The next week and a half passed without a mention of the encroachment of the deadline, but his actions and her barely restrained desire thickened the air in 12 Grimmauld Place. The sexual tension hung there between them, thick as a blanket.
When Severus touched her, it was hotter than before, when his lips brushed her neck "accidentally," Hermione could barely keep herself from turning around and pressing her body against his.
And then one day, two days before the looming deadline, she didn't.
She was sitting at the dining room table late at night, working out the kinks some Runes she was trying to incorporate into a potion. She was still picking at the toast and tea he'd made her an hour before when he'd walked over. He'd pushed her hair away from her neck, and kissed the place her neck curved into her shoulder, just a little kiss, and she couldn't stop herself from twisting in her seat and meeting his lips with hers.
It was so right that she almost cried, furious with herself for keeping this from happening, almost not noticing the growl that escaped his throat as he opened her mouth under his, his hands grasping the back of her head a bit too tightly. She moaned, his tongue sweeping her mouth impatiently, before he untangled his fingers from her hair and pulled her to her feet, pulling her against him, letting her feel the way her body fit against his just like he knew it would.
He swept her up in his arms, still kissing her, and walked quickly to the stairs and up to his bedroom, the only room in the house she'd never entered. It was dark and secret, devoid of any personal items, pristinely clean, and pervaded with a dark, musky smell of man overlaid with the unmistakable scent of very old books and mothballs.
He tossed her on the bed and began on the buttons of his shirt, jerking at them until they came undone. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were so dark, fathomless as he watched her tugging at her jumper and skirt. His face was serious, which surprised her, since she'd been expecting a taunting smirk and a jibe for having lost. But it didn't come.
Pulling off his shirt, he shoved down his trousers and pants at once, kicking off his shoes and socks before kneeling on the bed and kissing her again.
"Wait," she murmured, stilling her hands on her clothing, and she looked at him with heavy eyes.
"This is only going to happen once," she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I don't want to get hurt."
He nodded slowly, seriously.
"So if you want your prize, arrange it now," she added, flushing slightly, pulling her hand back and resuming her unclasping of the placket of her skirt.
He shook his head. "This is better," he replied.
She smiled up at him, a real, bright smile, and he kissed her again.