Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm currently writing six different stories (three are almost finished), so no guarantees on fast updates. I can promise that I will work on this story regularly and try to update at least once a week. I also don't abandon my stories. I have every chapter outlined, so it'll just be about finding the time to write it.

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 3: Questions and Answers… As Well As Demonstrations

They didn't cross paths with anyone during their long trek through the castle to the dungeons. Not a ghost. Not an out-of-bounds student. Not even Filch or Mrs. Norris. Not a single delay for what was inevitably about to happen.

And the journey seemed to be taking significantly less time than usual. Or were they just walking faster than normal? Surly eagerness wasn't speeding their steps!

Hermione's head was still fuzzy. The careful shell of numbness she'd cocooned herself in was slowly being infiltrated by tingles, and a steady dose of warmth. Both of which seemed intent to focus on her core. The sensation left her throbbing and achy. Hermione felt the need to stop walking and press her legs together in a feeble attempt to find a small measure of surcease.

Her heart beat faster, a rapid thudding in her ears. Was this normal?

"Sir, I -"

"Hush," he hissed, glancing about suspiciously. "Wait until we are inside," he demanded, descending the last flight of stairs.

Hermione followed close behind him, inhaling his unexpectedly pleasant scent. She'd have guessed he'd smell like some of the more noxious and foul smelling potion ingredients, but he didn't. Of course, he was no longer teaching Potions, so perhaps that was the reason behind the change.

Professor Snape stopped abruptly in front of a small alcove two hallways from the Potions classroom, and a door shimmered into existence as though it were floating to the surface after being submerged in a pool of water. He paused, pressing his forehead against the door.

"I'll have you know, I've never invited a student into my chambers before," Professor Snape said crispy, the hand resting on the wooden surface curling into a fist so tightly clenched the tendons protruded noticeably from the pale surface.

"I didn't think that you had," Hermione replied, frowning at him.

Did he believe she thought he'd take advantage of his position to lure witches to his bed for the promise of higher marks? That was not his way. He was too distant and unassailable. For all his favoritism of the Slytherin's, he'd never once struck her as bribable. Or so morally bankrupt that he'd coerce someone under his care.

Professor Dumbledore's earlier statement about there being no rules to govern such activities, and the allusion to the frequency of the encounters, had her wondering if Professors such as Gilderoy Lockhart had taken advantage of such loopholes in the past. If so, she -

Then her mind scattered, unable to hold a single coherent line of thought because Professor Snape had turned his head to stare at her. His expression was unreadable, but Hermione had the distinct impression that she'd unintentionally insulted him.

Why?

She reached out unconsciously to place a questioning hand on his arm. Was it -

The thought was gone again as she felt him tense beneath her touch. Heat radiated from the spot, and as though it were attached to an invisible rope connected directly to the apex of her thighs, she felt an answering warmth explode through the bundle of nerves located there.

"Oh!" she gasped, staggering forward, into her professor.

Professor Snape's eyes widened. His pupils were blown wide, the black swallowing the bitter chocolate irises as they dipped back down to her previously exposed breast. They glittered like wet ink. His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably.

Then the door was open and he was ushering her inside. His hand was at her back, hovering, careful not to actually touch her, as he guided her towards a dark leather couch.

Hermione was too restless to sit. As it was, she cast about for words, barely taking in the crackling fire blazing in the stone fireplace or the dozen or so bookshelves lining every wall - all packed with books she ordinarily would have been itching to browse through. All she was aware of currently was the spike of lust that had seemed to impale her.

Her professor seemed disinclined to sit as well, and instead began pacing before the fire. His ebony hair was still mussed from the hood he'd removed earlier. Hermione watched him with avid eyes, taking in his smooth gait as he stalked back and forth, mumbling quietly to himself. The dark robes swept out around his tall frame. They billowed so much that she had no idea what they concealed. Was he lean and lanky like Ron or bulky and burly like the twins?

"The more frequently we touch, the stronger influence the spell will have on our emotions and… desires," he informed her suddenly.

"But we've barely touched," she whispered, startled that it would take so little to set it off.

A press of hands. A gentle touch - one she hadn't even meant to do. Some external force seemed to have been guiding her hand when it occurred. Surely this wasn't normal. There was no way couples used this spell regularly and were able to carry on any semblance of an ordinary life!

"Hfft," he grunted, seeming to be contemplating the same as he continued his back-and-forth progress over the plush rug before the glowing, dancing red and gold flames.

The last touch - the one she was still reeling from and was currently making her stomach all fluttery as it had been at the start of year when Ron had openly flirted with her - hadn't even been skin to skin. It was apparently something they would need to keep in mind for the future. Future...

"Why don't you plan to survive the war?" Hermione asked suddenly, his earlier words the dull, resounding boom of a falling book in the silence of the library.

"I should have been more specific earlier. I will answer any questions you have that directly impact you. I will not now, or ever, discuss my arrangement with the Headmaster or any other of my personal matters," he said coolly, the frosty blade sharp enough to slice clean through the heat encasing her.

Hermione's teeth ground together, biting back her retort. How could he think that his life, which was now bound to hers - for the rest of their lives - did not directly impact her?

At least his patronizing demeanor had taken the edge off and blunted the lust riding her. Rational thought seemed within reach once more. Though if his eyes boldly caressed her again, it'd be gone in an instant.

"How long does the spell last?" she asked briskly, trying to maintain her composure.

This was a difficult position for each of them. If for vastly different reasons. Neither of them wanted to be there. He'd made that abundantly clear, and given the man's treatment of Harry and Neville over the years, he wasn't exactly her favorite person either.

But she trusted him despite all of that. And after tonight, she owed him more than her life.

Their interactions would go a lot better if she focused on ignoring his defensive manner, insults, and short temper, and instead attempted to be mature and calmly rational. It might help ease his mind a bit with the concerns he voiced earlier.

"As long as the blood flows in each of the bound members," Professor Snape replied bitterly.

Until death - just like their binding.

"How frequently will we be required to…"

"It varies. As I said, contact speeds the process, renewing the physical urges more frequently, but I should think it likely that we will feel driven to fulfill the obligations approximately once a week," he drawled, using the tone he often did in class when lecturing them.

It was easier to discuss when she thought of it as nothing more than a lesson. Her hunger for learning overshadowed any awkwardness and discomfort associated with the topic. He seemed to feel the same, because he finally stopped pacing, and stood, arms crossed, facing her.

"Are we both affected?"

It would be just like some ancient, misogynistic wizard to come up with a barbaric spell that only targeted the wife in order to leave her at the mercy of her husband. That sort of thing was seen all the time in Muggle history, so she'd hardly be surprised to find it had occurred in the wizarding world too.

"Equally? Yes," he answered, surprising her.

They would both feel the effects. Somehow that still didn't make it feel entirely consensual. But it was a touch more palatable than it would have been otherwise. Part of her brain reminded her that she'd wanted his help - no matter what that meant. And he'd made the decision to help her. That silent agreement bound them prior to any spell or ceremony.

The stirrings began low in her core, fluttering in earnest once again. More insistently even. The pulse in her neck jumped when her professor licked his lips, drawing her eye to the action.

They weren't as thin as they first appeared. Particularly his bottom lip. It was pump and smooth. They only looked thin because of their paleness, which made them seem to fade into his overly-pale olive skin. Probably from all the time spent in the dark dungeons. And the more he spoke, using those lips to form that deep, slow drawl, the more entranced Hermione felt herself becoming.

"Though from accounts I've read, the initial urgings do not always coincide in both parties," he admitted frankly, startling her with the additional information. Crimson blotches stained his cheeks again as he considered the implications of what he'd just informed her.

"Meaning there are times I may feel the effects while you do not," she said aloud, rolling the idea through her mind as she slowly processed how that might impact their relationship.

"Put bluntly, yes," he said tersely, turning his head to glare at the snapping fire. A throbbing ember drifted to the stone floor next to the rug, and he angrily stomped on it, grinding it unnecessarily into the smooth rock.

Never before had she had an in depth conversation about sex. Her swotty tendencies apparently made her dorm mates, and even Ginny, think she lacked normal teenage hormonal urges, even after she'd dated Krum and let him touch her. She'd never even discussed the topic with her mum.

That thought was like being doused with ice water. Grief warred with desire, and Hermione wasn't sure which emotion would be easier to manage or would emerge the victor.

"What happens if we ignore it?" she asked to distract herself.

She wondered if the effects would fade if put off long enough, or at least until the other party felt them as well. Was that the solution? Pretend it wasn't happening, and it would go away on its own?

"It will eventually become painful and highly distracting. Disorienting even," he grumbled, clearly unhappy with the fact. "Once appeased, the effects should vanish quickly."

So he'd already thought through the possibility.

She wished he'd just share all that he'd already considered and discarded instead of making her fish for the information. But he'd always been that way. Stingy with his superior knowledge. Forcing students to earn every crumb he deigned to bestow on them.

Distracting? Disorienting? That was a fairly apt way to describe her mind for the last hour or two. She'd never had to struggle so much to pay attention before in her life. Not even when she'd fancied Professor Lockhart! She'd done just fine in his class when -

School. Oh Merlin, her studies! What was she to do about school if her mind wasn't working properly thanks to the spell? Or how was she to have a normal life? What if he wasn't available? Or worse, what if he was unwilling, and she had to wait?

"And it can't be taken care of by…" Hermione trailed off, unable to voice the rest of her question. How was she supposed to ask the darkly scowling man if touching herself, so that he didn't have to, would be just as effective?

He raised an eyebrow, snorting derisively at her embarrassment. Quietly, he said, "No. Masturbation will not work, Granger." Something flashed across his face. Calculation and a flare of cunning.

"What? What is it?" she asked, wanting to follow him down the path his thoughts had led him.

"Solitary masturbation will not work. I do not know if mutual masturbation will satisfy the requirements of the spell," he supplied, his challenging look almost daring her to agree to give it a try.

Need came over her like a tidal wave. Drowning her with its intensity. Satisfy. "Mmh," she whimpered, desiring nothing more than that.

Apparently desire had won out, and her grief would be delayed making an appearance for a while longer.

Pity entered his coal-dark eyes, as well as a corresponding hunger. "I will not ever leave you to suffer," he vowed roughly. "Should you feel the spell, come to me immediately."

It was a blanket promise that betrayed a new facet to the enigma that was Severus Snape. He wouldn't turn her away. Wouldn't leave her in the grip of a spell with no recourse or means of escaping the consuming effects.

"Neither will I," she replied in turn, stepping closer to him, drawn forward by the promise of relief.

Alarm crossed his face, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced with matching desire. "I will see if a counter-charm can be devised or at least a way to prolong the effects between interactions," he said in a strained voice, staggering back a step.

Hermione watched as he turned, tearing his gaze from her. His impossibly rigid stance straightened further. His control a tightly leashed beast clawing at the bars confining it.

"Is full intercourse required to satisfy it?" Hermione asked, idly wondering if there was a way they could build up to that. Perhaps ease into an intimate relationship.

"I… do not know," he admitted, seeming troubled both by his lack of clear answer and by the fact he'd had to acknowledge it to her of all people. The know-it-all.

She sighed, resigning herself to diving in headfirst. He had already stated that he didn't know what mutual masturbation would do for the spell. This was basically the same.

"I supposed we'll have time to figure that out for ourselves," she murmured, knowing it was true. The rest of their lives as a matter of fact. Even if the man studying her, a silent question on his face that she was pointedly ignoring, didn't plan to be around for much longer.

Hermione was valiantly trying to ignore the effects of the spell, but her body was continuing to respond to his mere proximity. Her core was slick with need, throbbing steadily. Distracting was putting it mildly.

"Why does the charm even exist?" she grumbled, resenting it as it thoroughly manipulated her body.

"It is intended to make both parties amorous on a regular basis. Originally, it was to make marriage more palatable between otherwise opposing individuals," he said, reiterating something she vaguely remembered him saying earlier. If she was forced to spend her life with someone she detested, this spell would certainly make some aspects of the marriage easier to bear.

"Right," she said, nodding.

A shiver coursed through her, and her nipples tightened suddenly. His gaze dropped to her chest again where the straining tips pressed through her bra and dress, and she blinked when he took in a ragged breath. He looked like a predator preparing to pounce.

And she wanted him to. More than anything else she'd ever wanted in her life.

"I know there's more that we need to discuss, but perhaps it will be easier later, after we satisfy the requirements," she suggested, giving him indisputable permission to lose control and ravish her.

Please, she silently begged. She was mortified by her traitorous body, but it didn't stop her from taking another step forward.

"You wish to - now," he gasped.

"Is there a point in waiting?" she asked, slightly confused. "The effects are only going to get worse the longer we wait, so why shouldn't we just get to it?"

"You don't have to right now. I am aware of how trying tonight was for you. Though you've held up remarkably well," he said softly. Probably the closest he'd ever come to complimenting her.

The evidence of his arousal had gradually become clearer in the last few minutes. Ever since they spoke of masturbation. And now, its outline was visible even through his thick robes. They'd just promised not to leave the other needing, and here they were, both feeling the spell's effects.

"The curse only affects our bodies, not our minds, correct?" she asked determinedly.

"That is correct," he agreed cautiously, leveling her with a suspicious look.

"Then, yes, I want to now," she announced bravely, meeting his gaze head on.

Before she lost her nerve, she silently added.

He looked momentarily torn, but he quickly masked his expression, doning one she'd seen him wear a million times over the years.

"Very well, Granger," he purred, a seductive note entering his voice that she'd never heard him use before in six years of knowing him. It made her breath catch in her throat, and her eyes snap to his, startled. They'd morphed into liquid heat.

He merely raised a brow, and lifted his hand in invitation, just as he'd done during the revel. The puckered, red line stared accusingly up at her where he'd cut himself to initiate the blood-bond needed for the spell. It had barely scabbed over. She knew, because her palm itched where it sported a twin mark.

When she placed her hand in his, he pulled her gently towards a closed door. Probably, it led to his bedroom. She couldn't really think though, not with him touching her. His calloused fingers scraped against her softer skin, and her head seemed to spin.

"What should I call you? I can't keep calling you Sir or Professor," she asked suddenly, the realization slipping out without any forethought. His head whipped around to glare at her, and she snapped, "Don't give me that look, I wasn't suggesting I begin calling you by some moronic pet name!"

His glower grew darker, storm clouds gathering and growing rapidly, and Hermione shifted uneasily. She'd only lost her temper with a professor once before now - a time when her emotions were equally heightened. She really should learn to watch her mouth and get a handle on herself when provoked.

"Er, sorry," she tried, wincing at the way her voice came out in a timid squeak.

"Don't apologize. It is a relief to know you still have some backbone. I suppose Snape will do for now," he sighed, squeezing his eyes together.

His fingers flinched, and Hermione abruptly wondered if his reaction was more a result of being reminded that she was his student than it was her lack of respect in address. She wished she could ask what he was feeling, or assure him she didn't view him as sleazy for what was happening, but he would not welcome her invasion of his privacy. Nor was he likely to give her an honest answer. Anger was about all she could expect if she went down that path, so she wisely left it alone.

He brought them to a stop beside his bed, and she was temporarily stupefied by the satin comforter on his bed. It perfectly matched her deep, metallic grey dress. Her lips parted to ask, but thought better of it.

When he dropped her hand, but made no move to touch her again, Hermione sensed that he needed a minute to collect himself, and that he wouldn't welcome her advance if she took the initiative to start them off - not that she really felt up to it. Snape was a man. One that likely had years of experience and no problem cutting her to the quick if her clumsy fumblings failed to entice him.

What was she supposed to do? The most she'd done was handle Krum, rubbing him to a quick and messy release while they'd been studying in the library just before the Third Task. He'd touched her afterwards, using the table for cover as his hand slipped beneath her skirt, but she'd been so nervous about getting caught that she'd stopped him after about two minutes, because she'd been unable to relax and enjoy his attention.

Snape's hand came up to brush her long mane of wild curls over her shoulder. He watched her as he eased her Muggle coat from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. His fingers ghosted down her arms in a tantalizing caress.

Desire was a punch to the gut. Helplessly, her hands went to his robes, working quickly down the extensive line of ridiculously tiny buttons to reveal the crisp, white shirt beneath. The contrast between light and dark was fascinating. Much like the man himself.

She needed him. Now.

His hand pressed hers into his chest, stalling her progress. Tilting her head back, Hermione saw that he was offering her a final chance to escape. The kindness touched her. But she knew part of the reason it was there was because he didn't want to be doing this or feeling the same way she was.

"I'm sorry you're being punished for helping me tonight," she whispered.

"There are so many layers in that statement, that I wouldn't know where to begin addressing it," he said darkly. Her curious expression prompted him to add, "Assuming it was any of your business in the first place."

Hermione had no idea what he meant, but before she could try to untangle the knotted threads, his hands were cupping her breasts, kneading them softly.

"Ah," she gasped, fingers spasming on his buttons when he began to mold and massage the mounds more firmly.

They overflowed his hands as he expertly handled them. Snape caught the puckered tip of one and pinched it lightly, plucking at the sensitive peek. Hermione's back arched, presenting her chest like an offering, silently willing him to continue.

Her deft fingers drifted lower, freeing button after button on the dark robes. He shrugged when she finished, letting it slip carelessly from his shoulders. His shoulders were broader than she expected, his waist narrower.

She didn't get a chance to start on the buttons of his shirt because Snape caught the side zipper of her Muggle dress and tugged it down, quickly shedding her of the flimsy garment. Breathing was suddenly difficult when she noted the way he was feasting on her standing there in nothing more than a lace, demi-cup bra and matching, barely there panties.

The situation was not as awkward as she'd first imagined it would be, when she considered her first time getting naked in front of someone. It hardly even mattered that the fact the man was her professor should have made it more so. The spell didn't leave room for anything except pleasure. It pushed for more, stripped inhibitions. And the hungry look he gave her, making it clear he appreciated everything he was seeing, was intoxicating.

His clever fingers saw her bra and panties removed in record time. Curiosity made her want to see what he looked like beneath all the layers he was still wearing. She was about to complain that he was still dressed when his hand moved to cup her intimately, pressing the heel of his hand firmly against the little nub between her thighs.

Oh, she thought, her mouth falling open, yet unable to produce a sound. That seemed to assume Snape, because he smirked at her speechlessness. Tingles radiated outward from her core, making her knees weak.

"You're so wet," he breathed, slipping a finger inside her slick channel.

The digit pumped slowly in and out, lightly stroking her. Shifting his hand, he brought his thumb up to brush over her clit, flicking it repeatedly. He deliberately rubbed minuscule figure eights against the button making her gasp and quiver into his dexterous hand.

It was sensation overload. Hermione had never felt such sheer ecstasy flowing through her veins. It was incredible, delicious, and she ached for more.

Somehow she ended up on her back, Snape crouched over her, kneeling above her still almost fully clothed. The reminder was enough to get a hold of herself and spur her hands into motion unbuttoning his shirt. The open collar revealed a lightly muscled chest, and pale olive skin that had likely never seen the light of day.

He was shockingly well put together, and Hermione's fingertips danced over the intriguing planes she'd discovered. Her actions had him pressing his hips against her thigh, the hard heat of him scalding her through his trousers. She longed to explore him, eager to touch him as he was touching her, but pinned as she was, she couldn't reach.

A second finger joined the first as he worked them in and out of her narrow channel. Hermione felt wonderfully full. The friction as they moved generated shockwaves that rocked her.

"Please. Please, Snape. I need -" Hermione begged, needing more. Needing him. The feeling was unrelenting, bordering on painful, but exquisitely so. Her body demanded all of him, desperate to satiate the requirements of the spell.

Snape headed her plea, disappearing to quickly vanish his clothes. Hermione barely caught a glimpse of long limbs and lean muscle before he was over her, settling back into the cradle of her thighs. She felt his hardness brush her leg, an interesting sensation like hot velvet. Then his cock was sliding through her wetness, bumping against her opening.

"Please," she whined, needing to have the emptiness caused by his missing fingers filled again.

He braced himself on his elbows, stroking a finger across her lower lip. When he moved, she felt the coarse hair on his legs rough against her, and it added a new level of sensory information for her mind to revel in.

She was a hollow void waiting for him.

Very slowly, he entered her. He'd only eased in an inch before he retreated. Then he was pushing forward again, sinking in another inch. Again and again he repeated the action until he was entirely buried inside her tight sheath. She was stretched around him, his rod filling her more completely than his fingers had.

He'd not asked if she was a virgin, for which she would be eternally grateful, but the gentleness and patience that he'd demonstrated up to this point, and even then as he waited, allowing her time to adjust to the new fullness, told her that he'd known.

The willpower he was demonstrating was staggering to her. She was a mindless puddle of aching need. Nothing more than a vessel of sensory neurons desperate to collect more, more, more signals for her brain. She'd lost all semblance of restraint ages ago.

The weight of him pressed against her, solid maleness, and his captivating scent, butterscotch and sandalwood made her dizzy and anchored her to the present all at once. It was consuming and addictive.

His fingers brushed her face again, tracing her cheekbone, and she turned her head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand, instinct guiding her.

"Granger," he gasped, jerking his hand away even as he rolled his hips. Sparks of bliss erupted in her core, distracting her.

She rocked back against him, chasing more of the sensation, but his body had her pinned in place, and squirming only made him groan and bury his face in her neck.

"I'm all right," she promised, giving him the permission he seemed to require to move within her.

It was enough to spur him into motion. He set a steady, lazy pace. His hand returned to her breast, squeezing the pliant globe. A direct connection to her clit seemed to form when he rolled her pebbled nipple between his finger tips. A sizzling sparkler ignited, glittering and burning bright.

Every touch sent her higher. For someone afraid of heights, it was strange. She was straining for more, reaching, searching. Flying through the clouds, aiming ever higher.

A climax rolled over her, shattering her unexpectedly with its intensity and suddenness. Her muscles seized and relaxed, endorphins flooding her system as she crested the tidal wave that had been pushing her all evening.

Snape froze, panting and nuzzling her neck as her muscles clenched and fluttered around him, but Hermione had barely blinked, still floating down from before, when he began thrusting into her again, faster, his hips pistoning into her.

Excitement gripped her. It had been too fast, too abrupt the first time. It was not the experience she'd expected it to be, and she'd not wanted it to end yet. He'd silently granted her wish.

Hermione's hands, which had been gripping his strong arms, slipped around his back, clinging to his shoulders as she tried to meet him thrust-for-thrust. The ends of his hair brushed the back of her hands, and she was briefly startled by how soft it was.

"Snape, oh!" she gasped, feeling his teeth nip her collarbone. The pressure of the tiny bite sent electricity zipping through her, and made her forget that she'd planned to run her hand through to soft locks of his hair to explore it more thoroughly.

A finger brushed over the little bundle of nerves just above where they were joined, and Hermione lost it. She went careening off a cliff, soaring through the air as bliss rushed through her more absolute and encompassing.

Snape's hips jerked erratically twice more before warmth filled her. He shuttered in her arms, every line of his body tense as he followed her over the edge, riding the tempest consuming them.

He pushed himself up to look down at her, and she relaxed her death grip on his shoulders, easing her hands down to his sides. A shiver ran through him.

"Is it always that… intense?" she asked breathlessly, weakly clarifying, "the spell, I mean."

"I do not know," he muttered, but she thought he looked troubled by it as he added, "for obvious reasons."

Of course he'd never been bound by it before to know. Somehow she doubted regular sex was so all-consuming. Particularly in situations where the two people involved didn't necessarily wish to engage in the act initially. Though she had to admit, it had been quite wonderful. The spell had seemed to be in control, driving them to continue, to give more, to let down any and all barriers and simply feel. She'd felt ravenous for him. Completely onboard to do that whenever the spell required.

And as he shifted, slipping out of her and moving to sit on the side of the bed, the endless drive for more ceased. The spell seemed to go dormant, temporarily content.

"I believe it will fade in time," he said flatly. "The spell was settling into place tonight."

Without the effects of the spell guiding her, Hermione felt self-consciousness and uncertainty kick in. She'd just slept with her professor, and would be again. Furthermore, she'd just married him. She didn't even know how she was supposed to look at him again after what they'd just done!

Hermione pulled the edge of the comforter over her as she too sat up, another thought occurring to her suddenly. A problem, more like.

"Si-Snape?" she called, waiting for him to turn his head towards her before continuing. "Lavender is here for break."

She hoped that would be all it would take. It was. They both knew she couldn't return to her room in Gryffindor Tower at this hour of night without having to answer a number of questions. If it was a discrete student? Maybe. But Lavender Brown would never fall under that category. And discretion was paramount for this situation - lives possibly depended on it being so.

He nodded as he stood. Hermione averted her eyes as he moved to his wardrobe. It may have been silly, given what they'd just done, but that had been because of a spell. He'd not invited her to look upon his person under ordinary circumstances, and she wanted to offer what little respect she could to the man that saved her.

A shirt fell to the bed beside her, she glanced up in time to see him tugging a pair of black satin sleep pants over his firm bum. She'd only grasped it briefly earlier, which somehow seemed an oversight now. Definitely something to rectify the next time.

At his expectant look, Hermione slipped the silver shirt over her head, the grey so light it nearly gleamed like true silver, and slipped off the bed. Her legs felt unsteady as she reached for her discarded underwear, pulling the emerald panties on under the long shirt that reached just past the top of her thighs.

"Slytherin gift," he muttered, referencing his earlier remark, and she flushed, wondering if he might really think of her as a present. She internally scoffed, knowing she sounded like the silly chit he'd also called her.

When he turned to leave the room, Hermione rushed to say, "I don't want to be alone. Not after everything that happened tonight."

She worried her bottom lip, fearing he'd either refuse or belittle her. This night had been trying in so many ways, and even if it was Snape, and he'd resent her intrusion and presence, she wanted him close by.

He didn't react at first. But after a minute of standing there watching her, he returned to the bed and slipped under the covers. With a pointed nod, he instructed, "Sleep."