Author's Note
I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)
I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 18: Revelation
"Hermione, will you look my potions essay over? Please?" The earnest question came from a second year Hufflepuff girl, her strawberry blonde curls in messy, lopsided pigtails and a spattering of freckles dusted her nose.
"Is it due in the morning?" she asked hesitantly, already having delayed her departure this evening because she'd been talking Harry and Ron out of visiting Knockturn Alley, citing the danger they'd bring down on the twins if they did. That had been all she'd needed to convince Ron, though Ginny had butted-in and tried to argue that the troublemakers were up for the challenge.
Eventually, Hermione had won, persuading them to see things her way. But now she needed to come up with a new place to search or they'd fall back on going to Knockturn Alley just so they could continue being productive.
"Nope," the girl confirmed, though she looked worried, "not until Friday, but I need time to correct it."
At least three hours a day, Hermione had taken to tutoring the younger students, reading over homework, adding examples, or offering suggestions on books they could research to find the correct information. It was amazing how much time she had to help now that she wasn't focusing on her own work and was stuck in the Room for several hours a day – she could only spend so much time reading without getting a headache. But the more she helped, the more she found herself sympathising with Snape and appreciating his annoyance when they failed to grasp a relatively simple topic. More than once she'd lost her patience after already explaining the same thing four times, only to realise the student wasn't even listening, too busy watching a friend chase a practice snitch around the Room or the fire dwelling salamanders eating flames.
"Then I promise to look at it and help you fix anything you've missed tomorrow after lunch," she offered with a reassuring smile.
"Thanks!" the girl, Emma, Hermione thought she was called, gushed, then skipped back over to the table where her friends were sitting.
Hermione shook her head, glancing over the Room-turned-dormitory before she slipped out. Tables littered the ever growing space, many with students gathered around frantically scribbling answers to homework assignments. There were overstuffed armchairs and sofas forming a circle clustered in the very centre of the room around a group on the floor playing gobstones. Along the edges of the room were rows of bunk beds, most already occupied by now, like the kind you'd find in a hostel. Each of three corners were decorated with House flags depicting the trademark mascots and wall hangings in vibrant House colours, but the students had long since stopped only spending time or sleeping in their designated areas. Instead, they mixed and mingled to form a single, unified House.
Part of her still worried about how this would impact Slytherin House in the future, particularly when she saw Snape and recalled his struggles, but she'd not had any inspiration. Then again, not every problem was hers alone to tackle. Perhaps she should simply focus on the heaping pile currently overflowing her plate and leave the others to tackle on another day.
When she entered the Head office, Snape was fiddling with the mystery item on his desk again. He did that a lot, particularly when they spoke of anything personal or he was deep in contemplation as he seemed to be this evening.
"Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to join me tonight."
"Sorry, more students than ever are staying in the Room of Requirement. Got held up by one."
"Writing an essay for the student to pass off as their own?"
"Do I want to know?" she asked hesitantly, certain he was about to give her a set down.
"Several staff have remarked on students seeming to channel your intelligence this week," he warned, lips pressed tightly in disapproval.
"I've just been helping out while the boys are gone," she explained, already rethinking the advice she planned to give Emma the next day. Perhaps she had been going a bit overboard lately, but it was hard to refuse when so many were seeking her advice and seemed so eager to learn.
"Try toning it down. It's rare to have a student of your calibre, and now we have a dozen or more. It's suspicious," he said crisply.
"My calibre? That very nearly sounded like a compliment," Hermione teased, valiantly trying to ignore the warmth radiating off her cheeks.
"I never denied your research skills. It was your critical thinking and innovation that was lacking." Just like that the heat fizzled, the fire snuffed out by a bucket of ice water.
The frank assessment of her intelligence, delivered without an ounce of fanfare or remorse, annoyed her to no end. More than anything, she wished she could refute his words, but the truth was, Snape was correct.
Hermione had thought about this very thing a great deal in recent months, and had ultimately come to the conclusion that she'd been far too focused on being right in her classes. She'd not taken risks. She'd not pushed herself to delve deeper than what the texts said. She'd not made any intuitive leaps of logic.
And he was willing to point that out, despite the fact she went above and beyond in the work she did, which was more than enough to impress the other staff.
"Snape, please. Flattery like that will get you in my pants in a few seconds flat," she huffed tersely, rolling her eyes as she did and crossing her arms. "Don't know why I ever stopped expecting you to disparage my flaws."
His hand closed into a fist, the skin turning white around the object he still clutched. That small signal practically screamed that she'd struck a nerve.
"I thought you appreciated my honesty," he countered with just the barest hint of uncertainty creeping into his impassive voice. No, not uncertainty. Fear. He looked genuinely afraid. It was even more apparent as he asked, "Or must I offer lies and platitudes to entice you into my bed, Granger?"
"Not necessary. I wouldn't keep showing up at your door if I didn't want to be with you," Hermione said sincerely. The events of earlier in the week were still too fresh to let him think for a second that she was an unwilling participant in their nightly rendezvous.
"You cried and ran away the last time I inadvertently insulted you," he accused.
Cried? When had she—
"I was fifteen, and you insulted my teeth in front of Ron!" she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. She couldn't believe he even remembered that. Did he honestly think one of his careless barbs would chase her off now that things had changed so drastically between them?
His fist tightened, flexing around his hidden talisman. "I am not used to watching my words."
Hermione pursed her lips, having the unmistakable and distinct impression that she'd missed something. Something important.
"I don't expect you to. My skin is not so thin as it once was."
Snape cleared his throat awkwardly, appearing for all the world like a frightened rabbit preparing to bolt. What had happened in his past to make him think everyone would abandon him? It must have been something major, for it to still be influencing his behaviour. Hermione resisted asking, noting the tension drawing his body tight as a bow string.
"I've marked a passage for you. Came across it this morning," he said stiffly, nodding at a book on his desk as he continued to sit rigidly in his seat.
Hermione propped her hip against his desk as she opened to the bookmarked page and began scanning the text. It was in reference to Rowena Ravenclaw and her family. There was nothing concrete in the lengthy passage, but the author hinted that Hogwarts held the secrets to why her line ended with her, and therefore, ended at Hogwarts itself.
It was vague, to be sure, but if something about the castle could somehow explain why one of the most powerful witches had died without issue, perhaps there were also bits from her life, relics, here that Voldemort had managed to discover while he attended Hogwarts. Maybe she'd willed her possessions to the school upon her death as Dumbledore had. Many of the former Heads were known to have done so when they didn't leave behind a family. Voldemort probably knew that and went searching. He was supposedly quite clever and manipulative, as evidenced by his ability to gain followers and alter their morals. The Ravenclaw common room was the most obvious place to look. Or she might have had a secret room like—
Her thoughts broke off as she realised that Snape was studying her intently. He'd been scrutinising her more than ever in the last few days since she'd practically declared he was the only wizard she wanted sharing her bed. Then there had been that earlier remark. Was he bothered by…whatever it was they were doing? Or was this something else?
Uncertain, Hermione ducked her head further, pretending to reexamine the last paragraph she'd read, though her mind was too distracted to regain her previous line of reasoning. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of crimson. His trinket. He must have set it down while she'd been engrossed in the book.
For the first time, she could see it clearly. Sitting all alone on the corner of his desk was a miniature blown glass lily, no bigger than a paperclip, and as she'd already discovered, easily concealed in the palm of a hand. The petals were a deep shade of red, dark as the heart of a ruby. It was a colour she recognized, one she'd seen before – in the pictures Hagrid had given Harry of his parents. It perfectly matched Lily's hair.
She wasn't sure she'd have made the connection, except for the delicate, beautiful shape the figurine had been moulded into.
Suddenly, more realisations were illuminated, her synapses firing at an accelerated rate that lit up her mind in a mimicry of a police suspect board with strings connecting pictures and clues and a timeline. Mrs. Dursley's comments about Snape and Lily being friends, Dumbledore's reminders about a vow and amends, plus Snape's own devoted efforts to protect Harry all these years. It all suddenly made sense. Even the first night they'd been together voluntarily – the anniversary of her death. He'd been emotionally vulnerable, even if Hermione had been unaware of the fact.
Then there was earlier in the week. He'd made her promise not to go to Godric's Hollow. No wonder, really.
"If you concentrate any harder, I believe you might go permanently cross-eyed," Snape remarked dryly, but noticeably less easily than he usually sounded when he spoke to her.
"What?" she gasped, startled from her revelation as she jerked to see Snape again. His face was pinched and pale. "Snape?"
"You can't always force your brain to make leaps in logic. You will sort out the answer in time. I apologise for my…careless remark before. It was unnecessarily rude. I did not intend to…hurt your feelings," he struggled to express the quiet sentiments.
Snape was…apologising. To her. Would wonders never cease?
This whole evening had been surreal. Still she felt like she was missing something. Part of Hermione felt like they were having multiple conversations at once, each speaking a different language. That was the only way to make sense of how strange each of their reactions to things had been. They were working on different puzzles, the pieces randomly intermingling and forcing strange, complicated interactions.
But his discomfort prompted her to respond, not wanting him to revert to guarding his thoughts around her. "My pride, more like. But it's fine. I was only raging because you made a valid point. Apparently I could stand to work on self-reflecting a bit." Her chin dropped back to her chest, hair swinging forward to conceal her face as she examined the lily again. "I don't typically hold grudges over things that happened years ago."
"Some people do," he countered. "Some… Most…people never forgive."
"I'm not most people," she replied quickly, disliking being lumped into a predetermined mould. She'd never been the type to just go along with everyone else. She formed her own opinions and liked to believe she could take the true measure of a person.
And seeing physical proof of the type of man Snape had spent the last nearly two decades being did more to influence her than any single thoughtless remark made years ago ever could. The candlelight in the room wavered, sparking off the glass petals and making them glow with life. They seemed to be affirming her conclusion.
"No, you certainly are unique," he finally allowed, quickly dropping the prickly subject. "This is probably only a small clue, and possibly not even relevant, but it made me think you might want to consider searching the castle over the Christmas Hols."
Hermione's eyes shifted back to the book she held, trying to make sense of his words. Oh. He was talking about Ravenclaw again. He thought that was what had consumed her thoughts. Well, that or lingering hurt feelings.
"Yes, thanks," she finally managed. "I think this was just the clue I needed to figure something out."
Clue, indeed.
Snape had been in love with Lily when Voldemort killed her. No wonder he was willing to do literally anything to destroy the wizard. Hermione and Dumbledore were proof.
"You're certain?"
"Yes," she hummed, gliding her fingers over the page as though she really was concentrating on Horcruxes. As if there was even room in her head right then for the topic.
She was rather awed by the significance of her revelation – one she knew he'd be horrified to discover she'd learned of. He was too private for it to be otherwise. Not to mention that he'd likely jump to conclusions and assume she pitied him, considering Hermione was well aware that Lily had chosen James.
Lily had chosen James, and still Snape risked his life to protect her son.
The door to his apartment opened, the sound alerting Hermione to the fact Snape had gotten up, and probably expected her to follow him. Quickly, she replaced the bookmark then schooled her features before facing him.
He was a remarkable man, and she couldn't help but marvel at the level of loyalty he demonstrated to those he chose to bestow it on. Hermione didn't need to ask to know she'd become one of those people.
"Coming, Granger?" he inquired, tilting his head slightly towards the open doorway. A shiver danced down her spine at the inherent promise in the simple question. "I doubt there is more for you to learn tonight."
"Probably not," she agreed.
When she reached his side, Hermione threaded her hands through his soft hair and pulled his head down for a sweet kiss.
"It was only a passing reference, nothing definitive," he commented, a crease forming in his brow at her unusual reaction, not having detected the epiphany she'd had. "And certainly not a trite falsehood."
Oh. He thought she was accepting his apology. They really were on different wavelengths tonight.
Part of her wanted to be surprised that he didn't know her thoughts, but then again, he'd not used Legilimency on her apart from those two occasions when he'd felt driven to assure himself that she truly was consenting. A sure sign of respect, given his occupation as a spy, which made it all the more amazing.
She knew he didn't love her, anymore than she loved him. But they were partners of a sort, and honestly, given the precarious positions they were in, that was infinitely better. Not to mention far less confusing, with a significantly less chance of getting her heart broken when it inevitably ended.
"As I said, no lies necessary to tempt me. You're a good man, Snape," she said, cupping his cheek. "But right now, I could do with a bit of wickedness." It was a silent request that he help her stop thinking as only he seemed capable of doing.
"I believe I have just the right thing in mind for you then," he said huskily, one side of his lips tipping up.
With a gesture for her to enter first, Hermione stepped into the devil's lair. As soon as she did, an arm wrapped around her from behind, and his hand cupped between her legs, purposely rubbing. His mouth sucked at the sensitive column of her neck as he walked them forward, Hermione gripping his arm to steady herself, so as not to collapse from the assault on her senses.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered as they stepped into the bathroom. She was a bit surprised by the commanding tone he'd used, but readily obeyed, hands moving to unfasten her blouse.
Her legs felt about as sturdy as a string when he released her to start the bath and rummage in a cabinet. A hum of approval sounded when he moved to set a bottle on the ledge of the filling tub. Then Snape was undressing as well.
She slowed her movements, enjoying the way he stared at her hungrily, eyes caressing each freshly exposed patch of skin. Boldly, encouraged by his reaction, she cupped her own breasts, massaging them and taunting him.
As he stepped forward, drawn by her actions, like magnets, Hermione stepped back. Again, he took a deliberate step, and she retreated one as well. She felt like a mouse as he stalked her across the room, backing her all the way until the back of her knees bumped into the lip of the porcelain tub, though he didn't stop.
By then, she had nowhere to go and could hardly drag in a full breath, the air catching when he leaned against her to reach and shut off the water. It was only a little more than half full, but as he helped her in, then slid in behind her, the water rose to lap at her chest, tiny waves that crested gently over the heavy skin like exploring hands.
"What's in the bottle?" she asked, relaxing against his chest, and noticing how the tips of her pebbled nipples broke the surface of the water, poking up proudly.
"Massage oil," he replied, pouring an overly generous amount into his palm and rubbing his hands together.
"In the bath? Won't the water sort of—" she broke off abruptly as he cupped her breasts, squeezing and shaping the mounds.
"Doesn't seem to be a problem for me. What do you think?" he asked right by her ear, tongue tracing the sensitive shell.
"Snape," she moaned, gasping as he pinched and tugged her nipples.
"Well?"
"Don't stop," she all but begged, seeing the shiny substance forming a shimmering layer over her chest and shoulders. Tendrils of her honey locks floated along the surface, fanning out and shifting restlessly like pieces of seaweed caught in a current.
"Hadn't planned to," he assured, sucking lightly on the place where her neck and shoulder met. Her head fell back to grant him greater access.
He teased and stroked her until she was writhing between his legs. She'd tried to brace her hands on his thighs but they kept slipping thanks to the water and the oil. The feel of him hardening, his length nestled against the crease of her bum, had her reaching to stroke and play with him as he continued toying with her.
The waves within the tub increased in tandem with their ministrations. When her untouched core, aching with need, couldn't stand another minute of neglect, Hermione twisted around, heedless of the water splashing over the edge as she sought stimulation and more. Snape lifted her easily, manoeuvring her legs until she straddled his lap and could take his cock.
Hands slipped and slid over each other, the remnants of the oil making it impossible to get into a proper rhythm as she rolled her hips over him, grinding on his lap. More water sprayed over the sides, making a mess, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
Snape's hands skated down her arms, dropping beneath the water to grip her waist, but Hermione couldn't stop giggling as more water sloshed out of the tub.
"Up," he commanded.
"Giving up already?" she joked, burying her head in his neck to smother her persistent laughter.
"Granger," he all but growled, nudging deeper into her. "Now."
That serious tone made her shiver, but also had her carefully leveraging herself from the tub. She'd barely gotten to her feet before Snape clambered out and scooped her into his arms, hauling her into his bedroom.
"Wait! I'm soaked," Hermione protested, squirming briefly, at least until he tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed. "Omph!"
"Don't care," he muttered, urging her to roll to her belly. She did, drawing her knees beneath her as he climbed behind her to kneel.
As soon as they were in position, he plunged into her, picking up right where they'd left off before. He reached around her, fingering her clit as he set a galloping pace.
Her nipples were almost sore from being manipulated so much, but she didn't try to lift up to stop them from scraping roughly against the sheets as she rocked back to meet his frenzied pounding. The extra sensation set her ablaze.
Once before, Snape had shagged her this way, and Hermione again noticed the way this position caused him to hit a particularly sensitive spot over and over again until she saw stars. The constant bombardment left her ridiculously slick and wet for Snape to move within her – and it had nothing to do with the bath or lingering oil, most of which had already been absorbed by the sheets.
Every time they were together, it was incredible. Snape had a way of making each experience both unique and pleasurable. It was exciting. Thrilling. Life-altering.
His hands squeezed her bum, easing across her hips to hold her cheeks, smacking one lightly, just enough to make her gasp. The surface flamed hotter, making her insides clench tightly around his length, and she tilted her hips further towards him again.
"Are you close?" he breathed, reaching to stroke a hand down her spine.
"Mmm," she hummed nonsensically, lost to the swirl of emotions raging around her.
Her knees had spread just enough that his balls repeatedly hit her clit each time he plunged into her. The steady tapping made her dizzy in a way she relished, the blood rushing to her head in her crouched position.
Another smack, just a touch harder landed on her other cheek. "Granger," he growled, demanding a proper response to his question. Judging by the way he'd increased his tempo, he was seconds away from coming himself.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, Snape, please," she begged, needing just a bit more to reach the ultimate pinnacle herself.
As if he'd merely been waiting for her signal, Snape began manipulating her clit, sending her careening over the edge and into a freefall.
Her belly bottomed out, dropping like a weighted stone as she rushed to meet the ground. Nerves fired and endorphins surged, pouring through her like water from a collapsing dam.
Idly, she felt Snape draped over her back for a few heartbeats before he eased out to lie beside her.
Hermione relaxed, stretching out lazily, like a cat after waking in a patch of afternoon sun. As her head lolled, she noticed the rumpled bedding, with wet spots from her dripping hair and limbs, as well as the trail of puddles on the floor where Snape had walked.
Well, she'd asked for wickedness.
She'd just smiled at how aptly that described things when she felt the first brush of Snape's fingers languidly tracing her curves. Snape was not a cuddler. Last year, Hermione had listened to Parvati complaining that Terry Boot didn't hold her afterwards, but would fall straight to sleep after they had sex. Snape didn't do that either. Instead, he spent long minutes touching her gently, seeking places that made her quiver.
The first time they'd had sex, he'd been perfunctory, collecting the potion ingredient that had prompted their union. The next time she'd left before he could. But every time since, he had been like this. He didn't speak, just caressed, almost petting and soothing her. She relished these moments. They very nearly felt more intimate than the act of sex, considering the way he'd look at her, a mix between wondering disbelief and opaque intensity, and it always guaranteed she was relaxed and lethargic by the time she left.
Part of her hated to disturb the lull that had settled over them, but she needed to ask before she forgot again like she had the last few days. Already, she should have taken the potion, so she couldn't risk putting it off any longer.
"Can you get me more stoneseed root?" she asked quickly, setting her jaw and trying to appear unaffected. The blush creeping into her cheeks, blooming like a pesky dandelion, wasn't helping.
"Why would you need…more…," he trailed off, eyes closing in understanding and his expression became particularly strained. "Have you been taking anything?" he asked carefully, still not looking at her.
"Yes, although I can't make another batch without replenishing my ingredients. I'd rather not have to stop sleeping with you, but we can't again until I've taken a Birth Control Potion," she confirmed, keeping her tone level. Neutral. Clinical. Precise. Because they were two consenting adults who could handle this maturely. No problem… Really.
"Granger, I owe you an apology. It is unacceptable of me to have put you in such a position. I wasn't thinking clearly, obviously," Snape said candidly, shaking his head slightly as though mystified that the issue of birth control hadn't occurred to him sooner. Given his skill, he was likely used to significantly more experienced partners who naturally took precautions and didn't require his help to procure them. "I'll have Dobby deliver a potion and additional ingredients discreetly later tonight."
Honestly, Hermione didn't blame him in the least. He was already doing so much to help her. And she was independent enough to take care of this herself, but with the current circumstances, she actually did need a bit of assistance in this, which he'd given without complaint.
"It truly is all right. I would get it myself, but I can't visit an apothecary just now. I know neither of us want to bring a child into this war," she said, relaxing a bit now that he hadn't overreacted as she'd feared he might.
Snape took her in, and she felt his fingers inch close enough to just barely touch her hand on the mattress between them. "I am grateful that you are…you."
Considering the many and varied insults he'd previously dealt her, and her current position in his bed, Hermione honestly couldn't imagine a greater compliment.