Sorry for the short update. My life is getting on the way and being a new graduate student can be so very busy. But I finally get the hang of it and now have some time to pick up my stories, yay! I planned to finish this one with three chapters, which as you can tell, ain't going to happen. But we are near the end of it! So stay tuned for the next couple chapters (wink).

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The tension was still there, she could feel it, and she knew he could feel it. Yet with an unspoken agreement, they both pointedly ignored it, even though it was thick enough to suffocate them.

She noticed him deliberately keeping a professional aura, making minimal contact and all that. But he failed to hide his concern when she cried out from the pain and flashbacks. She reached forward, fingers gripped on strong muscles, needed him to ground her in reality. Severus was still like a statue, but his hands were placed beside her waist, firmly supporting her. The scar from Dolohov wasn't as bad as the one from Bellatrix, and Hermione tried her best to focus on the present. Fighting against the strong pull of memories, she forced her attention on the man in front of her. She cataloged the length and depth of the deep line on his forehead, the darkness of his eyes, the warmth radiating from the palms resting against her skin.

Let out a shuddered breath, she placed her forehead almost forcefully against his, fingers flexed against wire-like muscles. Warm brown eyes looked deep into black ones. Hermione breathed in his scent until all those awful images vanished in front of her eyes, until all she could see and feel was him.

He was tense, muscles hard almost like stones, his breath barely audible. She could push her luck by trying to kiss him again, but she had decided to go for a more subtle routine. Well, at least as subtle as she could manage.

Hermione let go of him and fell limply across the couch once her pain eased to slight sting. Severus relaxed fractionally, unreadable emotions flashed across those dark depths, gone as quick as they appeared. He gently pushed her to shift until she lied down on her back and started silently working Dittany on the wound.

Hermione observed him with half-lidded eyes, enchanted by the way his long fingers handling the small bottle of Dittany with surgical precision. Silence fell upon them like spider webs, the only sound was her exhausted heavy breathing. The feeling of skin and flesh being sewed together by Dittany was not a pleasant one, but it was nothing compare to his intense gaze focusing on her wound, pinning her down. She lazily wandered what would happen if she pulled him down and kissed him, let his heavy weight settle against her exposed skin… She shivered lightly at the imagination, right when the last drop of the Dittany touched her skin. Mistaking her reaction to the one of pain, he flipped his gaze up to check on her.

Their gazes met and tangled, time seemed to freeze until he stood up abruptly and stepped back, clearing his throat. A realization hit her—

All her scars have been attended to.

Again, her mouth acted before her brain.

"Severus, will you stay? Just a little longer?"

Well, subtle my arse.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

He shouldn't make that damn balm. At least he shouldn't deliver it himself after finishing it.

What's so wrong with owl delivery?

It was too late to regret what has been done. Nothing happened tonight seemed right. He couldn't understand himself, neither could he understand her.

Drawing a deep breath, Severus turned his gaze toward the young witch curled up beside him on the sofa, covered by a gray-blue blanket. She had fallen asleep, using his thighs as a pillow. Her chest was floating up and down with her breathing. He has gone out of his way to please her, he knew. Yet he was unable to say no when she asked him to stay. How she could find comfort with his company was always a mystery to him.

Since when did he become the one she looked for comfort support?

Looking back, it all started with simple, friendly hugs. He was too stupid to realize the danger of those innocent gestures. If only he knew they would lead to her seeking comfort from him when her orange monster passed away…Ever since that night, his role shifted from a friend to a comforter. He failed to count how many times she had come to him, upset or angry or stressed, asking for a hug. Those time she always ended up curling beside him on his couch, sharing the worn-out blanket he had since he graduated from Hogwarts until she gave him a new one the Christmas two years ago…

"Hmmm..." Hermione moaned in discomfort, shifting in her sleep. Her face nuzzled against his pants. Subconsciously he placed a hand on her soft curls, lightly caressing them in a soothing manner.

Things has changed between them, but to what direction? He failed to fathom her actions, didn't dare to hope what would be the meanings behind them. Gratitude, maybe? Or perhaps his worse nightmare has come true, that she had viewed him as a father-figure since she had lost her parent due to the strong memory charm…

"Severus?" His brooding was interrupted by her quietly calling his name. He looked down and saw her has shifted so that she was laying on her back, sleepy eyes looking up to him. His fingers, without his permission, were lovingly tracing the side of her neck. He quickly retreated the offended digits, feeling heat creeping up his cheeks.

Luckily, the young witch did not seem to pick up what had happened. She just blinked several times to chase away the sleepiness and shifted into a more comfortable position on his laps.

"I was thinking. Severus, have you tried to heal your scars?"

….

Please let me know what you think!