Lemon ahead, to warn you (finally, I know I took my time with this - I hope it is to your tastes ;))


Severus watched with the utmost satisfaction as finally the Tiara made a last attempt to save itself and upon his deflection of the unknown – but unquestionably dark – spell, shattered into bits and pieces, disintegrating into nothingness.

It was done.

Voldemort had but two Horcruxes left: Harry and Nagini.

He knew that the Dark Magician kept his pet snake as near to him as possible, fearing for its survival, even though Severus was practically sure that he had not went to look whether his Horcruxes still existed or not – he seemed to rely solely on Nagini, the only active Horcrux, and that was also the best plan he could have come up with.

Safe for the fact that Nagini was now a rarity and she, along with Boy Wonder, was the only surviving Horcrux.

Both remnants would have to be cleared away during the battle – it would be of no use to tell Potter that his occlumentic connection to the Dark Lord that had persisted ever since fourth-year was due to him being an undesired Horcrux of the same. Potter would probably foolhardy kill himself in order to rid the monster of one more Horcrux – but then the DA would never stand up to fight, and even though they were but children in his eyes, they needed every wand they could get.

Peetey had silently appeared next to him and Severus allowed her to take hold of his coat as she spun them away to the unknown destination she had brought the Black Phoenix Witches to.


"She's dire…" Pansy said in a subdued voice as Severus stood in the entry of the tent, looking after Hermione who had left silently and had simply walked away after the meeting. He looked at his Slytherin as he had done so often before, when he had still believed in Parcival Parkinson, and when the same boy had been his personal Granger-spy – Pansy continued to talk.

"She's asked Luna to heal her without taking off her clothes and when we went through with the usual procedure that we used to do back when we were training she felt… odd." She pulled a face, not satisfied with the way her phrase came out – seeking for help, she turned to Luna, who was happy to fill in.

"From what I have seen the Curse is cured, there will hardly be after-attacks… but there are things that a medic cannot cure, sir, such as the mind." There was a short pause, in which both witches pleadingly looked at him. And finally, finally Luna whispered the one sentence that no one dared to mouth: "She's taken the brunt for us, sir, and there is not a way we could help her overcome the pain etched into her mind."


Silent as a carnivore he stalked through the Forest. He could feel Hermione around, he knew that she was here somewhere and the Forest of Dean may have been large, but for a wizard it should not have been a feat. It was only when he heard the sound of water that he dared to release a breath.

Carefully he pushed aside the leaves of a bush to see Hermione slowly undress in front of the Lake of Dean – he remembered winter, when the leaves had not greened, the twigs had snapped so easily under even the slightest amount of pressure and it had been near impossible to skim the damn forest with a horde of Death Eaters in silence. However, their inability to keep silent had saved the hides of the Black Phoenix Witches.

Now however, spring had set in, the weather grew warmer and he watched Hermione take off the travelling cloak that he had left her – it had been the only thing he'd been actively able to do for the trio, handing them all those travelling-coats that he'd been bought or had bought himself without ever needing them. They were in mint condition, and a few charms had assured that they'd fit the three.

With baited breath Severus watched as she folded the coat, without clearly looking at it. He knew that far-away look on her face, it signified exactly what it looked like – she was not there, she was elsewhere, thinking of something, anything, and simply occupying her hands to somehow hide the fact that she was not present in mind.

He wondered what she thought of: was it Bellatrix? Or maybe Rodolphos? Did she wonder how they got caught? Or was it perhaps depression at feeling to have failed her friends even though she'd taken the torture?

Silently he observed as layer for layer she undressed herself, until all she wore was her black pair of panties and the matching black bra.

For nights he had dreamed about her – had dreamed with her – had felt skin he hadn't seen, had explored contours he'd closed his eyes to, and had kissed expenditures of her body that were still a mystery to him. But now he could not close his eyes – would not. For what he was sure had been unscarred before was now littered with silvery scars, from where her skin had broken with the force of her contracting muscles and there, right there, on her back was where Bellatrix had lived her creativity to the fullest.

The scars gleamed slightly green, but from what he could tell Luna's magic had managed to subdue the curse that should have been carved into her back by the Knife – they were healed, had stopped bleeding and probably stopped hurting as well, but they would forever be there; would forever hold this slight, green sheen about them.

As she opened the hook of her bra, though, he finally saw what he hadn't seen during their nights and – even though it consumed the better portion of her upper body – had not noticed until now.

Her right side was covered with the intricate tattoo of a phoenix, spreading its wings just so as it rose, and beneath it the runes of Berkana, Pertho and Wunjo. It was beautiful to behold and at the same time irritating to see this Mark that clearly stated her being involved in a war – it reminded him of his own Mark, no matter the difference in nature between the two markings; she had declared her side with this tattoo, as he had once declared his.

In his musings he had clearly missed the point when she'd completely undressed and had walked the first steps into the fresh water. Only when the soft splashes of water reached his ears did his eyes realize that indeed, she was already waist deep in the dark floods. Bewitched he watched as she raised her arms, remembering words that he knew he'd read describe something akin:

Who is she that looketh forth as the dawn, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners?*

He remembered to have read it in a muggle book that had managed to hold his interest longer than the lecture had taken. She seemed just like that, and taken with the beauty he whispered the words to himself: Oh love, daughter of the delight, a king has got caught in your lichen.**

The next thing he knew was cold water around him and pushing, almost overpowering, hands on his head.


"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Oh god, Severus, please forgive me. I didn't think… I didn't know it was you. Please, forgive me. I'm sorry. Severus…?"

He was still ringing for air, when she stopped her instant rambling – only when he'd filled his lungs enough, he dared to look at her. She sat naked at arm's length, but hid not from him and he simply watched. Red rose to her cheeks as she lowered her head.

"I'm sorry that I… that I almost drowned you. I thought you were a Snatcher… I didn't want to… well, get caught."

Heaving a breath, he raised his arm to pat her head rather clumsily. "'s alright," he said a little breathless, "'s alright. I should have thought of that before…" He was glad that she'd noticed her error soon enough, for he might have wished to leave the war beforehand, but now that he had Hermione, he wished for little else but survival.

Calming his erratic breathing, he relished in her soft form as she pressed into his side, seeking what he guessed was shelter and he readily embraced her, pulling her form against his dressed one, and Hermione reacted readily, straddling him, enveloping them both in his soaked cloak, willingly hiding her head under his chin as he sat down closer to the bank.

Once his train of thought was restored, he realized that he burnt to know how she felt, what occupied her mind and what her plan of action truly was; however, he knew also that asking her would lead nowhere probably – she would feel pressured, perhaps (much as he did when faced with such questions) and he felt no need to add to her pressure. When the time for her had come, she'd talk without him encouraging her to do so.

"Thank you for sending Peetey." She said silently, mumbling into his neck – her breath was warm against his skin and he realized that the fresh night air was quickly beginning to bother him in his wet cloak.

"Think nothing of it – it was all I could do short of jumping up and apparating you away." Hermione huffed a smile and again he felt that one patch of skin in his neck warming up starkly in contrast to the rest of his clammy skin. But he was a wizard after all, and as soon as the night-air began to truly bother him, he skilfully waved his hands in the water, casting heating charms – the witch in his arms hummed contently.

"Hadn't thought of that…" she whispered dreamily as she eased into the water a little more, detaching herself from him and taking a good look at him.

As if he saw her for the first time, he observed the soft angles of her face, her large eyes and perfectly plucked eyebrows, her high cheek-bones, the plump lips, the straight nose and the high front – not to mention all the wild hair about her head. Carefully he pushed a strand of escaping mane behind her ear, his retreating thumb caressing the line of her jaw and its silky skin.

"You have made me very proud today, Hermione." He said silently, staring still into the depths of her eyes, opening his walls to whom he knew to be a skilled Occlumens – the widening of her eyes told him that she had noticed. "What you have done was courageous, even though it hurt you and in turn tortured me, but it does not mince your act. I am honoured, witch, that you should allow me so near to you, and am honestly grateful that we have detected each others' secrets."

Gallantly he fished her hand out of the now heated water, and put it to his lips, his eyes still watching her – the waist-up-naked beauty with the frizzled hair that sat on his lap in the dim light of the small flames she had ignited around the lake. Her eyes glittered golden and the reflecting lights illuminated her hair and silky complexion.

A secretive smile lit up her face when she repeated his earlier action, caressing his jaw with her sleek fingers – no doubt brushing over the slightest hint of yet-invisible-stubble – and continuing to pull her hand through his hair.

"You still look at me." She said silently then, "You're not running." And Severus was aware that she had switched subject without warning him – she had known that he had watched her, she would know that he had seen her scars.

He pulled her closer again, careful not to scare her away as his hands came to cradle her hips, his thumbs stroking reverently over the skin there, tattooed on one side, scarred on the other side. "I would not run from you, Hermione." And she smiled as he used her name, for the first time since the incident, she truly flashed him a smile, pearly teeth, glittering eyes and blush and all.

"Was... was he angry?" she asked silently, now guiding her thumb up and down in his neck. Severus had not told the Witches that indeed Voldemort had lashed out when he'd noticed that the one person he could have used against Harry Potter and the two people he could have Imperiused for his cause had managed to escape right from under his nose. Severus had been unlucky enough to be around and had hence been at the receiving end of a few hexes, but nothing too serious and he had not mentioned it, although he had to admit that he had not managed to heal all the gashes. But Hermione had a way of knowing when he was hurt – and she had a way of making him admit it, if only to her.

"A few hexes... nothing too serious." He tried to placate her, but the witch on his lap smirked dangerously all of a sudden and slid fully on his lap, pushing her naked self against him and gaining a certain leverage that had her suddenly tower over her – he wondered for an instant when she had learned to become so sensually dangerous, as she lowered her lips to his ear.

"Did you know that when you are hurt you take up your limp from the first year?"

Fluffy came to mind and then the nasty scar he still sported from when he had put the Philosopher's Stone into the last chamber beneath third corridor – he had unwisely miscalculated and Dumbledore mentioned the music-trick only after he'd seen his limp.

He shuddered pleasantly at her nearness, his huge nose was pressed into the hollow of her throat and if he descended his lips just ever so slightly, he'd kiss the glorious expenditure of the skin covering her sternum. She eased back, just slightly and he watched her bite her lower lip for a moment where he drowned in her eyes and his imagination equally.

"Take your cloak of, Severus – I cannot heal like Luna can."

The bold move had him pause shortly. He knew what bare skin, high emotions and touches could lead to – and it wasn't so much for the fact that he would regret it, because he knew he would never, ever regret anything he'd do with Hermione, but she was... what – twenty? Nineteen? Young people could be foolish; would she write him off afterwards?

"Severus..." his name tore him out of his thoughts and he sought her face, sought her eyes and realized in the same instance that her walls were down and she eagerly sucked him into her thoughts.

He was confronted with honesty, of all things, the bluntness of a Gryffindor that had so secretly lay within her, now unfolded in front of him: the adoration of a man whom she knew to be ever so clever, so resourceful, a man whom she looked up to, even though her grades never amounted to what she would have deserved and finally the man that she fell in love with, because she watched his every move. The dour professor was faced off with the hurt and despair of the witch that night, when he'd only revealed his face the night before in their dreams – but she hadn't known of that; one on one he came in touch with the fear, the angst even, that consumed her for not knowing, berating herself, heaving guilt up on her frail shoulders and finally, finally, Marlene's letter – the acknowledgment, her forgiveness the night Marlene died and then, they were at this very moment. The lake around them glittered prettily from the flames, the heat emerging in steam from the heated lake, and then her kissing him the way she had not done in a week.

They had not found the time for passionate kisses, or small strolls around the parameter of their tent – all that had been affordable were tight hugs, quick pecks and of course their hands ever intertwined.

Severus swallowed when she eased him back into reality, her posture suddenly stiff in his lap, her shoulders strangely squared, her breathing more rapid than it had just been. There was something fearful in her eyes, the expectation of pain... And for a torturous few seconds he could not answer.

"What about the Mark?" he asked instead – hoping, or perhaps fearing – that she would suddenly remember the horrendous Mark on his forearm, repel from him, tell him that she would not look at it, because it scared her, or that maybe he shouldn't undress altogether.

"I know it's there." She answered simply. "It's a part of you, it's the one part that makes me proud of you, because you have walked the wrong lane, and have turned around while others continue on it. That is why I am proud of you, Severus, because you see your error and you wish to rectify it. So it's there... So are your gashes, come on."

His eyes were firmly trained on her face as her fingers set to the task – he did not object, but put his hands firmly to span her hip, brushing his thumb over her ever so slightly protruding bones. She rid him of his heavy cloak and levitated it to the shore. Hermione disrobed him ever so slowly of his armour and started to chew her lip when she got rid of his vest as well, now clearly seeing the pink-tinted back of the white shirt he wore beneath.

"You said it wasn't serious." She mulled, her eyes taking on a slightly accusing feature along with her thinning lips.

"I couldn't tell exactly – I certainly don't feel it as much." He excused himself, smiling wryly – but she did not respond to his smile, instead put her flat hand delicately below his chin to lift his face to hers and bestow the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his lips. Severus sighed into her innocuous kiss.

Her hands were quick in opening his chemise, flying like butterfly-wings that he could hardly feel – and then he was bare. His eyes closed in silent prayer when she carefully pushed the tissue over his shoulders.

Hermione had survived six years at an all-boys' school, she knew what men looked like – he was not fooled. But the bodies she was used to seeing were young and unblemished, mostly trained even for she was acquainted with the whole Quidditch team – Severus had never been counted as good-looking even during his youth. His hawkish features had made him a preferred target, he had been lank, but never muscled, slim but never more than that.

What would she see? His sick complexion? The scars? Surely she must see both, after all that's all that there was to see on him.

But the young woman leant forward, gently easing his arms out of his sleeves as she gently aligned her front to his, skin connecting with skin, her lips resting softly on his shoulder as her hands ventured down his back, tracing the gashes he had not been able to reach with the velvety feeling of healing magic.

Severus dared not speak as he leant his forehead against her shoulder, closing his eyes in relief – calm washed over him, the peace of belonging, the feeling of acceptance. She healed the last of his gashes, leaving only a silvery scar, likely matching her owns as she eased back. He watched her eyes as, for the first time since their liaison, she took in the bare expenditure of his skin.


He was scarred, but she'd figured that he would be – after all he had been in the services of the Dark Lord since his eighteenth birthday, one did not stay unscathed for long under the order of such a man.

Hermione stretched her fingers slowly towards his chest, gently connecting with the marred flesh and the few hair there – never before had she been so close to a man, so intimate and it set her heart to race. If she had an idea about the male body – and she'd say that even though she had not a lot of sexual experience, but instead six years at an all-boys boarding school she had a pretty good idea about the same – then she'd say that Severus was very well built.

His shoulders were broad, but not fleshy – wiry instead, his shoulder-bones leaving small knobs just before the shoulder curved into a muscled upper arm that flowed into a veined lower arm and long, elegant fingers. She had not noticed, but as she held his hand closer to her for inspection, she realized that her hand had followed the path of her eyes and her thoughts and she interlaced her fingers with his, before returning to take in the man she sat on.

If it came as a surprise that she could feel his muscles ripple beneath her touch as she brushed her free hand over his chest and down his stomach or not, she could not decide. A part of her had always known that he was well-built, while another part seemed to have never thought about it at all and was now discovering the wonders of Severus Snape's body.

There was not an ounce of fat on him, and if she had to wager she'd say that his legs were muscled as well, while not overly developed – runners' feet probably, with all the stalking he did from day to night. His complexion was pale, making the black hair stand out starkly against his skin, and compared to him, even she looked tanned, but she could not find herself minding.

Only when she looked up to him, she noticed that he'd stared at her all the time, much as she had at him, and she wondered if she met his expectations, if he was pleased with what he saw, if she pleased him, even though she was scarred and surely not as pretty as any of the women he might have had before.


Their eyes met and Severus could only hope that, now that she had seen him, she would stay, that she would allow his next step – just as he gently pulled her closer by their linked hands and carefully brushed his lips against hers.


Hermione did not disappoint. With a sigh she melted against him, submitting to his ministrations and allowing him to guide their actions. The languid kiss was new to Hermione, who'd never – not even by Severus – been kissed with such wonderment and she awed at the feelings he ignited within her, especially when his chest rubbed against hers. Her free hand came to tangle in his hair as he pulled her closer still, caressing her cheek and neck with his hand. She closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of his rough fingertips on her skin.

She had not felt anything of him for a week now, there had been hardly any hugs that were long enough to satisfy this need in her, and she gratefully took anything that he so generously gifted her with.

Tomorrow, she knew, perhaps all this would be ripped from her – she would lose him maybe if Voldemort detected his true allegiance, or maybe even one of the Order or the DA would kill him. But maybe, also, he'd have to flee and she would not be quick enough to follow him and would take years to find him in his undoubtedly perfect hiding that he wouldn't be able to leave because of his persecutors.

With renewed vigour she latched to his lips, hoping that somehow he might survive the war at her side, that they might start something like a life together after it all. An escaping mewl that she hadn't felt rising surprised her for a moment, when his calloused fingers softly stroke over her skin. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she focused on the feeling of his questing fingertips on her skin – and for a second she wondered if perhaps all of this would lead to the one final thing that she'd secretly hoped Severus would introduce her to.

She sighed softly when his fingertips strayed from her arm to curiously brush over her stomach. When her breath caught at the action, she noticed for the first time that their lips were no longer connected and she could not see him.

Maybe, if his fingers wouldn't have skimmed up her sides, she would have concluded that she'd closed her eyes and bit her lip as she fully experienced the touch for the first time. Hermione could not see Severus as he watched her, the gentle stare he directed at her form that she so willingly displayed to him.


A soft moan floated through the night when his hand came up to cup her breast and Severus watched with rapt attention as the young woman's lips parted and her head turned ever so slightly to the side. Instinctively she ground against the hard bulge beneath her – the one that he knew would be his undoing for this night.

By now he was aware that, would Hermione not deny him this, he would go as far as she would let him, he would show her the pleasures that she had never known before and would make her to the woman that she so longed to be (more than she already was). What did it matter to him if she would regret it later, if perhaps there would never again be a later?

Tomorrow they would face each other off on the battlefield and he knew that while he'd pray for her survival, Hermione would do no differently in order to keep him safe – it was the way they clicked. That, and he assumed that somewhere inside of him, he was selfish on one hand and scared on the other hand, because how many double-spies had ever survived the culminating point? If it wasn't Voldemort, then it would be the Order or even later Azkaban to do him in. This might be the last chance he'd get, maybe his last one ever, to give something to Hermione and take what she offered him.

His dextrous fingers had started to softly knead the pliant mound in his hand, and Hermione's rocking was acutely punctuated by the bend of her back as she arched wantonly into his hand, her hands clawing softly at his shoulders. It would have been too unkind to ignore a blatant offer like that and Severus gladly latched to the other mound.

Hermione, on top of him, cried out when he took her nipple in his mouth and laved it skilfully with his tongue – her clawing fingers went to rake through his locks and he could not help the satisfied smirk that spread over his face; her sounds sunk deep through his ears right to his ego, pleased that his witch reacted so delightfully to his ministrations.

Releasing her nipple, he ravenously covered her skin in kisses, sensuously biting her neck and licking her lobe before reaching her lips, plump from his kissing, and dived in for another mind-blowing kiss that was sure to come. The witch moaned openly into his mouth, scooting closer to him and he could feel his own clothes constricting him the longer he kissed her. He wanted her, wanted to be inside her, if only for tonight, and if only for this one time, but he wanted it.

"Hermione-"

"Severus-"

They both smiled at each other when they started talking simultaneously upon breaking the kiss – knowingly they leant together at their foreheads.

"Are you sure?" he asked her silently and the witch on his lap smiled softly at him.

"If of nothing else, then of this." She answered softly and Severus chanced a look into her eyes, smirking relieved when he noticed that her walls were down to him – as before, he gracefully took hold of her hand and put it to his lips, slowly standing with her, guiding her to the shore with one hand on her naked hip and the other one intertwined with hers.

She stood to his chin, her curly lion's mane reflecting copper and bronze in the fire-lights and he thought that she was much too beautiful to be with him.

It was a surreal reality – she was twenty, if even, he could be her father, he had been her professor, they were each at the other side in this war, she was a witch; this shouldn't even have happened. But it had – and now he had reached the point at which he would admit that this strange thing that had ever so long floated between him and Hermione had been, from the beginning, a very real relationship.

Maybe it should have bothered him that his discovery did not irk him. Hadn't he always been in love with Lily? When had that gone away? But he knew when it had – he could pinpoint it exactly: the one night he had given in to his feelings and had, for the first time, met Hermione in their dreams.

They had reached the shore and Severus had to admit that it was beneath everything of him to take such a wonderful woman on nothing but his shabby travelling cloak. A flick of his wrist corrected the error, transforming his cloak into a plush mattress with a silken sheet, his vest turned into a simple white pillow, his shirt into the matching blanket. Next to him, Hermione squeezed his hand in acknowledgment, but remained standing when he sat down, looking down at him as he looked up at her, for the first time seeing her in truly all of her glory.

She was naked, but she carried her bare skin with the pride of a lioness, as if it were the most natural thing to walk around in her birthday suit – and she had all reason to. Her nipples stood stiff with the sudden change of temperature, but her slender, muscled arms did not cover them, or any of the bare expense of her flat stomach, the toned legs or the one treasure he had only alone dared to dream of.

"Severus," the witch whispered softly, tearing him out of his observations, as she knelt down gracefully in front of him, her eyes captivating his in the tiniest of seconds as she scooted closer, "your boots, darling."

A wave of his hand relieved him of his shoes, but all he'd really recognized was her endearment of him – he'd never been anybody's darling, it felt strange and new, but nevertheless nice. He gathered her up in his arms, drawing her closer to him, on his lap, where she readily straddled him, locking her feet behind his back.


For a moment no one spoke, she stared at him, overtaken with the magnitude of what was about to happen – she'd lose her virginity... no, that sounded all wrong... she'd give her virginity (now that sounded a lot better) to Severus Snape. The man whom she was certain held her heart – where else should it be after all these years?

"Are you nervous?" his calm voice ran g through and for the first time Hermione realized that, yes, to a certain amount she was – what would happen after this? Would he leave her? Would he simply stand up and go? Was she certain she would be able to let him go if he decided that he wanted a life on his own if he survived the war? Was she certain her heart would not break if he died or was imprisoned?

"A little." She admitted, straightening her back and pulling a strand of hair from his face. "But I am sure nevertheless."

Severus' kiss took her thoughts off all the things she'd worried about – it left her filled with happiness, security, hope and love, mingling to one mass of pheromones coursing through her body and brain, that – now liberated from the brooding – delivered her the perfect solution to her worries about his safety. You're a virgin, are you not? It whispered in her mind, and she smiled with relief into the kiss, just as Severus lay back on the mattress, pulling her with him.

Willingly she allowed him to reverse their positions, putting her beneath him and for once noticed that this had mostly advantages for her. Now her hands could roam his body as she pleased, learning the defined muscles of his back and especially his shoulders that were now slightly tensed as he held himself above her, still kissing her. Hermione could feel his shiver as her fingertips danced over his pectorals, gracing his nipples ever so slightly, before she ventured down further, then skimmed her hands up his sides again and then rested one of her hands on his neck, the other one on his hip.


Severus' lips had wandered from hers to her neck, where he gently suckled her fluttering pulse-point, before venturing on to the also familiar hollow of her throat, where he dipped his tongue, tasting the first buds of perspiration there – salty but sweet from the water.

Still further down he ventured, renewing his acquaintance with her nipples, gladly rolling them in his mouth as the hand that had previously been in his neck, now pulled his head closer to her need, her slow whine fuelling him as he licked his way down to her navel, dipping his tongue just yet again, before he finally – finally, his mind sighed – met the first stray curls of her trimmed hair. He did not know if he was surprised that she had taken care of her pubic hair or not, a part of him had always thought she would, a part of him had never thought of it, deeming it improper to even turn his thoughts into said direction. But, now that he had arrived at his goal, another side turned up in him: the one that he knew Hermione would be the first to see, because none of the women he'd lay with before had ever either deserved or required his gentleness and the need to draw things out, take them slowly. But Hermione needed it – and she sure had deserved it.

So yet, before he went for his destined target, he swayed to the right, nibbling her hip bone tenderly, starting then his descent, licking and biting the flesh she offered him, teasing apart her legs, which she only slowly allowed – for it appeared to be here that her shyness kicked in. And it was natural: after all, he was her first man.

In front of him – finally, his mind sighed – lay open to his inspection and taking, naked Hermione Granger, her legs apart, her pearl visible to only him. Slowly his mouth descended, taking between his lips the small nub that he knew upon stimulation would be her first step towards the orgasm he wanted her to have. The reaction was immediate, her hips buckled surprised and both, her mouth and her eyes flew open with a start, it was his nibbling though that drew out the moan locked in her throat.

His tongue slithered stealthily through his lips, tasting for the first time what was Hermione intimately and the cry she released swallowed the groan he could not hold in – she was unearthly, and unholy in her innocence and the musk on his tongue threatened to drive him over the brink, it would be too strong to say that only his iron will kept him sane, but it was pretty close to it anyways.

Another dash of his tongue and his befuddled mind realized that perhaps he could become addicted to his substance, before he shoved the thought away completely and seriously went for it. Hermione, not used to the skilled mouths and dextrous fingers of Potion masters on her body did not take long, before she flew apart, leaving Severus to drink the sweet nectar that she emitted, slowly nipping her back to normalcy. He was fuelled, fired and hard to a point where he was sure that his trousers would tear if he didn't do something against it soon.

Breathless from her cries, Hermione welcomed his mouth's onslaught, tasting herself on his tongue for the first time and realizing – not for the first time – that he needed the attention as much as she did, but her mind was still too hazy to really do something about it. Only when he gentled his kiss, she loosened her death grip on his head and stroke his body that she by now knew.

He cocked his eyebrow at her when she impatiently vanished his trousers and moaned openly when he settled between her opened legs to brush sensually against her needy flesh – playfully he nipped at her lower lip. "I'll need them tomorrow." He said silently, but she only pointed to his boots, showing him just where exactly she'd vanished them to, before she went back in to their kiss.


Her mind was clear again while her body continued to hum in pleasant expectation. Severus' body was hard against hers, but warm and she could not distinguish his heartbeat from hers – his kisses were still measured and slow, and she sighed satisfied into it. She had never felt as whole and... complete as she did right now with Severus.

Of course she'd had orgasms before, but they'd all been by her own hand and never – never, never, never her mind supplied – as fulfilling as this one. But now she'd grown curious, if that's what it was like for her, then how would Severus feel? He hadn't... gotten any action, in lack of better wording and surely that couldn't have been very satisfying for him, could it? The hand on his hip that she only now noticed to have sunken into his flesh loosened its grip, fluttering about his side in lazy circles, slowly nearing its destination.

"Hermio-oh-nee..." he whined softly into her neck as she dived for it – sure he had noticed, and had apparently meant to ask her (maybe to question her motivation) but she was very satisfied with herself when his pants warmed her neck.

"Stop..." he panted, "stop, stop, please... gods, mercy."

She softened her grip a little, resuming in stroking his member instead of kneading it and watched as he shuddered, suppressing a groan that she wanted to hear, but Severus gently extracted her hand from his treasures and fixed them above her head along with her other hand.


"Don't look at me like that, love." He breathed, softly kissing her pouting lips. "If you had continued there wouldn't have been a lot to do afterwards..." he sighed, hoping that by distracting her, he'd be able to distract himself and ease off the point she'd gotten him to – he was so close. "Where did you learn that anyways..." he slowly nibbled down her throat, making sure to kiss every patch of skin.

"I... watched..." she admitted and then chuckled. "How did you think I'd be able to use the gents without investigating... and I had six years to learn to close my ears and my eyes in the library, might I remind you?"

He gently bit her nipple, smirking at her with dangerously glittering eyes that she caught with her own, lust-clouded ones. "Such is the nature of Hermione Granger then? A watcher? A secret little voyeur?"

Licking the offended nipple, he listened for the gasp that was not held in and the tell-tale rise of her chest as she silently begged for more – but this time, he denied her, venturing down to the patch of skin just beneath her rib-cage.

"N-n-nothing like that..." she breathed, "just... got an unwanted eye-full during my time."

Severus hummed against her flesh as he descended, biting her stomach softly and looking up at her, with a soft smile. "You watched pretty good, little witch, but if you want me to show you what you've only seen, then you need to keep your hands to yourself."

It was adorable how readily she nodded and accepted his kiss.


His fingers felt keen on her skin, gentle but masculine, self-assured, knowledgeable as they stroked her, rough fingertips stoking a white fire within her as he leaned over her, framing her in security as he whispered soft endearments into the skin that he kissed.

For the first time in her life she found herself at the receiving end of every single word she'd never thought she'd hear describing her; words that she'd been taught to aspire to. Pretty he whispered as he kissed her brow; Sweet as he kissed her lips; Lovely as his lips descended on her pulse; Beautiful as she felt his lips on her breast; Mine as his teeth scraped softly over her stomach; Precious as his mouth trailed over her mound before he plunged between her folds again.

The moan stuck in her throat at the delicious feeling and she prayed fervently – selfishly, her mind whispered – that he'd gift her with another orgasm, for her flesh was willing and she was at the brink from his ministrations. But just as her insides started to quiver and she hoped – hoped, hoped, hoped – that he would let her climb the ladder, he redrew his tongue, smirking cockily at her wanton whine and kissed his way back up to her lips, swallowing her moan as for the first time, she felt the erect manhood rub her.

She could have died then and there, ready to burst into flames and burn until nothing of her was left, but Severus Snape had other ideas.


Still softly kissing her he swallowed the breathy sigh she emitted when he entered her slowly at snail-pace. What he wouldn't have given to ram into her and have his way, but this was not just some quick fuck. Beneath him, sighing and enveloping him with her tight, hot sleeve was Hermione Granger – and gods if she didn't feel heavenly, wrapping snugly around him.

She was tight, and he feared that he would hurt her more than was necessary, but the witch beneath him apparently couldn't wait for him at all. Carefully easing inside her, he stopped just short of her hymen, breaking their kiss realizing how breathless both of them were.

Hermione was beneath him, staring at him with big, wondering, lustful eyes as she gently lifted her hand to pull a strand of hair out of his face. "Last chance..." he whispered headily, hoping that she would not change her mind now, because heavens he was sure there would never again be a chance like this.

"Don't need it." She sighed as she reached up to enclose him in a hug and a kiss, just as he redrew slightly and pushed back in.


Given by me, voluntarily and in love, I bestow to you, Severus Snape, the gift of my virginity.

She could feel the awful tearing that had been described in medic books a woman would feel when her virginity would be taken, but what apparently those books had failed to describe was the utmost feeling of filled-ness. Never – never, never, never, her mind sighed – had she felt this whole, this protected than when Severus, sheathed within her to the hilt, bent down to kiss her brow and the corner of her lips.

Given by me, voluntarily and enamoured, I bestow to you, my love, protection and health.

"Are you alright?" he asked silently, and she could tell by the way that he shuddered that his voice quivered this affected him and he was giving his best to be careful with her.

"I am fine, darling, with you I will always be." And only when she kissed him on the forehead did he start to move, a gentle rhythm that stroke deep within her, massaged every spot he could reach. Her hips started to move of their own accord, hoping to meet him, hoping to find the rhythm with him and moaned when she did and he hit deeper yet.

Given by me, voluntarily and smitten, I bestow to you, dearest, my heart.

"More..." she pleaded with him as she looked deep into his eyes and found his walls to be down, as if on cue he pushed deeper still and her eyes widened ever so slightly, "Yes" she conveyed, before they closed again and she gratefully accepted him as he went deeper within her and she reacted to his new strength.

The magic, all the while, she could feel settle in place.


Severus did not need to ask what she wanted, for Hermione took it mostly on her own, asked him favours that he graciously fulfilled, picking up when she wanted, slowing down when he wished to, penetrating deeper still, rocking her wildly and then slowly – ever so slowly – away from her orgasm again, and Hermione accepted it all. He was never sure when she lead their lovemaking and when he did, for they reversed their roles fluently and never with complaint.

"Please..." she whined, so close to the brink, he so close to his own release.

"Yes." He whispered, entering her in one swift stroke that she received oh so readily with her own movement, back arching as it hit right where it ought to. Again, again, again...

He lost rhythm, but so did Hermione, and when he felt her walls fluttering and clutching at him as he finally drove her over the brink – he cared no longer, losing whatever rhythm he might have ever possessed and growling into her neck, emptied himself into her womb.


*idea from Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose, original: Song of Songs, Chapter six

**Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose, not sure if this is the correct translation

I hope you liked that... I did actually =)