JUST ONE NIGHT

CHAPTER NINE:

ONE REVELATION

MAY 2013

"I cannot do this with you anymore, ever again, Minister." Severus Snape climbed out of bed, picked up a pillow that had been knocked to the floor, threw it against the headboard, and stalked to the window of his Hogwarts bedroom.

"You don't want to have sex with me anymore?" She sniffled and wiped the backs of both eyes with her palms. "Fine. It's fine. I know when I'm not wanted and I'll not stick around to be-"

"I would like to have sex with you on a nightly basis," he said, his voice steady. He did not turn to face her, but rather continued staring out over the dark grounds. "But I cannot make you cry again. I will not. After all these years, it is beginning to weigh heavily on my self-esteem. On my psyche."

"Wha... what?" She sniffled again and blinked several times, trying to keep the tears at bay, but the effort was futile. "I rarely cry."

"Rarely?" He chuckle. "Minister, half of our encounters include a bout of tears, and never on my part."

"That's not true," she protested. "I rarely cry, and you can't say you never have, because-"

Not at all interested in remembering the one time he let his emotions get the better of him, he cut her off.

"When the sex is good, you get overwhelmed, and you cry. When you've had a frustrating day, and you need to vent about it, you cry."

She tossed her hair, which was down over her shoulders today. "That's merely a release of excess emotion that-"

"When your husband has rejected you, you cry. When the media rips you to shreds, you cry."

"It doesn't feel great, reading the awful things they-"

"When you ask me to hurt you, and I do so, you cry." This was what had set him off tonight. "When-"

"That only happened twice!"

"More than twice. And when you experience orgasm in multiples, you cry. When-"

"That's not crying! That's... that's..."

"When you were again tending to my injuries the morning after my attack in June, you cried."

"You were bruised and battered, you'd been-"

He pressed on. "When you-"

"I get it!" She flopped onto her back on the bed, against the pillow he'd thrown. "I cry, I cry, I cry. I am an emotional person, contrary to what the general public thinks of me. Cold, unfeeling, stoic, subdued, boring Hermione Granger-Weasley, not fun, not interesting, not capable of feeling anything, immune to criticism, unaware of her husband's affairs, a swot, a know-it-all, a bitch, a..."

"The rubbish they print about you is untrue." He faced her, finally, his back to the window. He was wearing only his undershorts and she, too, was down to her knickers. It was still relatively early, only about eight-thirty, and cool in the castle, even for late May.

"I have to act as though I don't feel anything too deeply in order to be taken seriously in my position. If I cried at work - can you imagine the headlines? 'Overwrought Minister Sobs Over Murdered Muggleborns. Is She Capable of Serving Society?' As a woman, they look for any sign of weakness and pounce on it, compounding it, using it as ammunition against me. I can't cry at home because my children worry and mother won't let it go, and..."

"You're saying you come to me so you can cry?"

"No." She bristled at this, averting her gaze. "I come to you so I can cum. I just happen to also end up crying on occasion."

He was momentarily thrown by the vulgarity of her word choice, unusual for her, but he pressed on.

"Not 'on occasion.' With increasing frequency."

"I'll go, then!" She slipped from the bed, picked up the pillow, and threw it back down with unnecessary force before going in search of her clothing.

"Don't go."

"I want to go!"

"Please, don't."

"Why shouldn't I? You're sick of seeing me cry, aren't you? And I can't promise I won't do it again-"

"I'm sorry." He took several long strides and was in front of her in a millisecond. He grasped her by her upper arms and waited until she made eye contact. "I do not wish to hurt you physically or emotionally. I do not enjoy making you cry, not even when you request it of me. I realize that you are... that you are, perhaps, more comfortable showing emotion in my presence than I am in yours, and I'm flattered that you deem me safe enough to cry in front of, but when we're mid-fuck and you dissolve into tears, or if during foreplay, you..."

"In the future, I'll try to remember not to cry until after you've gotten off. Will that suffice?" She pulled away, found her blouse, and put it on, but halfway through buttoning she remembered she'd forgotten about her bra. "Where did it land?"

"You're not leaving." He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands folded calmly in his lap.

"You can't tell me what to do or where to go or whether or not I can leave!"

"I want you to stay." He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned to him, her blouse open over her bare chest, her eyes still scanning the room for her missing bra. "Please, Minister, I want you to stay. Stay the night. Stay the weekend. Stay until the term ends and the children return home for the summer."

"I... you don't want me to overstay my welcome."

"I don't want you to leave."

He pulled her close, until his nose was nuzzling against her abdomen.

"Another summer is almost upon us."

"I know," she said softly. "Rose will be home soon. I'm looking forward to it. The end of her first year. She says she loves it."

"Delphini will be returning home for the summer, too." He sighed. "To my home on a street called Spinner's End, in a dreary Muggle neighborhood in Cokeworth. Hestia won't allow her around Imogene and Iris and Draco doesn't want her around young Scorpius, thus she cannot return to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa says she's sorry, but she's not sorry. She's relieved."

"Are you worried about two months spent alone with her?"

"Do I fear for my safety, you mean?" He arched an eyebrow. Hermione shrugged. Her tears had subsided, and though she didn't say so, it was clear she wouldn't be leaving. Not now. He tugged at her wrist and, knowing what he wanted, she sat on his knee. He wrapped one arm around her back and settled his opposite hand on her upper thigh.

"Well?"

"I don't know. I don't fancy her telling others where we live. I might ask someone to be Secret Keeper for the home so she can't reveal the location to others. I don't trust her."

"Headmaster..."

"Please, no lecture, Minister. I realize she's a... problem. And getting worse. Students who cross her have 'accidents'. I'm not convinced they're safe with her here at school. She may not be permitted to return next year. I've informed her it will depend upon her behavior over the summer. As much as she loathes me and wishes to strike out on her own, she is determined to finish her education, to learn as much as possible while she has an entire library and professors at her disposal. She does not wish to jeopardize her opportunity to learn. I do not believe she is an inherently 'bad' person regardless of her parentage. She's in with a dangerous crowd, those who espouse the views of the Knights of Walpurgis. They give her a sense of belonging, make her seem important. I know all too well what she's going through. Neglected child with few friends, seeking any way to feel special."

"That's how you were?" Hermione brushed his hair back from his face. He nodded.

"Even the most solitary among us wish to find a place to call home and a like-minded individual to share it with."

She blinked several times, unable to respond to this, as she suddenly got the impression they were speaking more of him than of his daughter.

"Are we 'like-minded individuals,' Headmaster?" she whispered. "You and I?"

"I'd like to think so, Minister." He brought the hand on her thigh up to her ribcage. "Move in with me. Spend the summer at Spinner's End."

Her jaw dropped at the mere suggestion of anything so scandalous.

"I'm married!"

"As am I."

"I have children!"

"As do I."

"You know I can't!" She stood too quickly; she nearly got dizzy and fell back down. She shook her head to clear it.

"How would we explain that away? Tell Ron I'm working overtime for two months? Tell my children I'm on holiday? Tell your daughter - what would we tell your daughter?"

"I'll tell her it's none of her bloody business why you're sharing my bedroom, and to keep to her books and out of trouble if she wishes to finish her Hogwarts education."

Hermione scoffed. "Yes, that'll go over well, I'm sure." She went into the loo to pour herself a glass of water from the tap. He sat on the edge of the bed and stoically awaited her return.

She leaned against the edge of his desk and took a long sip while they stared at each other in silence. It had been a strange night thus far. A strange day. A strange five years. She still felt she barely knew him in some ways, but that they were more intimately connected than she'd ever been with anyone in others. She opened her mouth to tell him what an enigma he remained to her, but his next words halted her.

"I filed for divorce."

Hermione dropped the water glass, which hit the floor and shattered, sending shards in all directions. Neither reached for their wand to vanish the pieces.

"You did what?" she asked after an interminable pause.

"I filed for divorce." Now he reached for his wand. The glass was gone with a wave. "On Monday. I informed Hestia last week that I would be doing so, thus the filing shall come as no surprise. I have decided I simply cannot remain married to her."

"Why?" Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stared down at him. "Does she want another child?"

"Yes."

"Or does - wait, what? She does?" Hermione studied his face for any hint he wasn't serious, but there was no hint of a snarky smile, no teasing twinkle in his eye. "I... I was being facetious."

"Well, facetious or not, you've hit it dead on. Imogene is seven and the baby is going on two and now she wants another. I told her no, absolutely not, I'm done. I told her to get a cat. She said no, she wants a son. I told her to get a male cat. She asked me to reconsider. She's looking forward to my return this summer. She wants to take time to 'fix' our relationship, she even brought up the possibility of counseling, but what we have is broken beyond repair. I think it always has been. Our marriage was build on a foundation of guilt and duty, not love and mutual respect."

"So you filed for divorce?"

"Yes."

"To avoid having another child?"

"Yes. I won't do it again. I never wanted children and now I have three, and the first is... I've fucked up the first, and Imogene - she's the neediest little thing, always crying and clinging to her mother and asking me whether I love her, seeking constant reassurance, which I'm sure is cause for concern. Iris is, thus far, seemingly undamaged, but it's only a matter of time before I ruin her, too. Why start again with a son? And what if it isn't a boy? What if it takes three more pregnancies to get a boy? Will I have six daughters and one son, an inverted Weasley clan? I am no Arthur and she's not Molly."

Hermione shook her head, trying to process this. "I can't believe you filed for divorce."

"You could file for divorce." He stood and stepped to her, placing his hands on her hips over the fabric of her knickers. "It's not difficult. You're at the Ministry every day. Simply stop by the office of-"

Her face contorted into an expression of panic. "Are you mad? I'm up for re-election this year!"

"You want to show the wizarding world how strong and independent you are? That you're not a bloody doormat? Divorce the man who's been running around with your secretary-"

Hermione choked back a sob. This was what reduced her to tears earlier tonight. He'd been in the process of pleasuring her with his fingers when she suddenly started to cry and revealed her husband's latest fling wasn't with some aging Quidditch groupie or twenty-year-old seeking a social status boost, but with her personal secretary and only close female friend, Cecile.

"Divorce him," he said again, pulling her close. "And fire your secretary."

"Divorce him, why? So you and I can be together? You are leaving your wife so I should leave my husband to be with you? Is that it?"

"Yes," he said simply. He kissed her temple. "We're compatible in a myriad of-"

"You won't even call me by my first name!" She pushed him back. His hands remained at her waist, but they were no longer chest-to-chest. "You insist upon this... this wall between us! You frequently refuse to hold me, you've tossed me out of your bed for-"

"I haven't tossed you out of bed in years."

"You call me 'Minister' as if we hardly know each-"

"And you call me 'Headmaster.' The use of titles when we're together is something you started, remember?" His eyes narrowed. "I am not the only one putting up walls, Hermione."

She gasped. She wasn't sure she ever remembered him using her given name before. As a student, she'd been Miss Granger. In her current position, she'd been Minister. In between, those few times he addressed her, it had been simply Granger.

"But you... you..."

"I invited you to spend the night before you requested to spend it, I made the first move five years ago, I made the second months later, I kissed you first, I've asked you to stay the night without sex, I-"

"But... but that's because... you... you didn't want..."

"Have you ever asked me what I want?" His hands slid from her hips to her arse. Her his pelvis bumped against her abdomen.

"I..." She wracked her brain. "No, I suppose I haven't."

"I have advised you to divorce your husband on multiple occasions, as I could see he was not only not good enough for you, but emotionally abusive, but you've insisted-"

"Until just now, I wasn't even sure you liked me!"

"What?" Clearly taken aback, he released her. "How could you say that? How... I... you... After all... five years of..." He pressed his fingertips to his temples, eyes closed, unable to make sense of this. "I've slept beside you and shared meals with you, I've confessed secrets to you and made love to you, and I've read - I've read bloody romance novels aloud to you - and..."

Her jaw dropped. He was hurt. She'd hurt him. And she was... confused.

"You've made love to me?" she whispered. "I... I suppose I didn't know."

"How could you not know?" He returned to the bed, settling himself on the end, and buried his face in his hands. This was humiliating. Here, he'd been falling in love with her for years, thinking it was mutual, and she'd apparently had no idea. It was Lily Evans all over again. How foolish he'd been, how utterly stupid. His face burned behind his hands, but he'd not cry in front of her, not the way he'd scolded her for doing in front of him. He'd not lower himself that far.

"I... I'm sorry." She placed her hand on his shoulder but he shrugged her off.

"You should go." He did not uncover his face. "Your bra landed in the bin."

"Do you want me to go?"

"It's late. I want to get some sleep." He moved to the top of the bed and slipped under the blankets. He turned away from her, facing the wall. "I have a long day tomorrow. It's time we bid each other adieu."

Stunned not only by his revelation but by this sudden dismissal, with the use of that word, no less, she merely nodded and went to the bin. She plucked out her bra, gathered her skirt and stockings, and exited into his sitting room to dress and find her shoes.

Once full clothed, she sat on his couch and stared into the dark fireplace. She couldn't depart, not just yet, not on these terms, but her mind was reeling. He was afraid, she told herself. Afraid to spend the summer alone with his daughter, even though he knew her to be incapable of causing him physical harm. Afraid to face the world without his wife, however much he resented her. Afraid to abandon his two younger children, despite thinking it for their own good. He was no coward, she would never label him a coward, but it was clear he was afraid.

And that fear made him vulnerable.

It made him open up.

It made him...

She bent at the waist, resting her forehead against her forearms on top of her knees.

When she'd come to him tonight, she'd asked him to fuck her hard and fast and make it hurt and he'd tried to oblige. He'd started by touching her - too gently, she'd said - and before long he was roughly pumping two fingers in and out of her, his other hand digging painfully into the doughy flesh of her thigh. He'd been groaning and she was gasping and then, suddenly, she was crying and he was done.

But she also thought about other times they'd been together recently.

Back in April, over the Easter holiday, when he'd taken his time with her, kissing and caressing her entire body, bringing her to orgasm twice before slipping inside her, riding her slowly and sensually until he lost control, spasmed several times, and spent himself inside her, moaning her title into her ear as he did so. Then he'd wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the back of her neck and they'd fallen asleep in this position, and in the morning he insisted she join him for breakfast before departing because she had a long day of meetings with foreign dignitaries ahead.

"I know you," he'd said. "You'll run yourself ragged for them and not stop to eat and by dinnertime you'll be lightheaded and weak from hunger."

She couldn't remember the last time Ron had worried about whether she was eating regularly enough, though it had only been a couple of months since he'd walked in on her stepping out of the shower and said, "Oy, Hermione, have you gained weight?"

An entire year. That's how long her husband had been seeing her secretary. Twelve months. She'd gone home at lunch today to retrieve a forgotten folder to find them in bed together. He didn't even give her the courtesy of finding out in a less cliched way, no, she had to walk into her bedroom to find them fucking.

"I thought you were home sick today," Hermione said, staring at Cecile, who hurried to cover her bare breasts. "I sent you a get well fruit basket."

"I'm so sorry, Hermione." Cecile climbed from the bed wrapped in their sheet, a sheet Hermione had purchased because the shade of blue matched that of her favorite curtains. "We didn't mean for this to happen."

"How long?" she asked Ron. She was oddly calm. Perhaps because she'd known for years that he was stepping out on her, this didn't come as the shock it should have, though it wounded her deeply to know how close to home his conquests had become.

"A year," he said. "It's our, uh, anniversary. Today."

"Happy anniversary, then." She went to her desk and found the folder. "I need this for an afternoon meeting, but I do apologize for interrupting your... celebration."

She returned to her office via Floo, glad she didn't have to enter the Ministry the way everyone else did, as she didn't think she could face other people today. She cancelled her afternoon meeting and headed to see Severus as soon as it was an acceptable time for her to depart (five pm exactly).

When she stepped out of the fireplace in Severus' office, his head snapped up. He could tell something was wrong, though whether it was by Legilimency or intuition she was unsure.

He'd rushed to her and taken her in his arms and asked her what was wrong, and in the moment it didn't strike her as odd, even though it hadn't been so long ago that she couldn't even hold his hand in bed post-sex without fear it would prompt him to say goodbye and send her away.

"He's sleeping with my secretary," she said.

"I'm sorry," he'd said.

They didn't speak much over dinner, and afterward he spent an hour reading aloud to her (from a mystery novel, not a romance, but still). She found the sound of his voice soothing and by the time they retired to his bedroom, she was almost over the shock of it all.

That's when she'd asked him - not for the first time - to make it hurt. And he'd fucked her with his fingers and she'd cried and he'd stalked from the bed and...

And she couldn't leave. Not tonight. Not like this.

She removed her stockings and blouse and skirt and bra. The black t-shirt he'd been wearing under his frock coat earlier was draped over the end of the couch; she put that on. She let herself back into his bedroom, which was now dark.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

He did not answer.

She knelt on the bed and touched his shoulder.

"I can't spend the summer with you. I have children."

"I know." He did not move, nor did he open his eyes, but at least she knew he was awake. She slid under the covers and wrapped her arm around him, placing her hand on the center of his chest.

"For what it's worth, I think I love you... Severus."

There was a long silence, so long she wondered if he didn't hear her.

"Severus, I said-"

"Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"I wouldn't. I do mean it."

He repositioned himself so he was flat on his back. She nestled close, resting her cheek against his chest, and relaxed when his hand moved up to the back of her neck, where he scratched at her hair the way she liked.

"Did you genuinely doubt that I like you?"

"I've been too afraid to try and define our relationship. And you have to admit, it's... unique. Do you love me?"

"I do not wish to jeopardize your reelection."

"But do you love me?"

"And I do not want to be responsible for any pain your children might suffer."

"Fine." She threw one leg across his. "But do you love me?"

"More than he ever could." He kissed her forehead and she sighed. "More than I thought I was capable."

Well, then." She hugged her arm around his waist and was gratified when his tightened his grip around her in response. "Where do we go from here?"

"Where, indeed." He tilted up her chin and kissed her again, this time on the lips. They made eye contact in the dark, and neither wanted to be first to break it. After a long moment, he suggested, "Let's sleep on it."

"Alright." She closed her eyes, but she knew sleep would not be coming quickly tonight. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Hermione." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, to kiss her inner wrist. "I love you."