Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.
Chapter Nineteen: Slow Burn
Hermione blinked. She had never seen him so angry, at least not recently. His nostrils were flared, and, it was just impossible but, she was sure his eyes just kept darkening. His hands on her wrists, pinning her to shelf-lined wall, were warm, no doubt radiating heat due to his rage. He was breathing out in huffs, as if he might produce smoke and fire at any moment like a dragon.
"Where the hell did you go? You left in broad daylight! What if someone other than myself had missed you? Better yet, Granger, where have you been going? What the hell have you been sneaking to, in the middle of the night, risking your safety and mine? What is going through that know-it-all head of yours?"
His words were loud, but still not quite yelling. It was the sharpness with which he spoke them that made them so terrifying. Hermione stared back, willing her wide-eyed shock to dissipate into a well-deserved anger to match his. She struggled against his grip, but as it turned out, to be so thin, he was actually quite strong.
"You're always so concerned with your safety," she spat, grasping at the first thing she could use against him. "There are others who don't have what we have, you know. It's selfish."
He pressed his hands harder into her wrists, his mouth twisted into a grimace.
"You would be dead if it weren't for me, little girl, and my safety. I've compromised much to make sure you make it through this. The least you could do is—"
"What? Obey you? Because I'm your slave?" she cut in.
"The least you could do is act like you want to live!" he growled. "Now, where have you been sneaking off to, Granger?"
She struggled against him in vain. "Let me go!"
"Answer me!"
Hermione pursed her lips, rolling her tongue around her mouth as if it were in a fight. He had her pinned to the spot, both with his arms and body as well as with those piercing black eyes. For a moment, her mind wandered away from the anger she felt, remembering Crabbe's dead body and Snape's willingness to solve the problem. She remembered his comfort at getting the invitation to Ron's wedding. But she remembered, most of all, how he had shared with her his experience, with Lily Potter, to help her understand, to empathize with her. The anger was still swelling in her chest, and his eyes were getting no less dark, but she knew what she had to do. Honesty.
"I've been going to the resistance."
The statement was simple, and she had no malice in her voice as she said it. In fact, she had spoken those words as evenly as she had ever spoken before. For a moment, Snape didn't react. He just blinked at her, and for that same moment, Hermione thought his rage would subside. But that thought vanished as he gripped her wrists tighter, eliciting the tiniest of "ow"s from her.
"The resistance? Are you daft, woman?"
Her old friends, rage and anger, flared within her again. How dare he? That was wonderful news! There were those out there, right now, fighting against Voldemort. Isn't that what they all wanted? Her nose curled up as she jerked her mouth into a snarl.
"I've seen the potion, Severus! I saw what it did to Narcissa!"
Either it was the use of his first name or the fact that she had seen the potion in action, but that seem to jar him for just a moment. His grip slacked just enough for some relief. She sighed, but she noticed he still glared down at her.
"I've done all I could do to keep you safe, and all I'm hearing about is the reckless ways you've tried to end your life and the lives of your friends!" he shouted at her.
"Don't you dare!" she screamed at him. "Don't you dare mention my friends! You've no idea, no clue, what they're going through! You get to masquerade as Voldemort's right hand man, all the privileges you want! My friends? They're getting married off to people they hate, or trapped in cages like animals, or on the run, or I don't even know!"
His grip was back, and now he was pressed up against her, using his body to keep hers in place. She could swear she could see actual fire in his eyes, but she didn't care. She knew her own eyes had just as much flame to match.
"Don't talk about what you obviously don't understand!"
They'd abandoned all reason. They were both screaming, despite being literally in each other's faces. If she could push aside her anger, she supposed she would see the same things written in Snape's expression that was written in hers. The hurt, the anger, the rage, and… the fear. The fear she didn't like to talk about. But she was not going to give in; she wasn't going to quit fighting just because she could relate. She was done. Just done. Done being the slave. Done with everyone just going along with the world. Tired of being alone. And, frankly, just tired of being.
"It's easy for you!" she shrieked at him now. "You've got no one! I've lost everything! Everything! I Oblivated my parents! My parents! Now, I may never be able to undo it! They don't even know I exist!"
She heard the sob in her own voice, but no tears fell. She was just so damned tired of feeling like she was the only one who cared. Snape's expression softened, for just a moment. That's right, she thought. She hadn't told him about her parents. Her poor parents who, in the midst of everything, she'd barely had time to give a passing thought to. Another dry sob loosed itself from her lips.
"And Ron! And Ginny! How could they… how could they?"
Snape didn't respond, and now he seemed to just hold her there, against the shelves, listening. Hermione's breath was coming in huffs and puffs. She wanted to be done with this, done with the guilt, done with the pain. She needed to be done with it. She needed—
"That doesn't excuse—" Snape began, ever holding her in place, still angry.
She didn't give him a chance to finish. With just the inkling of a thought, she threw herself forward, locking her lips with his. He released her wrists in surprise, and she wrapped her now free arms around his neck. She parted his lips with her tongue, kissing him deeply. His hands seemed to hover just over her hips, but not touching, and he seemed hilariously frozen in place. When she came up for air, he seemed to be only able to stare, slack-jawed, at her.
At that moment, she realized what she needed—what she wanted. And it was selfish. And it was possibly for all the wrong reasons. But she didn't care. All she could think about now was how, in those few moments, being near him had just been so comforting. And now she wondered how comforting being with him would be. Maybe her chest would finally ease, and she could release her anger, fear, and guilt with him.
He was still staring at her, just not so slack-jawed, with his hands still floating above her hips. He didn't look angry, but he did look like he might protest. Like he might pull away. She would understand, honestly. There was the age difference, for one. Not to mention that he had been her professor at Hogwarts—although, truth be told, the teacher-student scenario did turn her on just a bit. But, on the flip side, that meant that he had known her since she was a child. Maybe, just maybe, that was what he was seeing now.
She bit lightly at her bottom lip, totally aware that she was still practically hanging around his neck. She was moments away from running away in embarrassment, just forgetting everything she wanted in that moment, when he swooped in, wordlessly, and returned her kiss at long last.
##
What in Merlin's name was he doing? He was snogging Hermione Granger, that was the fact of it. She had kissed him, in a fit of passionate anger, and now he was returning the gesture full force.
This was wrong. This was the worst thing he had possibly ever done. Possibly. This girl was young, too young. In fact, she was… No. He was not going to count the years between them. But as his lips danced over hers, their tongues entwined in a dance just as sweet, he found himself moaning.
She just felt so good. It had been too long, way too long. Honestly, that didn't make it better. That made it sound like he'd shag anything with a pulse. That wasn't what this was, truly. But she was soft and hurting and the way she was clawing at him, like a kitten trying to keep from falling off the arm of a sofa, was so endearing, so tender, and so hot all at once. His brain refused to make the hard choice tonight. Instead, he let it rationalize. They needed this. He was doing this because they both needed the comfort of someone's arms.
He moved off her lips, planting desperate kisses down her cheek and jaw, stopping at her neck. He nibbled, lightly, there, kissing and licking it as well. The moan that escaped her was so throaty and so full of lust that any images that were left in his mind of this girl as his child-student were obliterated. Now, he was only aware of her as a beautiful, consensual, legal adult.
Barely legal. Okay, so his mind was still trying arguments, but they were failing, fast.
She was still moaning as she finally unhooked her hands from around his neck, running them down over his chest. She grabbed a fistful of his robes when he tried an experimental bite on the neck he had been nursing. She gasped, and Severus dared a glance up at her face. Her eyes were fluttering, and her mouth was open, panting.
God, how long had it been since he'd been able to make a woman pant? He pulled her off the wall, a pang of guilt washing through him over his rough treatment of her earlier. He got his damnable anger from his father, and he'd struggled with it for ages. He hoped he hadn't hurt her.
He began to guide her over to the stairs and up them, and he found she was oddly good at ascending a staircase backwards. She only missed one or two steps, which only served her shove her sweet, puckered lips into his again. She paused in the hallway, already starting to unbutton the frock under his robes. He breathed into her neck, his hands moving up her sides, and he noticed a shiver at his touch. She seemed a bit indecisive about something, and Severus supposed it was to do with which bedroom to use. He gave her a gentle pull in the direction of his own. He opened the door with ease, pulling her in, now freely running his hands all over her body. He found that he quite enjoyed the way her pale skin gained gooseflesh wherever he touched.
And damn him for never noticing how plunging the neckline of her dress had been. Or how short the skirt. He turned her about, her rear pressed against the edge of the bed as he began to undo the fasteners at the back of her dress.
"Wait," she said breathlessly. She had already undone half of his buttons and had slipped the outer robes to the floor.
He stopped instantly. If she was having second thoughts, he didn't want to push it. He had done horrible things, but taking a woman against her will had not—and would not—be one of them. He met her gaze, and she was biting that bottom lip in such an enticing way. He could feel his nether regions beginning to stand at attention. He would need some definite alone time if she decided to stop, just like a horny teenager.
"I-I have to tell you something," she whispered.
She leaned forward, nibbling on his earlobe for just a moment. So, she wasn't going to tell him to stop. Wonderful. But, then…?
She was blushing, and her eyes darted away from his. "I-I've never done this before. With anyone. I mean, I've snogged, but… I've never been with a man before."
##
One would think that attacking your former professor—supposed master—with your lips would be the hardest thing to do in this situation. In fact, it was not that, but rather admitting that she was a virgin. She watched his eyes, searching her face. What was he going to do with that information? Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.
Don't stop, she wanted to beg. Please, don't stop. She found herself biting her lip again.
Snape's face, hard with a passion that matched the one the burned inside of her, filling her belly and warming her in places she had never really been warmed in before, softened. It was like he understood her now. Like this revelation told him everything he needed to know. Her mouth quivered when he didn't immediately take up kissing her again, or reaching for her dress's zipper.
"Please, don't stop," she said, finally putting it aloud.
That seemed to do it. He dipped down, filling her mouth with his, and finishing with her dress. It slid easily off of her, once her arms were out of the straps, to the floor. She had opted not to wear a bra, since the straps had been so thin and she had not had one to match the dress's vibrant red, so she stood there now, in plain cotton panties and bare-chested in front of Severus Snape.
A look came over him that she could only describe as "an ache." He moaned, gently removing her hands and finishing off the frock. It was in the floor with his robes now, followed by the rest of his clothing in moments. Soon, they both stood in nothing but underwear. Hermione dared a glance downward to see the large—seemingly very large, if she had to guess—tent in his boxers. She, of course, had nothing to compare it to, as she had never even gotten underneath clothes before. But something about his manhood just struck her as very endowed. She felt less impressive standing before him, just feeling plain inadequate.
He moved her onto the bed, so gently now the fevered movements melted away to slow, deliberate choices. He moved next to her, kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders, and moving down her chest. She gasped when he took one of her nipples into his mouth, gently sucking at it while he rubbed the other one slowly between his thumb and forefinger.
She moaned and arched into his hands, and they made continuous movement over her body. Her hands were in his hair—it wasn't as greasy as she might have ever imagined—and he continued to plant chaste kisses in very not-chaste places. His hands dipped lower, wiggling underneath the band of her panties. She gasped as she felt a finger touch that precious bundle of nerves at the top of her opening. She gasped, her body going rigid with this new sensation of pleasure. She had heard some of the other girls at Hogwarts talk about sex with their boyfriends—describing certain things they had done to them. But she had never imagined it would ever feel this good. Her nerves were tingling with nervous anticipation. She wanted it all, now, now, now… whatever it "all" was.
Snape's manhood was now fully erect and pressing into her leg. He slid up her body, kissing her once more. She moved her hands down to his shoulders, moaning as he moved back to her neck.
"Snape…" she whispered.
He turned his head, positioning his lips just at her ear. "Severus. Call me Severus."
Hermione's whole body flushed a bright red. She grinned shyly as he began to remove the rest of their meager clothing.
"Severus..."
It came out as a whisper, but he must have heard it. He was tossing the underwear to the floor with a small smile on his face. Lying next to her, he pulled her close to him, sliding a hand back down below her waist. He toyed with that lovely little button, and she moaned and whimpered, especially when he allowed the tip of his finger to graze the edges of her entrance. She wanted nothing more than to feel it inside of her—a thought that was wholly new to her—and found that her hips kept grinding, uncontrollably, toward him.
He chuckled into her ear, making sure that his wicked little digit never got any deeper than the tip. She whined when he finally pulled his explorative hand away, cupping her breasts and kissing her deeply.
He was above her now, and Hermione—in her hormone dazed mind—wondered why she had never desired to see this before. It seemed the most wonderful view of her former professor that she had ever seen. She blushed, suddenly feeling guilty. Perhaps she ought to be doing more, to him? He seemed to be doing all sorts of heavenly things to her, making her feel like she was rapidly approaching cloud nine. Maybe she should try to reach him, to touch him.
But now he was positioning at her entrance, the tip of his organ gently brushing against the soft hair that surrounded her entrance. She moaned, arching again, and she was digging her nails into his back. He groaned, pleasurably, at this, but he kept a steady gaze on her. He locked eyes, dipping his face so low that their noses were touching.
"Are you sure?" he breathed.
No hesitation. "Yes."
It was slow. Agonizingly slow. But, once he was beyond the head, she found herself grateful. She felt herself stretch in a way she never had before, and she moaned. It was slightly uncomfortable, but the more he entered her, the better it felt. He stopped, and Hermione knew that he had not fully thrust inside of her. He pulled out, pushing in again, this time going a bit farther. She tightened her knees around him, wanting him to go oh-so much faster. Finally, she could feel him, all of him. He was in to the hilt, and she grunted, making the most undignified noises. Snape furrowed his brow.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes!"
He smiled—a rare expression—seeming to understand now. He began to move, thrusting in and out at an even pace. Hermione felt the warmth grow between her legs, which were now wrapped around Snape's waist.
"S-S-Severus!"
He moaned, deep and animalistic, leaning down to smother her mouth with his. She still moaned into it, their tongues entwining in the most delicious way. He was gaining speed and force, and Hermione loved it. She was sure she was leaving scratches across his back, but he seemed to love that as well. He was grunting into her mouth, and the heat between her legs was beginning to slowly spread out to the rest of her body. She was on the precipice. She didn't know how she could possibly know that, but she knew it.
"I'm close!" she whined, pulling away from his wonderfully talented mouth to whisper into his ear.
"Come for me," he moaned back.
And that was all it took. The wave crested and broke, spreading that warmth from her center all the way out to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. She cried out, her eyes swimming and heart pounding. Snape's thrusting had gotten faster, to the point where he was slamming into her. He seemed to have lost some measure of control over himself, gaining in momentum until finally he began to jerk. He grunted as he finished within her, pulling her slightly off the bed to hold her against his chest.
She held on for dear life, enjoying the tremors that were still going within her. When he had emptied, he rolled just to her side—Hermione moaning a shocked little "oh!" at the sensation of him leaving her sensitive opening.
They lay there for a moment, no sound but their labored breaths. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to Hermione. Perhaps it was something she should have thought of before. She rolled over, gripping his arm.
"Severus!" she squeaked.
He seemed to sense her panic. He turned to stare at her, all concern. She continued.
"I, uh… I didn't think. Um, prevention… protection."
It was crazy. They had just had sex together, but she couldn't force herself to say "birth control." Or the fact that she had taken none. He seemed to piece it together. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Just a moment."
He rose, going to the bottom drawer of his chest of drawers. She heard the polished squeak of the wood opening, and when he returned, he had his wand and a bottle in hand.
"Lumos. Here," he said.
He handed her the small bottle—about the length of her thumb—filled with a purplish-silver liquid. She arched a brow at him.
"A contraceptive. Drink it all, and you should be just fine."
She uncorked it, downing it all in one gulp—it wasn't entirely unpleasant; sort of peppermint-y with a powdered texture to it, like an antacid. Only when she put the cork back in the bottle, setting it aside on the night stand closest her, did she roll back over to face him.
"Can I ask why you have premade contraceptive potions?"
He chuckled, just a tiny bit. "Because the general assumption of why I saved your life was that I wanted to keep you, basically, as a sex slave. I presume the Dark Lord himself started this rumor, as he was the first I had heard of making such an implication to me."
Voldemort? Voldemort was the reason people kept implying to her that Snape and she were sleeping together? Not that that wasn't true now, she thought with a little laugh in her head. But, she had one more pressing question.
"So… how did that, exactly, lead to contraceptive potions?"
"Just in case we were investigated. I wanted to give the impression that, well… there was a reason I saved you that wasn't detrimental to the Dark Lord's plans. I've been pouring them out and remaking them at regular intervals."
Hermione laughed out loud that time, ending in a wide yawn. Snape grinned at her, planting another sweet kiss on her right cheek. He motioned for her to move while he pulled the covers down—what a mess they had to be! They hadn't even bothered to move them. He didn't seem to mind, pulling them up and cleaning them up with a quick Scourgify. Hermione hummed as she was warmed, snuggling down into the blankets.
"Rest," he said.
She didn't need to be told twice. Soon, her heavy eyes closed, and she was fast asleep. When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. She was facing the window, the sun causing her to blink the sleep from her eyes. Her first thought was an instant replay of the night before. She knew what she should be feeling. She should be regretting what she had done—what they had done. But, crazy thing was, she didn't. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt content.
She felt eyes on her back. She turned over, careful to keep the blankets up over her chest. She was ready to greet her bedmate with a bright smile and good morning, but she stopped short when she saw the look on his face.
Snape was frowning, deeply, a look of such pain stretched across his features. Did he regret her? She bit the inside of her cheek, so he wouldn't see. Merlin, she hoped not. The last thing she needed was another set of guilty feelings. She stared back at him.
"What is it?"
He pursed his lips, but he never looked away. He seemed to be mulling it over, whatever he was about to say. Finally, he sighed, his eyes sliding shut for just a moment. When they reopened, the pain there was deeper.
"You were so honest with me last night," he said.
She arched a brow. How was that something to cause him pain? She stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.
"I have something I need to tell you. Something that Dumbledore shared with me, before he died."
She sat up, pulling the cover with her. "What?"
He took a deep breath, pulling himself up as well. When he exhaled, he seemed to shove the words forcefully from his mouth.
"On the night that Li—that Potter's mother died for him, the Dark Lord's soul fractured yet again, unbeknownst to him. It latched onto the only living thing it could find in the room at the time. It latched on to Harry."
Hermione gripped the blanket to her chest. "That means…"
"Voldemort cannot be destroyed… unless that piece is destroyed first. Which also means that…"
"Harry… must die."
Hermione's throat constricted, and she was sure that all these shocks were not good for her heart. Harry, her dear friend… had to die.
"Dumbledore said it was essential that the Dark Lord do it himself."
Another nail in the coffin. Hermione couldn't breathe. The world disappeared around her, and all she could do was replay her own words in her mind.
Harry must die.
