Author Notes: Disclaimer at the start. Many many thanks to my beta, Mad Madame Me.

Chapter 7

I wasn't quite sure what to wear to the ceremony. I'd spent all week gritting my teeth, slowly getting more and more frustrated by woodworking. I was determined to nail down the technique, get at least one wand cored out properly, and I hadn't achieved it yet. Thinking about appropriate clothing was beyond me. I didn't own that much, beyond jeans, t-shirts, jumpers, and school uniforms. None felt really appropriate. The only other thing that I had left was a dress that I'd bought without looking at it, to wear to Dumbledore's rushed funeral.

I looked at it, dubiously. I'd grown a little, put on a bit of weight, now that I wasn't panicking, and gearing up to run for my life. It would probably fit, but I doubted that I'd be comfortable all day long.

Ah, damn it. I wouldn't know until I tried it on. I stripped my towel, shivering in the cooler autumn air, that seemed to be able to cut through any warming spells I cast. I'd have to talk to Severus about getting an oil heater working, before winter turned bad.

I writhed into the dress, which was awkward and painful, but when I was settled, and had reconciled myself to having slightly less stretch and give in my clothes than usual, it wasn't that bad. I thanked my lucky stars that I'd never been one for tight or impractical clothing. My long sleeves and skirt would do well to keep me warm enough, with stockings and a robe.

On a whim, I reached my hand into the wooden box I used to store what little jewelry I had, and scrabbled about for a familiar cold circular coin. I shoved it into the pocket of my robes, and trudged downstairs. Snape was waiting, already efficiently ready, dressed in his usual black gloom. We made for a dark and sombre pair, which I supposed was the point of the day. Most of the attendants would be dressed like this, though I'm sure that some kids would come obstinately sporting their house colours. I personally didn't think it appropriate, remembering old competitions between ourselves. But if they were just kids, I couldn't really hold it against them.

Snape waved the invite at me, reminding me that our scheduled apparition time was approaching. I took a deep breath, clutched my hand around the fake galleon in my pocket, and with a quick nod at him, spun on the spot.

After a dizzyingly gross spin and crack, I found myself blinking and stable on a grassy field near Hogsmeade. Beside me, Severus arrived with a snap, the swirl of his robes the only sign that he'd apparated. Perfection comes with practice, and he had had a lot of that.

I could feel eyes on us, as we made our way across the field towards the thestral carriages that were waiting to collect the arrivals. The snap, crackle and pop of multiple apparitions peppered the landscape around us, and the Floo at the three broomsticks was being used so intensively that the chimneys there were emitting regular puffs of smoke, like a steam train. Snape and I had, presumably, been given priority transport. I imagined so had Harry, Ginny, and all the other teachers and anyone else who had suffered large media coverage in relation to the final battle.

I held my galleon tighter, and felt it cut into my hand a little. Snape had taken off while I'd been looking around and feeling the gazes – some probably not very friendly at all, given recent press – and had already climbed up into one of the carriages. I hurried along, and made it in beside him. I settled down as the thestrals moved off, probably pressed for time. Even as early as it was, there were a lot of people to move onto Hogwarts grounds.

Snape shifted, made more space for me. I stretched my legs out gratefully, smiled at him, and turned to greet our companions.

"Professor Flitwick, hello. Professor Sprout." I smiled at them in greeting. Sprout nodded, smiled, but seemed to be worried. Flitwick was surprisingly stony faced, staring straight at Snape, none of his usual cheer.

I swallowed heavily. How upset Flitwick had been, how affected he had been, by the final two years of Voldemort's terrorism, all came back to me. I'd heard Ginny talking about how he'd cast Severus out of the castle. I had always wondered if Flitwick had really fainted, on the night that Dumbledore had been killed, or if Snape had arranged for something convenient to befall Flitwick.

He would have been doing it to keep Flitwick safe, and protect as many of us as he could. We all knew that now, I imagine. I hoped. But Flitwick might just be taking things personally. Still blaming Severus for all the deaths.

"Severus," Flitwick inclined his head, and then turned to me, his voice stern and warning, "Miss Granger."

"Filius." Severus replied, nodding. "Pomona."

Sprout smiled thinly at Snape, and shot a worried glance at Flitwick, before turning to me. "Miss Granger, I'm glad to hear that you've been extending yourself recently."

I blinked at her, still a little shocked at the coolness in Flitwick's tone. I'd remembered him as a gentle man, who was delighted at his students' achievements. I was used to his smile, not the frown he now wore. "Oh?"

"Kevin Whitby showed me his new wand," she explained, "and I must say, if Ollivander's going to leave his business to anyone, I trust your mind more than any other for the job."

I blushed, and felt a little embarrassed at that. I'd never honestly thought that I'd take over the business, though obviously that would be the only reason a wandmaker would take an apprentice. To preserve the knowledge, and pass on their expertise to a younger generation. I felt the weight of that inheritance, that surety that Sprout had in my potential, fall down on my shoulders. With the emotional tone of the day itself, all our black robes and Flitwick's dislike of Severus, everything felt heavier and harder to bear.

"Thanks." I said, finally, feeling flatter than before, far less glad to be in the carriage. I had been thinking of talking about how nice it was, that we'd ended up together, instead of each of us stuck with family groups or random Ministry employees. But I didn't think it was appropriate now. The only company I was glad of was Snape's, for all that I liked my old teachers. At least the nature of the day gave me an excuse to be withdrawn and flatter than usual.

I forced myself to relax back against the seat cushion, and was immensely grateful when I saw the stones of the castle come into view. Crowds of black-clad people milled around the doors, clumped in groups. Some people, like Molly, were surrounded by family, in tears. Others were glad, clasping each other fiercely, happy to return, happy to feel safe.

The scene didn't appeal to me at all. I found my eyes drifting upwards, to the higher and less spell-scorched areas of the castle. Finding windows and towers and places that looked right and normal. I wanted to see it while I had the chance. To measure the familiar against the awful alien scars that the battle had left in the walls. The restoration would begin, workers brought in, in a month or so; the physical remains would be patched over and fixed, which was a good thing. But I felt a deep and bloody-minded vindication, in seeing the damage.

We had earned that, damnit. Dumbledore had earned it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Flitwick, Snape, and Sprout were all looking upwards, too. Whether out of similar sensibilities to myself, or their own more secret emotions, I had no idea. But the sense of discomfort left me. When the carriage stopped, and we disembarked, we lingered together, reluctant to individually make our ways into the crowd.

With Flitwick in front, following his stern but short pace, we made our way slowly and quietly past the groups. I waved and nodded to some people who called out my name, but mostly I walked with my head down. Following Flitwick was a good excuse to keep my eyes on the ground. Knowing that Sprout and Snape were beside and behind me respectively was supportive in a way that no amount of words could be.

I sighed, in relief, as we were ushered past clamours of teens, and parents, and graduates, into an area of seats that were clustered near the front of the Great Hall. People were beginning to calm down, take their seats. We were shown to our own, in a tidy line between Hargid to the left, and Sinistra to the right. Whoever had been in charge of the seat planning for this section had put a lot of time and thought into the arrangements. As I was smack bang in the middle of the previous teachers, there had been a deliberate effort to keep me beside Severus. It was probably more a consideration for him, than for me. Buffer the exonerated Death Eater with his housemate, and colleagues.

People who would understand, and not jostle him, or insult or question him. The worst had been Flitwick's entirely understandable sullen greeting. And knowing Snape, he would be happier to be snubbed than welcomed with open arms.

I eyed the group of people milling around the platform that had been assembled for the speeches, surrounded with wreaths and tables covered in boxes of medals. The Patil twins were shepherding officious looking people in robes, including the Minister, into their chairs, and handing out sheaves of paper to them all, probably programs. Neville was discussing something with Dennis Creevey.

A lot had been going on, while I'd been keeping my head down in Ollivander's books. It felt a bit abrupt and awful, to realise that the whole world had been moving on out there. Harry, Ginny, and Ron had seemed so static to me, all these months, that the realisation that the world was continuing – that my past classmates had been organising all this – gave me a very surreal feeling. I hadn't meant to become a professional apprentice, lock myself into an occupation, but I had. I didn't mind it at all, either, which was surprising.

Watching Neville defuse whatever Dennis had been upset with, and direct him to a chair with the word PRESS in large black letters on the back, I recognised that Neville was far more competent than I'd ever given him credit for.

"Good to see the boy's finally come into his own." Snape commented beside me. On my other side, Flitwick hmmed thoughtfully.

"Yes, Severus. He lacked direction... it was painful, to watch him trip over his own potential so many times." Flitwick sighed heavily. "It's not a good series of events that led to this, but I'm happy to see some good come of it all."

That gave me a lot to think about. As I sat throughout the heavy hearted words of various officials, and Harry's slightly nervous, pre-written speech, I wondered at the effect that teachers had on their students. The choices they had to make. Do they shepherd a student like Neville, or leave him to face the hardships ahead of him, knowing they'll make him a better person? Do they coddle Harry, knowing that he was beaten and unloved as a child, or do they distance themselves, so that they don't accidentally play favourites?

I wasn't sure I'd be able to trust myself to make those choices. I said so, as we were all stood up and directed to walk towards the stage. We'd been told to be silent, but the awards had started two hours ago; there were too many to give. The ceremony had been too ambitious. Nobody was silent, but the talk was quiet.

"It's impossible." Snape said, softly, his deep voice carrying enough for those near us to hear. "You never know, can never trust yourself. Every night, you mark idiot mistakes on their papers, and second guess yourself. Will this undermine their confidence? Why did they make this stupid error? How do I help them?"

Flitwick nodded. "You can't. That's the hardest part." He looked out across the room, full of bored people, half drifting off, others talking softly together. "You have to swallow all the impotence, your inability to reach that given student, and do the best you can. Then move on to the next one, and the next one, of several hundred."

I boggled. "And that's with a school as small as ours, too."

Sprout shrugged. "You do what you can. But it was alright, really, dear." She stretched around Severus to pat my shoulder comfortingly. "It was worth it, and it was a joy to teach most of you. That was nothing, compared to... well... I... seeing those girls bleed out like that, I..."

I wrapped my fingers around hers on my shoulder, and squeezed as hard as I could. In a way, being a student, having run off, even in the core of the battle, I'd had it easier emotionally than others. I couldn't imagine the effect it had had on everyone.

Sprout pulled away, and we lined up dutifully beside the lectern. I was too overcome by my own thoughts to notice the quick walk and handshake that I was given by the Minister. I was back in my seat before I knew it. Snape was giving me a very worried look. I shrugged, tried to brush his concern off, and pay attention to Harry's words. But Snape wasn't having any of that nonsense. He very obstinately wrapped his fingers around mine, and held onto my hand. A warm solid grip.

It grounded me, a little. Melted the ache in my heart. I'd been trying to comprehend the loss that everyone felt, when it was quite impossible. I should leave them to their own private grief, and focus on my own. My own worries. The people I had lost. And, as Harry was noting in his speech, the people I had gained, too.

Flitwick and I glanced towards each other at the same time, and our eyes met. I saw his eyes travel down to Snape and my linked hands. I waited for his previous frustration to return, but instead he smiled. I had to wait, out of respect for Harry, to the end of his speech. Most people began leaving, for an afternoon tea outside in the grounds. But those of us who had been in the Order, or Dumbledore's Army, or directly involved in the final battle, we were all to stay for a more private dinner.

So we sat, and watched everyone file out. I turned to Flitwick again, on the verge of asking a question, but he beat me to it, saying something that answered almost everything I was curious about.

"I might be upset with Severus, but I'm proud of you. Happy for you. A little in awe of the resilience of youth."

I smiled, genuinely warmed inside, back at him. "Well, we owe it to you, and to ourselves."

He gave me a very stern look, that worried me for a second, before he spoke again.

"Young lady! We have just celebrated the end of a war. You're free, you don't owe anything to anyone!"

He laughed, and I did with him. Our eyes drifted across the room to the journalists that were taking photographs, lingering around Harry and Ginny, asking questions. Skeeter was in there somewhere, being a nuisance, as always.

"I certainly don't owe them anything." I commented wryly. Flitwick patted me on the shoulder. Partly, I think, just because he could. He'd never have managed it if we'd been standing.

"That's the spirit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go and say hello to some of my other students."

"Of course. It was great to see you."

When he had left, we all began standing and milling about. House elves tidied chairs away, and the Great Hall slowly re-organised itself into an open room, with small tables for the food that would eventually be served.

The bar that was assembled quickly looked a little out-of-place; we'd never had a Yule Ball with alcohol, after all. But it seemed well-rehearsed enough that I assumed the elves had done something like that before. My eyes drifted back to the gaggle of the press, getting in the way of the house elves, and I noticed Dennis was making his way around the crowd of teachers that I'd ended up in.

I could see that Severus was looking a little tense, and probably wouldn't appreciate the flash of the camera, so I took a few steps back towards him, reaching him just too late to hear the first words that had left Dennis' mouth.

I stepped forwards once more, taking my place beside Severus, and looked quizzically at Dennis.

"So, how long have you two been together?" he asked, all earnest and eager and slightly melancholy.

I should have known better, really I should have, but I simply could not resist. He was Muggle-born, after all. There were very few people who could possibly get the joke, and I assumed that Dennis would be one of them. "Five years, eight months, three days."

Dennis seemed to be confused by that. He started counting on his hand. Severus was giving me an odd and horrified look.

"Oh come on, Dennis, surely you've seen Spaced!"

Dennis shrugged, baffled. "You've got me against the wall there, Hermione. Don't think I've heard of that one quite yet."

I waved a hand flippantly at Severus, not wanting to get into a conversation where I tried to explain a Muggle television show, and he obstinately insisted that he knew more than enough about that sort of thing.

"It's immaterial, then." I sighed, and rubbed my fingertips together, wondering how to best explain things. "Dennis, you see, Severus and I, we..."

"Only moved in together a week or so ago." Severus said beside me.

"Oh, well then, congratulations!"

Dennis lifted his camera to his face, snapped a very quick shot of us, and waved goodbye awkwardly before moving off to Neville, who was milling around the drinks table looking a little shell-shocked. He was probably still unused to media attention, and the Daily Prophet had been having a good year for celebrity stories. I couldn't see Harry or Ron or Ginny yet; they were either hiding somewhere away from Dennis, who seemed to be doing his best to compensate for the missing Creevey, or taking their time in arriving.

I turned to Severus, and did my best not to look too astonished or upset. I knew I couldn't hide it in my voice, so I did my best to force a comic fake scandal into my tone. "You're worse at spinning things than Skeeter is."

He shrugged, no smile, and turned away from me to look out across the large, heavy, full room of grieving and exultant students, teachers, parents, and Aurors. "I did, you'll agree, say nothing other than the truth."

I pursed my lips, and suppressed the urge to snap that he most certainly had done more than that. That he'd implied much more. Partly because I half wished the implications were true, after all. Partly because I was realising that any reaction, especially a grumpy one, would only encourage him.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, as the thought hit my mind. "That's why McGonnagal always had those hideous sour looks on her face at formal parties, and the end-of-year feasts. You were baiting her, weren't you!"

Severus didn't shrug, didn't respond at all. I knew I was right.

"I bet you didn't just have fun with her. I bet you made life hell for all the staff."

I was proud. He'd managed to maintain an image of detesting public events, while all the while he was perversely enjoying himself. At the expense, I'd imagine, of most people in the room. "No wonder you didn't try to out-stubborn me. You rampant party animal, you."

That last comment must have been a bit too much. He snorted, shook his head, and walked away without looking back at me once. I did my best to not feel the loss of his company – I lived with the man, for fuck's sake, as he'd happily pointed out – but I was uncomfortably infatuated. I hated it. I detested staring after him, trying not to look like I was watching, and hoping that Ron wouldn't show up while I was alone.

I had too much pride to follow Severus to the bar, so I scanned the room for someone – anyone – else that I could approach and talk to. I was quite lucky, because as I was looking, someone soft and female and about my age barreled into my side, wrapping her arms around me enthusiastically.

"Hermione!"

Luna was exuberant and happy, which was a little strange. I always remembered her as the soft-voiced and cultish teen she'd been. She'd grown up a lot, quickly – we all had – and she was harder, surer.

"Luna, hello."

I turned to face her, and saw Ginny behind her, holding three glasses.

"Hermione, hi."

"Ginny," I smiled at her, still a little uncertain. We'd been so close during school that I felt a little guilty. I hadn't even thought that much, about keeping in contact. I felt pretty rotten, since I'd made an effort to catch up with Ron, despite everything, but not with her. Her smile back was genuine, though. She handed both Luna and me drinks, and leaned forwards conspiratorially.

"I've got one too, now." She tapped a finger against her glass, making a chinking, metal sound.

I did my best to look at it without being too obvious, but Luna bent her shoulders and made very close friends with it. It was far more opulent than the ring Severus had foisted off onto me. Probably because both Harry and Ginny had lived with just a little less than was needed, for most of their lives. It was possibly all Harry, given his history for overspending on friends, though I doubted he'd have had the balls to pick an engagement ring without Ginny's approval.

"I don't technically have one, you know." I protested. "Mine is non-purpose-specific these days. But yours is pretty nice."

Ginny hmmed, and Luna nodded to herself, satisfied about whatever it was she had been investigating.

"It's lovely, Ginny, congratulations."

Ginny blushed, and smiled. She shook her head, and patted Luna on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, it must be obnoxious, Hermione and me all paired off like this."

"I'm not paired off!" I objected. Neither of them listened. Luna smiled brightly at me, and Ginny nodded as if I was being a deliberate fool.

"Oh, I don't care that much about marriage myself," Luna said finally, "there are far more interesting things to think about than sex. Fascinating new mutations in remote species to discover. Did you know, that no work at all has been done on refreshing our magical creature classification system? It literally is nothing more than making silly names up."

I gasped, scandalised. "But Muggles have been using species and sub-groups for at least a hundred years now, and using Latin classifications that are intuitive and descriptive!"

Luna nodded emphatically, her hair bouncing a little with her enthusiasm. Ginny sighed wholeheartedly beside us.

"You're just as bad as each other now. I think I liked it better at school, when you two were at odds with each other. I'm off."

I waved goodbye, and turned back to my conversation with Luna. She'd grown up a lot. She'd become much more interesting. And she was a friend of Ollivander's, had been there with him through torture and unspeakable pain. Anyone who was good for the old man, was certainly good enough for me.

"So," she said, with the eagerness of a true geek, a researcher, "when I'm finished writing up my findings from my trip – I'll show you some pictures later – I'm going to fix it."

"What, all of it?"

She grinned proudly. "I'm going to sort them all, all the magical creatures. By physical, magical, and mental capabilities. It will fix all sorts of issues we have in concept."

"And attitudes towards House Elves and Centaurs," I agreed, "If they can be demonstrably, academically, set-in-concrete established as closer to humans than to other magical creatures."

It was strange exultation, to have finally found someone who understood the need to classify and research and understand things. Of course, my passion was centred in book catalogues and my lifelong passion for sentient rights, while Luna's had come from the thrill of the mysterious and unknown. But that we'd come here, ended up somewhere that we made complete and absolute sense to each other... it was incredible.

I felt as if I could spend the entire evening with her, and not get bored. I would have, willingly, if I hadn't seen Ginny, Harry, and Ron together in a corner, talking. Ron turning on his heel, and walking very purposefully towards the bar. Severus had his back to Ron, and was saying something that had Madam Pomfrey's face contorting from either outrage or hilarity.

I waved goodbye to Luna without looking. She'd see where I was going, and who I was heading towards. Smart girl could figure it out herself. I only hoped I'd get there first, though it didn't look likely. A part of me inside baulked at the thought of facing Ron again, when only a few days ago I'd thought it would be the last I'd see of him in weeks.

I thought I'd have more time than this. I hoped I wouldn't get furious at him, and that my crush on Severus wouldn't make things any messier than they needed to be. I moved around and between people, murmuring greetings to those that tried to detain me. Ron was close, way too close now. He was placing his hand on Severus' arm, but not tugging. His face wasn't angry, it was subdued and looking a little forlorn.

I stopped short at that, and watched in strange detached shock as Severus turned to face Ron. He had a stern face, but it softened on seeing Ron's expression. I wondered what the fuck Ron had said. Severus said something himself, short. Not more than two words. Ron swallowed heavily, and turned around, walked slowly back to Harry's side.

I felt a little weird inside. I'd had a rush of adrenaline. I'd been ready to bear down, fuming, on Ron. But I'd been expecting him to be stupid and obstinate and offensive. I'd expected to be denying that there was anything between myself and Severus, as well, which was an outright lie. Having seen Ron's tired and sore expression, Severus' unnaturally mellow reaction, left me dead in the water. I felt a little lost. The lines had moved, somehow, and I hadn't even been there to hear what had happened. How it had happened.

Slower, now, I walked to Severus' side. He acknowledged me with a sidelong glance, and shifted on his feet so that he was standing close behind me. Just shy of touching.

"Hermione, hello."

I tried to smile, but it felt a little false. I knew that it wouldn't reach my eyes. "Madam Pomfrey."

Severus cleared his throat, a rough sound that was closer to my ears than I had expected. A large heavy hand closed around my shoulder; his arm was almost, but not quite, wrapped around me. I turned my face to look at him. Questioning.

"We'd better get home." he said. I wholeheartedly agreed. I'd had more than my fill of mourning and recounting and photographs.

"Exucse us, then, Poppy."

He steered me out of the hall without any trouble at all. I supposed I must have looked pretty awful. Or maybe there had been a story about the backfiring charm earlier on. I hadn't read any articles about myself or Harry in a long time. We reached the Floo, and arrived home in a crowded, ash-dusty burst.

I sneezed. Sat in a chair.

"You do realise," I said, feeling warmer and safer and a little bit more in control of myself now, "that if they hadn't thought we were together before, they certainly do now."

Severus dropped an old, ratty woolen blanket in my lap and sat down in the chair adjacent to mine. "Oh, certainly."

"I mean," I felt a little flustered. The words just weren't coming properly to me, "... I mean, Ginny and Luna seem to think we're engaged!"

I looked at his face, and felt an awful weightlessness and nervous energy in my stomach. This was not an ideal time to get all excited and blushing. Not the right time for crushes at all. Severus' slow smile didn't help in the slightest, either. "I thought that you didn't mind the thought of that."

I blinked. I had said something like that, hadn't I? A while ago now, but I had indeed said so.

"I suppose so."

I was a little caught up in my own thoughts, still half coming down from the weirdness of seeing Ron talking to Severus. I didn't notice that Severus' face was heading towards mine until his nose bumped into my cheekbone. His lips pressed, awkward and dry against mine. He didn't introduce any saliva at all, no tongue. Just pressed his warm, dry lips against mine.

It was the worst best kiss I'd ever had. I breathed in, deeply, and caught the stale sweaty smell of a man who'd spent all day standing in his dress robes. It wasn't something I'd ever thought could be appealing before, but it was him. It wasn't that nice, but it was real and comforting in a way I hadn't thought a smell could be. The same way that the fusty smell of old books was comforting. Smells that meant safety and intimacy.

He still didn't deepen the kiss, didn't move. His breath tickled my lip as it came out his nose. His arm came up tentatively, and wrapped around me, pulled me closer. Moving slowly, as if I was some inexperienced kid.

I almost took affront, before I remembered that Severus himself was probably as inexperienced as a kid. He was certainly inexperienced enough to be unaware that wooden armed chairs and close embraces didn't ideally mix. My arm was cramped, and twisted uncomfortably. I sighed a little, and pulled back reluctantly.

I hadn't even had the time to catch up, mentally. I hadn't quite yet got to thinking that this couldn't possibly be happening. That there was no way Severus was as into me as I was him. I was nowhere near the breathless elation that should have followed, when I realised that he was, actually, ready and eager. Had really taken the first move. I was still lagging a little. I wondered if it was usual, in love, or just for people whose brains had been slammed into by a failed and mind-altering spell.

But he was thinking. I'd only pulled back, gently, enough to give my sore arm some room. He snapped back, elastic, retreating as quickly as he could. His face was red, his eyes were frantic. His hands flopped back into his lap.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to. I mean..." His voice sounded shaky, and I was moving, up out of my chair, and around onto the floor in front of him.

He tried to look away from me, was still mumbling apologetic words, looking more terrified than I'd ever seen him. Even during the final battle, with Voldemort bearing down.

"No, no no no no no no." I said, quickly as I could, hoping it got through to him. It seemed to. He stopped, and looked straight at me.

"My arm," I said, "was cramped." That sounded far more useless and lame than I'd thought it would, but oddly enough it seemed to do the trick.

"Your arm." He repeated.

"Yes, my sodding useless arm."

It sounded like a hiccup at first, but then his shoulders shook. He laughed, harder and louder than I had ever heard before. There seemed to be a small amount of hysteria in him, or maybe it was just incredulity, and my not being used to this sort of behaviour. At some point it softened slightly, and he looked down at me from his chair. He leant forwards, still laughing softly, his face more relaxed and happy than I'd ever seen it before.

He reached down for my arms and tugged gently. I obliged and stood, followed him as he reclined back into his chair, leaning forwards over him. It was the first time that I had ever wished my hair hadn't been tied back. I half wanted it out and long, curtaining us off from the rest of the world, making this moment more intimate than it already was.

He reached a hand up to my chin, presumably to pull me forwards, but he never applied pressure. His fingertips shook a little against my neck. Or maybe I was shaking against him.

Whichever of us it really was, I was sure at the time it was him. That he was still too shy and nervous. That he'd maybe never kissed anyone before, not in a situation like this. So I let my weight carry me forward, let my head hang forwards on my neck, my lips pressed more surely into his than his had to mine.

I felt, rather than heard, his sharp breath in. It was delicious, to be this close to somebody. To feel this giddy and alive. With Ron, it had all just been meat. Flesh pressed up against other flesh for the sake of a false comfort. This was so charged, so full of real, tingling, energy that I felt that my skin couldn't possibly hold all of me in.

I didn't notice the arms of the chair as they dug into my thighs. I noticed that later, when I'd come down from the high of the moment. I simply wanted to be as near, as close, as I could be. His arms had come up around me at some point, and at that moment, as I was opening my mouth slightly against him – wary of any quick movements, in case they broke this glorious experience – they closed tight around my back. Warm, comforting.

He didn't feel electric. He felt like tea and biscuits and dark dusty rooms full of books against me. Even through my dress robes. It was knowing it was him, there, with me. Home. Safe. Everything that I wanted and needed.

His mouth opened under mine. Given his dry, chaste kiss earlier, I hadn't expected that. I tentatively slid my tongue forwards, and found myself learning the taste and feel of Severus. It was easy, far too easy, to kiss him. It wasn't the most technically skilled kiss I had ever had, but I enjoyed it far more than all the rest.

We parted, wetly. My knees were shaking, either from my spinning head, or my leaning awkwardly over him. I had no idea how long we had been kissing for.

"Ah, er, hmm, well." I grinned, couldn't help myself. Too many happy head chemicals rising in my bloodstream. "So. I can't stand around like this all night..."

I backed up a little, hoping that he'd stand, and we could negotiate some truce over his bedroom; my single bed was far too small to be useful. But he just sat there, half-smiling up at me, something strange shining in his eyes.

"I won't be very good at this, at all." He was warning me, but he didn't sound as numb and defensive as usual. I chose to take that as a sign of growing self-confidence. I flicked him in the forehead, and turned to make my way up the stairs.

"As if I'm going to be any better. I've never made love to anyone before, myself."

I had made it to his door, had my hand on the knob, when I heard a loud "Fuck!", and the scuffle of chair and shoes downstairs. I didn't have very long to wait at all.