, and then straightened up, beginning to do up the button on his trousers.

Hermione took a step towards him and touched his hand to stop him.

"Don't," she told him.

He arched his eyebrow at her; but desisted from refastening his trousers. Hermione plucked his wand from his fingers, placing it carefully on the top of the chest of drawers, alongside her own. She then returned to stand in front of him, took hold of the waistband of his trousers, and eased them over his hips, allowing the heavy belt to carry them to the floor. As the belt buckle hit the bedroom carpet with a dull thud, she took hold of his undershorts.

"May I?"

"Given what we have just done together, I believe you can safely presume that you may."

She smiled again, for he really was rather droll, and sent his shorts the same way as his trousers, watching intently as he stepped out of both and kicked the garments aside. Hermione moved her hands to his chest; and started to unfasten the buttons on his white shirt, from the neck downwards. On the third button, he covered her hands with his own, and she looked up at him, questioningly.

"Thank you," he told her, simply.

"For what?"

"For the comfort that you provided me."

"I intend to continue providing it, if you will allow it?"

He gave a small sigh of capitulation; and removed his hands. Hermione continued to work her way down the front of his shirt, opening it fully, and pushing her hands inside it, running her palms over the hard planes of his chest; the lean muscle clearly defined beneath his light covering of black hair. Snape watched intently, looking down his long nose at her, his face neutral.

Reaching up, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, following its path down his arms with trailing fingers as she guided the white material from his wrists, before gathering it up and throwing it on the pile with the other discarded garments. Taking a step towards him, intending to fold herself into his arms, he stopped her. Without a word, he reached for the hem of her vest, tugging it upwards, and she raised her arms so that he could lift it swiftly over her head. She watched him take a long, greedy look at her breasts, before slipping his arms around her back and allowing her to press herself against him as he stroked down her bare spine with his clever fingers, making her shiver.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Not at all."

Hermione felt him smile, where his chin was resting on the top of her head. Pulling back, she took his hand and guided him towards the bed, where the cover was already thrown open from where she had leapt from it – to answer his knock at the door. She climbed in, and shuffled over to the opposite side, still holding his hand so that he had no choice but to follow her. The covers folded themselves over their bodies; clearly, he had just done that with a neat piece of wandless, non-verbal magic.

Their heads lay on the pillows, facing one another in the warm candlelight, their legs entwined as if by habit, which Hermione supposed it was, the amount of times they had been in this position before. Only this time they were in her home, and outside the confines of the castle walls.

"Will you stay?" she asked.

"It appears that I am, given my current whereabouts."

"I meant for the whole holiday."

His face darkened.

"Hermione, that would be unwise," he warned.

"Unwise for whom?"

There was a long pause.

He did not answer her, and his endless black eyes searched her face.

"You need comfort," she continued, quietly, when it became clear that Snape was not going to respond. "You won't find it hidden away in your dungeon chambers. You won't find it from those dried up old professors that are spending Christmas at Hogwarts because they have nowhere else to go, and no one else to be with."

"I have never accepted or sought comfort from another living soul," he admitted, finding his voice.

"Then maybe it is time you started."

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, in the manner of a large, gaping fish. It really was quite comical, and had they been in the classroom he probably would have extracted ten points from Gryffindor for her cheek.

"Are you always this bossy and controlling?" he asked, that infernal eyebrow raised yet again.

"You have no idea," she retorted, smirking, in what was bound to be an irritating manner.

"I really don't think …"

"Then don't," she interrupted, closing the distance between their upper bodies, snaking an arm around his neck and swiping her lips persuasively across his. "Don't think. Just stay."

Hermione felt him move his arm, placing it around her back, and stroking the curve of her spine with the flat of his hand. He took her lower lip gently between his, mouthing it softly, before pressing back with a single hard kiss.

"With a prize such as you in my arms, I would be a foolish wizard to argue," he muttered.

"You're not a foolish wizard, are you Severus?"

"I have, in my lifetime, been more incredibly foolish than you can possibly imagine," Snape replied.

As she opened her mouth to reply, he surprised her by tumbling her onto her back and climbing atop her in one smooth movement, his forearms on the mattress, either side of her head, and his long black hair falling down the sides of his face. His expression was decidedly wicked, and she loved it.

"But not any more," he finished, dropping his head and roughly taking possession of her mouth.

She kissed him back, eagerly.

He was staying.