Chapter 12: Anything You Wanted

"Now they're going to bed

And my stomach is sick

And it's all in my head

But she's touching his chest now

He takes off her dress now

Let me go"

-The Killers, "Mr. Brightside"

The week was dreary Severus was filled with dread. At every chance he had-between classes, late in the evenings after dinner, a stolen moment in the cupboard-he touched her, held her close, fingered her hair. At night in his rooms, she tried to kiss him, slide her hands under his clothes, but he wouldn't do it. He just held her, neither speaking, and absorbed her presence. He wasn't sure if she understood, but eventually she gave in and just lay there with him.

Saturday, she stood before him in a liquid silver gown that made him groan. He pressed his hand against her exposed back and kissed her long and deep, subconsciously trying to give her a reason to come back to him. She melted into him. Neither of them spoke. He helped her into her coat and she left.

XXXX

He could barely take it. He poured glass after glass of firewhiskey, until it was simpler to just drink from the bottle. He waited, slouched in his chair, and drifted off.

She was dancing with a man, her silver gown moving magically around them as they glided across the ballroom floor. She was grinning and flirting, batting her lashes and tossing her hair coquettishly. He held her at the waist, his hand on the place where her bare back met the fabric of her dress. The music stopped and they kissed, his hands winding in her wild hair, hers fisted in the fabric of his dress robes, pulling him closer. Oblivious to the rest of the room, they kissed furiously, tongues dancing, hands groping at one another. When they parted, breathless, she looked up at James Potter through her lashes and whispered, "take me home."

Severus woke, gasping and coughing, from his alcohol-induced nightmare. He was coherent enough to understand the tricks his subconscious played on him; the woman he loved, once again taken from him by his same adversary... it was ludicrous.

"James Potter is dead." He said it out loud, forcing his spinning mind to believe.

But Weasley is there, he reminded himself. Probably dancing with her, holding her...

He shook his head, willing his mind to stop torturing him, but he was weakened with whiskey.

Hermione, pressed close to Weasley on the dance floor. She sees his face-he still loves her, because who wouldn't? She sees how young he is, how full of life. He is one of the heroes they're honoring; he is worthy of her. He kisses her; she lets him.

Severus took a large gulp of the firewhiskey.

Now they're home, in his bed. He's taking off that damned silver dress-that was supposed to be me!-and she's moaning. He's fucking her, she wants it. She's happy. She's forgotten all about me.

Anger and drink burned the back of Severus' throat.

How could she do this to me? She knows I won't survive her. This will destroy me.

Panic ripped through him. A glass crashed against the wall, and Severus realized he had thrown it. No. She can't! He lost control, and the bottle of Firewhiskey exploded, seemingly of its own volition. Books and papers flew around the apartment as if a strong wind whipped through. There was a roaring in his ears, and Severus gulped in air, trying to get his magic under control, but his treacherous mind spurred on the chaos:

You don't deserve her.

You'll never be good enough.

She doesn't love you.

And then she was there, appearing in the doorway like a silver ghost, and he wasn't sure at first if she was real. She muttered a spell and everything stopped, parchment floating down around them like autumn leaves, the room suddenly very quiet.

"Severus!" she gasped, and ran to him just as he sank to his knees. He caught her around the waist and she fell with him, cradling his head against her chest.

He wanted to sob, or scream or just say anything, but only a strangled cry came from his throat, muffled by her skin against his mouth.

"Shhh," she consoled him, rocking, stroking his hair. "It's alright, Severus. It's okay."

But it wasn't. Could he live this way? Could he continue with her, never knowing for sure what she did when they were apart? Always second-guessing her love, knowing he wasn't good enough, and living in fear that each day would be their last? Could he always wonder if she would stay, when there was no reason she should?

No.

So before he quite knew what he was doing, he was whispering into her chest: "Legilimens."

She was at the gala, smiling but feeling anxious, constantly glancing at the clock. Ministry officials one after another lined up to congratulate and thank her, but she did not engage them in conversation. She was worried about him, eager to go home to him. When would be too early to leave? Longbottom asked her to dance, and she almost accepted, but thought of him and politely declined, citing tiredness.

Her dress was uncomfortable and she didn't eat much dinner. She thought only of Severus, the kind way he looked at her, the companionable silence of reading together on the sofa. She would much rather be with him than here-or anywhere else-right now. She daydreamed: pulling on one of his worn black sweaters that would swallow her, tucking her toes under his thigh on the couch to warm them. She hoped he'd tied back his hair-she loved it that way. Then they'd wind together under the quilts and he'd hold her, caressing her hips until she fell asleep.

Weasley was there, then, asking her for a dance, speaking to her, trying to move his body close. She was uncomfortable, but confident: she did not want him. He begged her to talk to him, to see if they could work things out. He told her he missed her. She smiled kindly, but shook her head. She was seeing someone else, now, she told him. Someone very special, and she wouldn't mess things up. He asked who she was seeing, was he at Hogwarts? Was it someone he knew? Hermione smiled and said it was still new, and she wouldn't tell.

The night wore on, and Hermione was tired, ready to return home to him. Home; his tiny rooms in the Hogwarts dungeons felt more like home than anywhere else. So long as she was with him. Would he be happy to see her, when she returned? She hoped he wouldn't have wallowed much; she knew he was being jealous and self-loathing when she'd gone. But soon it would be over, and she'd let him unzip her dress, hold her... then it would be just the two of them, again.

She said her goodbyes, perhaps just a little sooner than was polite, then apparated back to Hogsmeade, as close to Hogwarts as she could manage. Then she slipped off her towering heels and ran for home.

Severus was in an unstable state of mind, and quite drunk. He couldn't focus, not even to withdraw from her memories. He slipped, and fell back in.

She was on his couch, apologizing for her boyfriend. He reached for her hand, and her heart fluttered. She loved the feeling of his touch, so hesitant and unsure, but she could tell he wanted it. He held her hand between his and she faltered. She was falling for him, and she knew it. She told him that she felt inadequate for Ron, and he scowled. She wanted to cry, to tell him that he never made her feel anything but perfect. He made her feel... whole again.

Then she was in his classroom, sitting on his desk. She sat close, hoping he'd touch her. She spoke badly of Ron, hoping Severus would speak up. She was growing impatient-was she imagining things?-the more time she spent with Ron, lately, the more she wanted Severus. What was wrong with her? She should just break up with Ron. But she was scared-scared of hurting him, of hurting Harry and the Weasleys. Scared of isolating herself... but most of all, scared of opening herself up to Severus. She had to know, first. He had to show her that he wanted her, too.

She was angry. She antagonized him, provoking him to say he wanted her. He didn't. And then his lips were on hers, prying her open inside and out, working his way into her. But then her mind was on Ron. Sweet, kind Ron, who did not deserve this. She fled.

Later, she finally let Ron have what he'd been after for months. She wanted him, she felt sure. He fumbled and she closed her eyes. It wasn't bad, but she regretted it almost immediately. When he fell asleep, she finally let herself cry.

The it was Halloween, and she was drunk in Hogsmeade with her friends. And miserable. Ginny asked if Ron had upset her, Hermione shook her head. Later, he tried to take her up against a brick wall in an alleyway. She made him stop and he told her he needed her. She never slept with him again. Hermione was sick in the gutter and ran home as fast as she could. Sobbing uncontrollably. she found herself going down to the dungeons, letting herself into his rooms, kneeling by his sleeping form. He stirred and she lost her nerve, telling him they needed a break instead of what she really felt: that she loved him. She told him she would be there if he needed her, but what she really meant was that she needed him.

Then, she was standing in the rain outside Spinner's End, her heart pounding in her chest. She considered going back to the Burrow, but then he opened the door and she knew, despite his scowl, that she could never go back. That he was it for her. He was all there was.

Finally, she was kneeling on his bed, kissing his scars, and there was so much love. She wanted everything for him. She wanted to make him whole the way he did for her. She wanted to please him with her body, but he wouldn't let her. She was frustrated, but not angry. He would let her know when he was ready. Her heart ached for each injury on his body, but she never felt happier than to know his secrets, to understand him fully, She was curious about Lily, but afraid to ask. It didn't matter, really. She knew he belonged to her. And she was irrevocably, undeniably his.

Severus blinked, and the room reformed around him. For a moment, he felt relieved-no, elated: she loved him, and that was the truth; he had felt it in her thoughts. She wanted him as he wanted her. Perhaps everything would be alright.

But then he saw her face.

Hermione looked as if she'd been slapped. Her mouth hung open in awe, her eyes tormented by his betrayal. She stood and backed from him, her hands falling limply to her sides. Her chest heaved as if she was going to sob, but her eyes stayed dry. She searched his face as if for an explanation why he'd just opened her mind and pulled out her thoughts without her consent.

"Hermione," he reached for her, but she stepped out of his reach. She didn't jerk away in anger, but backed from him as if in fear. Slowly, she retrieved her coat and bag and then stood at the door, her hand on the knob. "Hermione!" His voice was desperate.

She turned her face to his, and he could see tears on her cheeks, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "I would have told you anything you wanted to know, Severus," she spoke quietly. "All you had to do was ask."

And then she was gone, and he let her go.