The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all

Fifteen

He wouldn't allow me to take him to St Mungo's.

When I tried to insist that he should be examined by a professional, he scoffed, claiming it was only a 'bump'.

I could hardly leave him to his own devices, so I Apparated us directly into my living room. When I directed him into my spare bedroom and bade him sit on the bed, the pliancy with which he did so suggested he was feeling the 'bump' rather more than he might let on. I Summoned the implements I would need and levitated a candle to hover near his head.

'What did you hit your head on?' I asked, rolling up my sleeves. Were the situation not so very serious, I might have laughed at the vaguely discomfited look in his eyes at my actions. He was probably wishing he'd gone to St. Mungo's.

'Tree root, I think,' he murmured, frowning to himself. 'The bastard got me with a stunner…'

I gave a small smile. 'Thanks for that, by the way.'

He lifted his head gingerly and managed a half-hearted smirk. 'The thought of having to explain your demise to Potter was too much to bear.'

I let out an involuntary snort of laughter. 'Thanks.'

I watched the blood glisten on his face and decided I couldn't delay any longer. I was uncomfortably reminded of another time when I'd witnessed him bleed and my stomach tightened nervously.

Corralling every ounce of courage, I stepped right up to him and motioned to his head.

'May I?'

He only managed a minute nod in reply.

My fingers touched his jaw to tilt his head towards the light and I had to block out determinedly the feel of the slight bristle to his chin. Then my hands had to go to his hair, parting it to give access to the bleed. It was hair that that was shorter than I recalled from our previous acquaintance, but no less dark. It was soft and shiny as I trapped it flat with one hand and cleaned the wound with the other.

Thankfully, the cut was smaller than I'd anticipated. He made not a movement or a sound as I bathed and then stitched the wound with a whispered incantation. Before my Gryffindor courage could desert me, I took hold of his chin once more and cleaned the dried blood from his cheek and forehead. I didn't dare look to see were his gaze was directed. Only when I retreated to wash my hands did I finally feel my cheeks start to burn hotly.

I cleared my throat and returned. 'Pain reliever?' I proffered brightly.

He examined the unmarked phial with interest. 'Home-brewed?'

'Yes.'

I smiled inwardly at the sniff he gave the potion before deciding to down it one go.

'Thank you,' he said softly.

I Banished my materials and found myself pleased at his quiet gratitude. I glanced back at him and was struck by his noticeably wan pallor. 'Perhaps you should go to St. Mungo's, you know.'

He stirred. 'Certainly not.'

'Well, you'll have to stay here, then, for the time being. You could be concussed – the last thing you need is to Splinch yourself trying to Apparate.'

He looked caught in two minds, but I could tell by the lack of his usual self-assuredness, and by the fact he had yet to try and stand up, that he was not feeling right.

'I'm fine —'

'Really? Get some rest,' I ordered. 'We can discuss our next move in the morning.'

He looked faintly disgruntled by my suggestion that he rest, but I pointedly ignored it. I left the room and shut the door behind me, thinking he might be more amenable if I removed myself from the equation. For a few moments, I simply stood there and wondered not for the first time what on earth I'd got myself into. It had only seemed like yesterday I had embarked on my survey for the Ministry, and yet, there I was now engaged in subterfuge and intrigue with my former Potions Master, of all people, and Merlin only knew what fate could have befallen us in the Forbidden Forest.

I will always remember how that evening passed so frustratingly slowly. I resorted to pottering about quietly until that could not sufficiently distract me. From there, I spent much of it trying to occupy my thoughts with anything other than Augureys, work, the Ministry, or indeed, the man who by all accounts was sleeping in my spare bedroom. I assumed it so, because there came no sound from within, but I was too afraid to push the door ajar and check.

It was a foolish task I'd set myself, however. The fire crackled comfortingly as I curled up in my armchair, just thinking. I thought about the situation we were in; I thought about the events of that afternoon in the Forbidden Forest; I thought about myself, and I thought about him.

I thought too much about him.

I stared into the fire for an indeterminable stretch of time without arriving at any constructive conclusion or resolve. Against my better judgement, a bottle of wine sat at my feet, and the only certainty at the time seemed to be the wine glass in my hand.

Perhaps I drank too much wine that night. Or, maybe, it was the result of the days earlier events, but in any case, when I removed to my bedroom I struggled to sleep. My mind would not cease its ramblings, as much as I tried to admonish it firmly into silence. Neither would it relinquish its grip on visions of dark hair, of blood, of soft whispers, of crashing spells, and that smirk which teased me to no end.

I can blame the wine all I want, but it was ultimately my innate curiosity that eventually took my feet to the bedroom door opposite mine. When I nudged it open, and entered the room, it could only have been Gryffindor recklessness as he might term it. Listening hard enough, I could hear him breathe evenly, and that gave me the security I needed to produce a dim Lumos at the tip of my wand.

He was sleeping soundly. I'd half wondered if he might have taken himself off without telling me, so I was relieved to see it wasn't so.

I simply watched, and then I considered I was rather invading his privacy, but I was fascinated despite myself. It seems ridiculous now, but instead of retreating, I moved to perch delicately on the edge of the bed. I held in my breath, but he didn't stir. He'd taken off his robe, but otherwise was fully clothed. His hair, that shock of black hair, was splayed across the pillow and I could only think to myself that I desired to touch it again.

When I raised my hand to do just that, I came to my senses and folded my hand into my lap, turning slightly so that my back was to him. I wondered how I could have wound up in such a mawkish mood. With hindsight, I know exactly why I should have felt the way I did. Is it so unsurprising that I felt drawn to such an incongruity as he — the more he featured in my otherwise rather staid existence? It could have been fanciful on my part, but there was a spark of something there, too; I'd felt it, more than once. I longed to know if he felt it as well.

It must have been such sentimental meanderings of thought that led me to allow the events that followed. Events that only time would be able prove them as a mistake or otherwise. There was no scope for logic or sense in that darkened room; my only thought, ultimately, was for myself.

I got to my feet, fully intending to return to my bedroom, but it transpired I'd dithered too long. I should have known a man such as he would not sleep easily.

'Have you come to verify for yourself if I sleep upside down or not?'

Naturally, I flinched. I twisted my head round to see him watching me. How long he might have been aware of my presence I didn't like to consider. I managed a smile, self-conscious though it was, but I always enjoyed that he could turn his particular brand of wit onto himself.

'No,' I replied, unsure what I would give as my reason for being there.

'What's wrong?' he asked, shifting up into more of a sitting position. With the movement he scowled and put a hand to his head.

'Is it still hurting?' I stepped closer to him. 'Here, let me have a look.'

I brandished the glowing tip of my wand expectantly, a voice in my head railing that I might have done only half a job in healing his head. When he made no move to demur, I knelt on the bed and set about my examination. With relief, I noted there was no swelling or sign of anything untoward.

'It's fine,' I murmured. 'There's just some bruising.'

My next action I completed quite without any awareness of it. Hair that had fallen across his forehead I swept back with the palm of my hand, in a soft smoothing gesture. It was only when my hand finished its movement to alight on his shoulder that I stupidly realised what I'd done. Our eyes met and in the dim light his looked blacker than ever; I tried to decipher something, anything, from his countenance, but I drew an uncomfortable blank.

He spoke first. 'I think it would be prudent for me to leave.'

The words, though quietly spoken, pierced me rather acutely. But he then unwittingly, or even wittingly, sealed both our fates. As I let my hand drop uselessly from his shoulder, and blinking away our connection, lest he see the mortification I felt, he caught my wrist. If he sought to lessen the sting from his words by rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand, then he achieved it most prodigiously.

His fingers burned me, yet conversely, I shivered. That shiver was more eloquent to me than any of my earlier protracted considerations, so I leaned forward, grasped his face with both hands, and I pressed a kiss to his mouth. I shut my eyes tight, afraid that if I opened them I would see only resistance. But then his hands were at my waist, pulling me to him, and I knew I'd chanced right. I fluttered my fingers down the length of his jaw until I could curl them around the nape of his neck. His mouth opened beneath mine and the kiss was warm and soft, but urgent all at the same time. I couldn't have prevented the small sigh of satisfaction no matter how hard I tried.

When we pulled apart, the instinctiveness with which I gently caught his bottom lip between my teeth surprised even me. My wand lay discarded, but the Lumos charm continued to bathe a glow in which for me to study him. My hand was still clasped to his jaw and I tilted his head so that he might meet my scrutiny. I could see now that to read him was to look at what wasn't present — there was none of his usual maddening self-assurance or his sneering reserve. Indeed, to my mind, there was only, perhaps, guarded expectancy.

I felt a slow smile form at it. I can't deny the sense of satisfaction I felt at having such a man at my mercy. The man himself would be appalled if he could read this, for any number of reasons, but I'm sure he would assert it was not I who held the upper hand.

In any case, my most pressing desire was not to use this opportunity to have vengeance for all the times he'd infuriated me or made me feel two feet high. Indeed, from the moment he'd touched my hand I'd resolved that I would have him. The consequences, be damned. My sensible nature, be damned. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to feel alive. And I think I'd decided already that I wanted him to be the one to do it.

Perhaps I'd dithered too long, because I saw the corners of his eyes narrow slightly, and anticipating that he might speak, I quickly placed a finger to his lips. There was to be none of his biting wit, I'd make sure of it. I kissed him again and he embraced me tightly so that our bodies were pressed together.

I'd never considered myself a particularly sexual being, and I'd venture to say he wasn't either. Certainly, I'd never found myself in such a situation before. I wasn't sure I recognised myself. He was a man I knew, but equally I didn't know— I'd not found myself entirely at the mercy of my baser instincts before, but there could be no doubting what I wanted.

My mind rarely switches off, but the thoughts I had while he touched me were also no less foreign. It was a bit rushed, a bit frantic even, but considering who we were, with our shared history, there should have been awkwardness. There wasn't. He said nothing, I said nothing, and rather than awkwardness, I felt my pleasure was only enhanced at the thought the man beneath me might have two decades on me. It sounds almost mercenary, but I had not reckoned on that feeling…

And that feeling of him not being just any man, too. This was also a surprise — that I was capable of such lasciviousness.

Our past would not prove to be irrelevant, of course, but at this juncture, our re-acquaintance had overwritten much of it. Still, it was a heady mix, and one I would have cause to ponder for many times after.

We lay there in the dark afterwards, my Lumos having long been extinguished. Even after our breaths had evened out, we said nothing. I wondered if he might go to sleep; I could not have done so even if I'd wished to. My mind was busy, and I'm not sure how much time passed during my hazy contemplation of the ceiling. Of course, in all my deliberations, I naturally tried to imagine what it was he must be thinking. I was not composed enough to bring myself to ask, however.

It was as I was marshalling my senses in readiness for whatever next might follow — marshalling myself to exercise infinite poise and composure, that he broke the silence.

'Granger?'

His voice sounded low into the darkness, buffeting almost against my body so much that it felt like a ripple of warmth. I closed my eyes briefly against it.

'Yes?' I managed without any trepidation.

After a moment, I felt him shift onto his side. I moved my eyes from their study of the ceiling to make out in the dark that he was looking at me. Despite my resolve for poise, I recall tensing uneasily at what he might have to say.

But he said nothing. Instead, his fingertips gently alighted at my collarbone and I hardly dared breathe. As they slowly traced a path down my breastbone and to my stomach, my breath was forced out of me sharply. When his hand travelled down my thigh, and I felt his eyes bore into mine, I felt relief. I knew then he must have felt the connection too, and he wanted more from it.

His hand now traced warm light touches over my breast, and still he watched me. I gave no reaction; transfixed, the only movement I could manage was to breathe shallowly. To do anything else, I felt, would be to break this unknown spell between us. His fingers came back up to my neck and then, grasping my jaw, he leaned down and kissed me. I tried to return an answering pressure, but his lips were wrenched away and suddenly he was over me, his mouth re-tracing the path his fingers had only moments before. Lips at my jaw, teeth at my neck, tongue at my chest and, all the while accompanied by the soft, tantalising tickle of the ends of his hair as he moved down my body.

I thought I might combust into nothingness when he reached my inner thigh. More by reflex than design, my hands found their way into his hair and I pressed my eyes shut tightly.

How long we spent engaged thus, I couldn't say. Eventually, of course, we exhausted ourselves into sleep and further wild thoughts on my part were abruptly curtailed. When I awoke, dawn was filtering through the curtains. Comprehension was also dawning quickly and I half rose off the pillow, not quite able to believe what I'd done — what he'd allowed.

To my surprise, the man himself was sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, and in some form of contemplation. At my stirring, he turned his head to look at me.

Much like the previous hours, there seemed, ridiculously, nothing to say. We looked at each other, and of course, he did not smile, but neither was there any sign of scorn. Ironically, that was enough to mute my initial apprehension.

'I must go,' he said simply, getting to his feet.

I nodded dumbly, trying to pull myself up without giving him an eyeful. He was taking his leave; I was grateful he'd waited, but what further would he say? He had me at an advantage for, clearly, he'd been awake for some time.

I should have known to anticipate what he did go on to say. Anyone may forgive me for assuming even Severus Snape had boundaries when it came to his pawky humour, but no, it happens he has none.

With a faint frown, he surveyed first the rumpled bedclothes, and then pointedly the length of my body right up to where I sat clutching the duvet and sporting an undoubtedly bushy fright of hair.

He grimaced slightly. 'Must have, ah, hit my head harder than I thought.'

I am quite sure my whole body flushed purple in response. My mouth fell open but no sound came out… His smirk forestalled it. I think he even laughed as he Disapparated.

I won't lie; after he disappeared, I allowed myself a rueful laugh, too.

AN: Thanks for reading : )