The incident that changed so much in our partnership had started with another raid gone wrong. Hermione and I had only been working together for the better part of a year and were at loggerheads constantly; finding common ground was about as easy as finding the Isle of Avalon. But on that sweltering summer night, we had fallen into the heat of battle and truly worked together for the first time.

The sheer, stunning beauty of Hermione's magic as she cast out her spells, as well as the way it had intertwined with mine, had frankly left me breathless. In nearly forty years of spellcasting, I had never experienced such a euphoria with another person… such intimate connection. My blood seemed to hum with the lingering power of it, and as we sat in our office completing the incident reports, I was aware that we were treading on unfamiliar, dangerous ground.

Granger was fairly sparking with latent magic as she paced in the small room, her hair a wild, untamed nimbus that made my fingers itch to touch. It wasn't the first time I had been aware of her as a woman; matters had been building between us for some time. But I had been scrupulous in not betraying any hint of desire. Too many people watched us for any sign of impropriety to surface, and besides, she was as far away from an uncomplicated fuck as a woman could get.

As a bent my head back down to the parchment in front of me, a splash of blood stained the surface. "Bollocks," I muttered, casting a hasty cleansing charm.

"What?" she asked, swivelling around to stare at me.

"The ruddy cut on my head won't stay shut," I explained, picking up my wand to apply yet another healing spell.

"Oh, budge over and let me do it." Without waiting for permission, she bossily strode over to my desk and wedged herself between the hard surface and my chair. Cupping the back of my head, she pushed it down and started to peer at my scalp where the laceration was located; in doing so, she had quite neatly put me face-to-face with her lovely, lush tits. Her robes had been carelessly thrown over her chair when we had entered the office, and through the thin fabric of her shirt, I could see that her nipples were hard.

My cock swelled in appreciation, alarm bells dimly ringing in my head.

"Well, no wonder," Granger muttered crossly. "You still have bits of that enchanted mirror in your hair." Exhaling, she let her magic flow over my skin in healing wash, and I shivered with the sensuous pleasure of it. Suddenly, I could picture her naked and riding me in the chair; saw her laid bare on my desk, legs spread open in invitation.

I grabbed her hand, intent on removing it from my person as soon as possible. "Granger," I growled in warning. Her eyes connected with mine, dilating with a sudden, intense heat and registering our nearness—the possibilities!—for the first time.

"Afraid, Severus?" she taunted, and then she did the unexpected. With all the swiftness of a seeker, she dipped her head and kissed me. Her lips were soft and fierce, and my entire body came alive with the promise of it. For the briefest of glorious moments, I let her; then my brain resumed functioning.

Granger was my partner, and although it had gone sour, married. Granger had been my student and was still best friends with the bane of my post-war existence. More than that, Hermione Jean Granger was hazardous to my health. Relentless, brilliant, and beautiful to boot, she had gotten under my skin more than I liked to admit. And she would deeply regret any adulterous liaison with me. Her moral code was such that it would not be something that could be brushed under the rug. She stuck her vows and promises. Although it would shock most people, I would feel the same way. The only crime that I had never been accused of was adultery, and I was determined that it would stay that way.

Given the amount of time we spent together, there was only one choice left open to me; anything less would leave the door open to future temptations, and I knew that I would not be able to resist her sweetness a second time. Roughly, I shoved Granger away and let loose with my temper.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? Have I ever shown the least bit of interest in you?"

Stumbling backwards, she just barely caught herself. Humiliation bloomed on her cheeks. "Considering the way you were just ogling my breasts, I would say yes!"

"When you shove them under my nose like a slag, even I am bound to notice them!" In a flurry of black, I advanced upon her, pinning her to the desk and looming tall.

"Get this in your brushy brain: I do not want you. I am not interested in fucking you under any situation, and I never will be. If you are truly that desperate, you would be better off petitioning your ginger twat of a husband for attention, not sexually harassing me. Touch me like that again—hell, think of me like that again—and I'll bring you up on charges of inappropriate workplace behaviour so fast that even Saint Potter will be left spinning in his high office. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly!" she spat, and I could see the beginnings of shame filling her expressive eyes.

"Good," I drawled mockingly, and then turned swiftly, heading for the door. I had no wish to see her cry. "Then I shall see you next week after we both come back from holiday."

Without waiting for her response, I fled the scene.


A woman colder than the North Sea entered our shared office ten days later. Pushing my chair back, I looked at her with a raised brow.

"Are we good?"

Granger took her time in answering, and when she did, her voice was perfectly composed. "Yes."

I pointed to the inbox. "There are several new cases. Chose one."

It was a lie, of course. We weren't good. A solid year passed before any level of trust existed again between us. In that time, she finally got divorced, and I slept my way through a parade of curly-haired brunettes. We did not discuss the incident further.

Indeed, our magic never met in a mingled, joyful rush again; although Granger eventually began to treat me fondly, she never once looked at me with anything more than the warmth of a close friendship. Determined to make up for the loss of control, neither did I. But I damn well thought about it.

And then the dreams started.

I was a lost man.


"Hermione, would you forgive me for what I said to you seven years ago?"

His question rang in her ears, and memories of that terrible night blotted the very warmth from the kitchen. Of all the things that Severus Snape could have asked of her, it was the most unexpected.

Hermione had never been so ashamed of her behaviour as she'd been on that dreadful night. She'd had loads of excuses, of course. There had been the excitement brought on by the raid, as well as the fact that Ron hadn't so much as looked at her with a hint of lust in over a year.

When Severus' glittering black eyes had slid over her breasts and lingered on her lips, it had been both a balm and an intoxicant, firing her blood. Frankly, Severus was sex on a stick when he turned his full attention on her, and just the thought of him… well, she understood why she'd reacted in such a heedless fashion. But it had still been wrong, and she was weirdly grateful that he had acted as he had.

However, that didn't make the utterly mortifying way that Severus had smacked her down hurt any less. Still, he had been correct, she had buried that pain deep. Over the years she had tried to let the wound heal, and he became a stalwart friend. An unconditionally trusted confidante, and nothing else. She did not risk their friendship again.

But now he stood before her, shaking and appearing wholly terrified. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but he placed a trembling finger to her lips.

"You must know that it was nothing but a pack of lies. All of it." He swallowed thickly, voice rough and eyes pleading. "I wanted you then so badly it hurt. And I've dreamt of you for years. That you would forgive me and we could become partners of… of a different sort. That we could build a life together."

Severus stopped speaking, and she could see the pulse in his throat racing. Slowly, she took in his words. Heard what he was saying, and everything that he wasn't.

A flood of emotion nearly knocked her to her knees as realisation dawned. "Oh, you silly, stupid man. I forgave you years ago. You only had to ask."

He blinked, eyes wide and dark, all uncomprehending.

She laughed unsteadily, something blooming in her chest. "Don't you see? I love you. I've been in love with you for years."

Severus made a low, pained noise, reaching for her. "Say it again. Please."

"I forgive you," she whispered, drawing him in. "And I love you."

His mouth crashed into hers, kissing her deeply as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did, but Hermione lost all coherent thought as the years of repressed longing exploded into flame.

She was not passive under the assault; yanking him close, she pressed her curves into him, hands spreading wide on his chest and moaning wantonly. Tongue dancing with hers, he deepened the kiss, but the angle still wasn't right. Giving a frustrated huff, he slid his hands down to her hips and lifted her onto the counter. Swiftly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and they both gasped as the new position brought his swelling cock into the hot valley between her thighs.

"Yes," she panted, pulling at his shirt frantically in search of skin. Severus had better success with hers, ripping the buttons open and bending forward to place a series of open-mouth kisses across her aching breasts.

"You are utterly glorious," he murmured, a sudden humour filling his gaze as he looked up at her. "It's a pity I still can't feel half of my face."

Smiling widely, she stroked his cheek. Half-healed, it was still swollen and warm under her fingers. "You poor man. Come to bed, and let's see if I can find something that you can feel."


When she finally got his clothes off him, it was hard not to wince. His skin was positively mottled in a cacophony of bruised blue, green, and yellow. Here and there were the remains of far older scars, gone silver with age.

Grief tugged at her; they had come so close to not having any of this, and it was a thought that sent a wave of pain through her. Resolutely, she pushed the what-ifs away and focused on the leanly muscled feast in front of her. Pushing him onto her bed and beginning to strip, Hermione purred, "This once, let me do the work."

"I did promise that I wouldn't argue about any forms of treatment," Severus agreed solemnly, eyes glittering with appreciation as she unhooked her bra. "But I should warn you, when I can properly feel my face again, I'm going to have you ride it until I'm soaked and you're screaming my name. I've dreamt of you, Hermione Jean Granger, and I fully plan on realising all those fantasies."

Just the thought of it made her burn. "I'll hold you to that. Now," she said, drawing on her best nurse impression. "Can you feel this?" Teasingly, she tweaked at the hard caramel nubs of his nipples.

"Yes," he groaned, reaching up and stroking her arms in encouragement.

"And how about this?" Carefully, she straddled him, bringing her mouth down to take his mouth in a languid, sweet kiss as their bodies finally slid together.

"Yes!"

They both gasped when he rolled his hips, Hermione throwing her head back in mute pleasure. His large hands came up and cupped her breasts, kneading and squeezing the sensitive swells until she could hardly think.

"Severus," she pleaded, feeling the hot, blunt head of him catch against her slick centre. The emotion of the moment began to overwhelm her, and she reached for one of his hands, linking her fingers around his.

"I can feel you," he whispered fiercely, "Oh, Hermione, I can feel you…"

Canting her hips to bring his thick length home, she moaned as he slowly filled her. "And that? Can you feel that?"

He was panting, face gone rigid with desire. "Yeesss!" Thrusting up sharply, he buried himself to the hilt. Severus gripped her hand tightly, and in his dark eyes, she could see the same welter of sentiment that she knew filled hers; she knew that neither of them would last long in this dance.

"I love you," he said, tender and fierce and possessive all at once.

"I love you, too," she responded as they moved together as one. Then she was lost in the white heat of their joining, bucking wildly as he thrust rapidly under her. It was too much, and as Severus groaned inrelease, Hermione followed him into the welcome of oblivion.


We both slept for several hours; the crushing weight of the world had been replaced by the pleasing sensation of the witch I loved snuggling up to my side. Unfortunately, I also hurt all over, the bone-deep ache magnified by the fact that my skin felt several sizes too small. I stirred, wondering if I dared to get up and take a pain potion.

The smooth cadence of Hermione's breathing changed, indicating that she was already awake.

"Are you alright?" she asked, voice low and pleasing in the quiet of her bedroom.

"I hurt," I admitted, cautiously flexing my long feet to see how bad things were.

"Our timing may not have been the best," Hermione agreed dryly.

"It was worth any pain. I rather think…" I began, but before I could say anything more, she stiffened in my arms.

Sitting up, Hermione glared at me, every inch a warrior queen. "Don't you dare say that you could die a happy man, Severus Snape!"

I was startled by her vehemence, and stroked her silky sides in mute comfort. "That wasn't what I was going to say at all."

"Oh." She subsided with embarrassed, and I pulled her down for a careful kiss.

"I was going to say that I rather think that this sort of exercise will negate any need for physical therapy."

Hermione chuckled, but the desperation did not entirely leave her face. "Stay with me, Severus. Don't leave."

"I won't," I promised, seeing that this was one of her emotional minefields and vowing to be more aware of it. "I will take excessive care of myself in future."

She shook her head, eyes closing briefly. "You misunderstand me. Well, not entirely. I do want you to be more careful in future. No, what I meant is that I want you to stay here with me. In the cottage."

Her words sped up as her evident nervousness took over. "I know that this is probably moving things along entirely too quickly, but I don't give a damn. If we are both leaving the DMLE, then there is no need to be discrete. I want you to move in with me. If you want to lounge about and play househusband until you find a purpose, that's fine; if you have more concrete plans, I will support them completely. The garden shed can easily be converted into potions laboratory, for example…"

I placed a gentle finger over her lips, stilling the babble for a moment.

"Just as soon as I am up to doing magic, we can pack up my flat, and I'll put it on the market. We can figure out the rest later."

Sagging back into my arms, Hermione exhaled in relief. "You mean it?"

"Yes. I'm a greedy bastard, Hermione. I want every second that I can get with you."

Her expression softened, and she bit her lower lip. "A romantic bastard, it also seems."

"Perhaps. I do have one condition," I added soberly, feeling my heart rate pick up again as my own nerves made themselves known.

"Which is?"

"I won't play househusband." Before my words could wound, I went on. "But I will be your husband, should you wish it."

"Yes," Hermione replied instantly, gaze going shiny with tears. "Yes, that sounds perfect."

"Good," I said gruffly. "Now that we have that all settled, can I convince you to go downstairs and fetch us both some curry? All this physical therapy has worked up quite the appetite."

She laughed joyfully, the sound full and rich. "For you darling, anything."


A/N- Ahhh, see? I may have thrown you all off an evil cliffe, but I included a nice big parachute for the descent. Aren't I nice?

There were some really thoughtful and kind comments on the last chapter, which I greatly appricate. My thanks, lovely readers, for making my day, and hugs to Kailin, meg527, teosinte, reneelovessnape, Onyx Obsidian, Mel, Drasticactions, Fragilereality, pgoodrichboggs, Nachtwens, TheLadyBookworm, villafoo and several guests for taking the time to write.

One more chapter left. Happy Reading!