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 16: Surrender

"I've had an idea, Harry," Hermione announced, joining Ron and Harry where they were pouring over the notes she'd taken the day before, searching for a clue she'd overlooked. A noticeable tension sat heavily between the two boys, but they both seemed intent on ignoring it as they carried out what had become their regular routine this last month.

Glancing furtively at the eight other students who'd skipped breakfast in the Great Hall to eat there instead, Harry lowered his voice to prompt, "Well, go on then."

"The Riddle House," she said meaningfully, conveying as much as possible without words.

Ron's face pinched as he puzzled it out, but Harry caught on at once. He was adamantly shaking his head as he argued, "No. He hated them."

Hermione huffed, preparing the defence that had come to her the night before as she meandered along the familiar path connecting the Head office and the Room of Requirement. "He hated the orphanage too, but he hid one in the cave."

"Because that was a place where he demonstrated his power over Muggles," Harry said loudly, only to get an elbow in the side from Ron when a few Ravenclaws looked over at them.

"Muffliato!" Hermione cast discreetly.

"What makes you think he'd hide one at his dad's house?" Ron asked churlishly, and she noticed he didn't look at her directly when he spoke.

Guess he was still a bit peeved with her as well. Typical.

"It's where he destroyed the last ties to his Muggle heritage," she reasoned, crossing her arms over her fluffy jumper as she silently dared Harry to discount her latest theory.

"She's got a point," Ron said thoughtfully, brow pinching the way it did when he studied a chess board. "Like you said, 'Demonstrated his power.' Killing them off certainly did that. And he was there just a couple years ago. He might have been checking on one or hiding a different Horcrux."

"Could be the cup," Hermione suggested, referring to the only other item they were aware of, but had yet to locate.

Harry considered the idea, weighing what he knew against the odds. She could guess at his thoughts. Dumbledore probably already checked, given his visit to the village and the incident that had occurred at the home of his magical relatives. Not up to his usual thoroughness if he'd not investigated both locations… Then again, his injury might have sufficiently distracted him.

"We already know one was in the Gaunt house. I don't think he'd keep them so close together," Harry acknowledged, voicing a close approximation to her thoughts.

"Yeah, but maybe that's why he would," Ron reasoned, appearing to favour the idea more the longer he considered it.

"It wouldn't hurt to check it out. We've followed weaker leads than this," Hermione tried, silently beseeching Harry. If nothing else, they could add then cross it off the list they'd begun compiling.

Harry distractedly pushed his glasses up his nose and hopefully asked, "Like Godric's Hollow?" Of course he'd see this as an opportunity to bargain for an investigation into a place that he so desperately wished to visit.

"Harry, we've been over this. He knows how connected you are to that place," Hermione said gently. She hated being the voice of reason when it meant denying him something he so clearly craved, particularly in light of everything else going on in his life. But someone had to do it, and she was used to being the logical one.

"Just as connected as him," Harry insisted stubbornly. Seeing the set of his jaw and hearing that all too familiar tone, which always seemed to be followed by a bout of danger and poor choices, made it significantly easier to firm her resolve against visiting the cursed place.

"He's not going to hide something where he was nearly killed," Ron scoffed, surprising Hermione by siding with her. But really, it was only rational to conclude as much.

"Unless he's proving to himself that he succeeded in cheating death," Harry countered, crossing his arms and staring mutinously at them.

"Death… I knew that's what going there was really about. Your parents." An ache throbbed in her chest as she suddenly missed her own. But at least hers were safe and alive – even if they were eternally out of research now.

"Mate, there'll be time to check all that out later," Ron said dismissively. It was easy for him to brush the desire aside. His situation was vastly different to theirs.

"You don't get it," Harry sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and making it stick up every which way like he'd just hopped off a broom.

"I know it's hard—"

"I've already waited so long. What if there isn't a later for me?" Harry demanded hotly, staring Ron down.

"Rubbish," Ron said, waving a hand to dispel the idea like so much vanishing smoke.

But Hermione's breath lodged painfully in her throat, making it impossible to breathe. Why would Harry say such a thing? Of course he was going to survive. After all the close calls, the near-death moments. Surely he didn't think Voldemort was going to win? They couldn't let that happen. They just couldn't. Not after everything.

Hermione closed her eyes, but instantly regretted it. Because there, imposed behind her lids like a candid photograph, was an image of Harry splayed lifeless on the ground, dull verdant eyes staring vacantly from a slack face, broken glasses tossed nearby, no longer needed. Foreboding spread along her skin to form a solid layer of crystalline frost, sharp and stinging.

Never had she given serious credence to divination. It was all hogwash. Unreliable. Silly guesswork and self-fulfilling predictions. But there was something disturbingly vivid and piercing about the scene.

Blinking did nothing to eliminate the horror. It lingered, a negative afterimage stubbornly clinging to her vision, blocking reality.

Shakily, a coldness lingering within her at the dark notions, Hermione ignored the obscuring picture and suggested, "Let's hold off on Godric's Hollow until we've exhausted all other possibilities."

"And if we do?" Harry pushed.

"Then we go," she reluctantly agreed, ignoring Harry's triumphant grin as the image of his dead body finally dissolved, blurring and fading from sight. Having it vanish, unfortunately, did not allow her to forget it.

"Ron, I think you should stay here this time," Harry said, assuming his typical leadership role. Hermione had to admit he was very good at giving out orders and having them obeyed with minimal protest. "We need to keep the Room available, and students asked too many questions last time we all went."

"Why me and not Hermione?" Ron huffed, seeming to recall that he was angry at the pair of them. Minimal protest? Well, unless Ron was involved, apparently.

"She's better at Detection Charms," Harry readily admitted, making Hermione wince. There was no way that was going to go over well. Ron might be better at performing Defensive Spells, but she had him when it came to a versatile range of knowledge on all things from detection to wards to jinxes and curses.

"'Course she is." His glower said everything.

The pair exchanged a look, then determinedly ignored Ron as they gathered a couple of hairs from two volunteers, doled out Polyjuice Potion, and swiftly left the castle under Harry's cloak for additional protection. She'd need to start a new batch since they were nearly out and would need it to continue moving in and out of the castle in relative safety.

"Why here?" she asked when they appeared on the side of the road outside a shabby cottage with nothing else in sight as far as she could see.

"This was the closest I could get. I've only seen this place in the memory Dumbledore shared, and the inside of the Riddle Manor, which we can't Apparate directly to. We'll have to go on foot to get there." This was the Gaunt House? It was so depressing that she thought she understood Merope's choices a bit more, even if she still didn't agree with them.

She and Harry walked for a few minutes in silence before she couldn't resist accusing, "You know it's your fault he's raging against both of us."

"How was I to guess he'd ever take a shine to Luna, given their history? You really think I'd have asked her to Slughorn's party last year if I had? She's not at all his usual type." Meaning she wasn't part Veela or a famous Quidditch player or stunningly beautiful.

"I know how much you hate that Ron envies you. Trust me, I get that your life isn't the picnic he sometimes assumes it is. I know that your fame doesn't necessarily mean things are easier, nor does it make the rest worth it," Hermione stated, aware Harry had likely been letting this fester within him since he'd overheard their conversation the night before.

"Exactly!"

"But," Hermione emphasised, recalling her own annoyance with his meddling. "I was actually referring to the bit involving me. Why'd you have to go and put ideas like that in his head again?"

"I thought I was looking out for you," Harry said quietly. At her incredulous look, he explained, "I remember how torn up you were last year when he kissed Lavender. Lately, it seems like things have changed. The two of you don't really fight anymore."

"That isn't because we're secretly snogging!"

Harry flushed, grimacing a little as he no doubt pictured his mates embracing passionately. But then he levelled her with a serious expression. Hermione immediately braced herself. "Did you know he made arrangements with Bill and Charlie to get you to Romania if we lose, but you survive?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked quietly, barely able to push the words past the lump in her throat.

"He did it over the summer, when we were staying at the Burrow. You're Muggleborn. He did what he could to make sure his brothers would look after you and get you out of the country before anyone could arrest you and throw you in Azkaban," Harry explained.

Just when she thought she knew all there was to know about Ron, he managed to surprise her. Someday he really was going to be one of the most remarkable of men. Here was proof that he was well on his way. Again, she felt a little twinge of guilt for picking Snape over him, both over the summer and again the night before.

"I thought you should know…in case it made you change your mind before Luna complicated things," Harry said awkwardly, giving her a half shrug at the end.

At once Hermione understood. Harry believed this would be her last chance with Ron. He was probably right. If Ron and Luna managed to get together, there was a very good chance they'd work out. She could easily see it.

Did it bother her?

The earlier guilt tickled her conscience. As did the internal clock steadily counting down the minutes until nine that night when she could be with Snape again.

That told her all she needed to know.

"I don't want to be with Ron romantically. Ever," she admitted, searching Harry's face for condemnation. There was none, though he did truly look surprised, despite all that had been said and happened in the last few months.

"Aren't you lonely? You helped me sort things with Ginny. Don't you want the same for yourself?" Harry pressed.

Yes, but what was she going to do? Cut things off with Snape just as they were starting, only to end up bored with Neville's ignorance of academic knowledge, beyond botany, or annoyed with Ernie's pompous mouth boasting of his superiority? Those were her options, and neither were appealing.

Sighing, Hermione said, "Not all of us are so lucky."

"Maybe you would be if you didn't fancy unattainable blokes," Harry countered, shocking her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lockhart was your professor," he said, distaste for the man twisting his face into a grimace.

"I was thirteen!" she protested.

"You couldn't get enough of his blinding smiles and obnoxious boasting," Harry persisted, making her wish she could crawl in a hole and hide from her younger self's bad choices and obvious crush. She'd only just thrown away a permission slip he'd signed that she'd kept when she was cleaning out her room in her parents' house.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating someone accomplished," Hermione insisted defensively, sniffing and trying to maintain her dignity even as her face flamed, the heat radiating like pavement on a hot summer day. Crack an egg on her cheeks and they could have a second breakfast.

"Only if it's true," Harry mocked, "and he's not old enough to be your parent. Pretty sure you fancied Lupin too, and he—" Harry abruptly stopped and quickly held up his hands in surrender when he caught her glare. That last hit a bit too close, considering Snape technically was old enough, having been in Lupin's class at school. Doggedly, Harry continued, asking, "What about Krum then? He didn't even live in the same country. And he's so famous, witches are constantly after him."

"He was the first bloke to see me as a girl," Hermione mused, recalling how flattered she'd been when Viktor had begun pursuing her over all the other girls seeking him out.

"Didn't you tell Ron not to settle?"

"I knew you were listening," she muttered, pursing her lips. Still, she felt defensive. If Harry was criticising her taste in wizards, Viktor was far from the worst she could have done. "He was really intelligent too. Wouldn't have been picked for Triwizard Champion if he wasn't."

"Still can't be with someone you never see and always have to compete for… Sort of like Ron last year."

Hermione wished she could shut him up by mentioning Snape. There was no competition there. But that was not a real relationship either – and it was Snape. Harry had already mentioned at least one issue he'd have with that choice, and she knew he'd have a dozen more – each more adamant than the previous. But for her, Snape had all the qualities she was apparently attracted to. Accomplished. Admired. Authoritative. Academic. And most of all, attracted to her and accessible.

"What's your point, Harry?"

"You're self-sabotaging," he accused.

Hermione disagreed. Vehemently. Scowling, she retorted, "Since that won't prevent me from helping you locate and destroy Horcruxes, perhaps we can table this discussion until after the war is over? Unless you want to talk about you and Ginny, that is."

Fair was fair, after all.

"Fine. I just worry about you spending so much time alone. You're the only family I have left," he said, sincerity shining a new light on the conversation. A second later, Harry pointed at a large white house with massive columns and decorative windows that hinted at significant wealth, despite its current state of disrepair. "There."

When they reached the door, Hermione ran through a series of spells to check for traps, the presence of humans, and other security measures. There was nothing.

She was just about to unlock the door when she couldn't resist saying, "Harry, I'm not spending more time alone now than I used to be." Seeing his immediate confusion, she explained, "I never spent as much time with you guys as you and Ron spent together. I took different classes. Studied longer in the library, for what we had in common and my extra courses. You guys had Quidditch practice. I wasn't with you at night in the dorms, and I certainly wasn't gossiping with Lavender and Parvati.

"Disappearing to the library now suits me – probably because I'm an only child and my house was very quiet growing up. Sometimes I just need a break to maintain my sanity."

"I won't bring it up again unless you do," he promised, smiling sheepishly.

"Thanks," she said, unable to hide her relief.

Methodically, they searched room after room, performing every spell she could think of. But it was abundantly clear that nothing was there to detect. Not a trace of magic remained within the house.

"Wormtail stayed here…before…with him," Harry said, stopping in the doorway to the family room as they were preparing to leave. Only an antique armchair occupied the formerly luxurious space. It looked like an abandoned throne in a forgotten kingdom. The musty scent of stale air, dust and mildew hovered in the air, thick and heavy.

"I'm sorry this reminded you of what he did, Harry. I really hoped we'd find something here," Hermione said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, noting the faraway look on his face. Wormtail. No wonder he brought up Godric's Hollow.

"It's fine. They've just been on my mind since yesterday," Harry said, shaking off whatever memory had temporarily enthralled him. "You were right that we should at least try."

They each sipped more Polyjuice, their disguises having worn off part way through their search, and quickly snuck back into the castle.

Ron was sitting with Luna when they returned, but given the two fourth year Hufflepuffs also with them, Hermione guessed Ron hadn't had a chance to discuss his feelings with the blonde yet. She had a feeling he wasn't going to have any problems when he did, though, judging by the way Luna was laughing, unrestrained, at a joke Ron had just made. She'd been doing that more and more of late.

When Ron noticed Hermione watching, he shrugged, grinning at her. It was not a real apology, but she rolled her eyes, knowing it was as close as she was going to get.

Other students came and went throughout the rest of the day, all seeking Harry's attention at some point or another, but Hermione was left in relative peace to comb through yet another book with oblique references to the Hogwarts Founders.

The time dragged. She was impatient to see Snape and discover if he actually did intend to continue with her. He'd have every reason not to. Their emotion-fueled encounter certainly wasn't anyone's definition of logical. But that had been the point. A necessary release.

What if he didn't need or desire another? Or what if he just didn't want it with her. She knew her lack of experience didn't exactly recommend her, and he'd not been precisely enthused by her suggestion that she'd be back.

She swore the second hand of the clock was deliberately trudging through a bog. It left her plenty of time to wallow in self-pity and wade through an endless sea of doubts. The conversations she'd had with Harry and Ron only made it worse. If Snape insisted the night before had been a mistake, Hermione had no doubt her self-confidence would be wounded, possibly permanently.

When she finally left the Room of Requirement, it was just after the D.A. training ended, and she had to force herself to dawdle in the library since it was too early to join Snape.

By the time she allowed herself to invade his office, it was to find him staring pensively at something small enough to be shielded by his cupped hand. Was it the same thing she'd seen him peering at before? He set it down abruptly, and curiosity had her cautiously approaching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious object. His raised brow, as he moved a sheet of parchment to cover the item, had her stopping in her tracks.

His actions practically screamed private – mind your own business. It only made her more curious and determined.

But later. She was currently here for another reason.

Assessingly, Snape looked her over, gaze lingering on her empty hands. Ordinarily, they were laden with a stack of books when she arrived. Today, she hadn't bothered, leaving the disappointing tomes in the library before coming here.

Hermione shifted nervously, not sure what to say. He'd initiated things yesterday, then not given her time to "overanalyze" as he liked to accuse her of doing. She'd certainly done enough of it in the last few hours. He'd have a time of it, raking her over the coals if he knew. It only made his silence today more ominous. He was giving her ample time – just when she wished he wouldn't.

Her fingers began fidgeting. Still he hesitated, not moving from his seat. He'd clearly not been working when she arrived. Surreptitiously, Hermione glanced at the door to his room. Should she wait for him inside?

She'd been properly distracted yesterday, so much so that she'd not taken any notice of his living space. Was it as sparse and uninviting as his room in the dungeons had been? Was it precisely as Dumbledore left it, like the office? She couldn't decide which would be worse.

"Uh," she began, fumbling and falling silent when words frustratingly eluded her.

Snape shook his head, one side of his lips curling up reluctantly. She could practically hear the accusation sliding off his tongue to caress her inner thighs. She was thinking too much.

But when he cleared his throat and spoke, what he said was, "It's not yet curfew. I should remain reachable until it is…just in case."

"Oh," she said dumbly. That was all she could get out.

He was watching her, almost willing her to say something. Did he want her to wait? Or protest? If Ron hadn't implied she was little more than a troll, perhaps…but then, this was Snape. How was she expected to read him? How had she succeeded in their past interactions?

It was too surreal.

His eyes closed. Again, she waited to see what he would do. To see how he would guide them through this tumultuous situation. His voice was deep and pained when he finally asked, "Do you believe the dead judge our actions from the grave?"

What? Had Dumbledore's portrait said something to him after seeing her? Was that the real reason he was hesitating now? Not some fault or deficiency of hers, but something Dumbledore had done? Had Dumbledore made him rethink this arrangement? He must have.

Snape touched the object again, his fingers absently stroking over the parchment in a way that told her the hidden item held great sentimental value to him. If only she could see it. Whatever it was would probably shed light on the enigma that was Severus Snape.

But as for his question….

"No, I don't," she said firmly. Enough people in this world had opinions. It wasn't fair to allow those incapable of making different decisions or offering advice to have a say as well. Perhaps the wizarding world wouldn't be so shrouded in antiquated practices if they did let go of their deceased relatives' bigoted ideals. Unfortunately, ghosts and portraits made that impossible. "Every person is flawed, not just the living. I think the only thing the dead desire, or at least all they should wish for us, is for those left behind to find what happiness we can while we are able, and to have fewer regrets when we die than they possessed."

"You don't think they wish us to pay for the hurts we…intentionally and unintentionally dealt them?"

"No. I think we probably punish ourselves plenty. More than they could, definitely."

"Hmph." With that sound, Snape turned, glancing at the back wall of blank portraits. Every former Head was out, as they usually were these days. When he resumed his previous position of studying her, he intoned, "We're alone in here."

Her mouth was suddenly dry as a desert. Did he mean….

"Granger?"

It wasn't a no. It wasn't a retraction. It wasn't him giving voice to her insecure worries.

Yes, he was far less certain that this should be happening today when emotions weren't running as high. But he wasn't truly against it or he'd have said.

With that in mind, Hermione took the initiative and walked towards him. Before she'd reached him, he scooted his chair back, giving her room. Drawing on her Gryffindor courage, Hermione straddled his lap, wedging her knees on either side of his hips in the large chair.

His hands cupped her bum, pulling her forward so that her core was flush against the thickening bulge in his trousers. It was only then that she noticed he wasn't wearing robes. Instead, it was a button down and trousers, both the shade of a dark, moonless night.

"Will you know if any of the staff decide on returning?" Hermione asked, biting her lip and casting a furtive glance towards the closed door.

Snape's thumb freed her lip, brushing over the abused surface faintly. Then his hand splayed to cup her cheek tenderly.

"When you first began visiting, I instructed the gargoyles to remain sealed when you were here – regardless of the password," he informed her, leaving her stunned by the revelation.

Snape would probably never come straight out and say he wanted her around, but to know that he had taken steps to protect her and facilitate her visits... It said everything.

With that, she slid her hands up his chest and he tipped his head back in response, presenting his mouth, the lips curled with just the barest hint of enjoyment.

Leaning in, bumping his hooked nose deliberately, teasingly, Hermione initiated a feather light pass of her lips over his. The hands on her bum gripped her more firmly, kneading the globes. She kissed him more fully, opening to him. As their kiss deepened, her hips undulated, seeking friction against her core.

She shifted, trying to find the right spot. "Hff," she groaned, frustrated as she tried to move again and it still wasn't right. The seam of her trousers was digging into her, and it was more uncomfortable than anything.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, nibbling on the column of her neck. Hermione wondered if he meant right then or in general, but decided to be honest about her most pressing desire and leave the rest to contemplate later.

"Put your mouth on me," she requested, feeling hot just thinking about his tongue on her clit the night before. Snape raised an eyebrow at her boldness, but his pounding heart let her know that he liked this side of her. "Please, Snape," she begged, splaying her fingers over the telling organ. It beat strong and fast against her palm.

Swiftly, Snape stood up, depositing her on the edge of his desk. His hands were at her waist, unfastening her trousers as her head spun from the abrupt change. But she braced her hands on the desk, lifting her hips to help as he yanked the snug fabric off her.

Snape sat back in his chair, admiring her as she pulled her pale grey jumper over her head and unhooked her bra, discarding the last of her clothing. Those sinful lips, so skilled at delivering the barbs that cut a person to ribbons, curled in anticipation as they prepared to annihilate her senses in a vastly different way.

"Put your feet on the armrests," he instructed smoothly, scooting between her naked thighs as she did.

His hands lightly grazed her knees, snaking down her calves to encircle her ankles, nudging her to open wider for him. Hermione's mouth went dry as she did, exposing herself to his assessing gaze. It felt different in a way she couldn't properly describe, except to think that she couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else. Ever.

Then her senses evaporated when he laid a barely-there kiss on her shin. Their eyes met. After a deliberate pause, he turned and kissed the other leg, only higher up, near her knee.

Fingers tickled softly, drifting over her feet, then up to the crease in the back of her knees. His eyes never left hers. They kept her pinned as effectively as a length of rope would have.

"Was that where you wanted my mouth?"

"N-no," she stammered, chest aching as she realised she'd stopped breathing.

A kiss to the top of her knee. Her legs trembled.

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Again. Again. She had to remind herself, since she'd nearly forgotten the necessity of oxygen.

"Here?" he drawled, hands continuing to draw lazy patterns over her lower legs.

"No," she whispered.

Another kiss, just inside her thighs. Her legs parted farther as though encouraging and guiding him where she most craved his touch.

Her core clenched around nothing, the muscles tensing and grabbing, but she was empty. Hermione ached to be filled or stimulated. A peculiar warmth settled over her, nearly uncomfortable. It was almost itchy, like ants marching up her arms. This was torture. And yet, she never wanted it to end. Because it was the very best kind.

She expected his question, but instead his hand moved, reaching up to cup her breast, a fingertip circling the peak with the faintest of pressure. Round and round it traced the outline of her areola.

"Here?" he asked, nail snagging the pebbled bud.

"No – yes, but…hmmm," she answered nonsensically, struggling when he dropped another kiss on the middle of her inner thigh, his free hand gliding along the juncture of her hip. Her skin felt heated, too hot and tight, like a fresh sunburn.

"My, my, someone is certainly struggling to use their words tonight. Don't you know what you want?"

His barely concealed humour made her groan and push him in the chest with her foot. He was having fun at the expense of her sanity.

He caught her easily, squeezing her toes and replacing her foot where he'd told her to place it earlier, but didn't return to teasing her. Instead, he waited, staring at her expectantly.

"Snape," she breathed, swallowing. That trademark brow rose again, a dark, inquiring slash across his forehead, demanding she confess her desires. "Will you lick me again, like yesterday?"

He pressed his lips together, and Hermione had the vague impression that he was almost disappointed by her mild phrasing, but she simply could not bring herself to use the words she'd overheard the twins use when Mrs. Weasley wasn't around. Not that it mattered. Because he gave her precisely what she asked for a second later.

His thumbnail scraped over her clit just hard enough to make her jerk and hiss, "Merlin!"

"Actually, I prefer when you shout 'Snape'," he said, breath fanning over her core.

A startled laugh escaped her, and her hand slid across the surface of the desk, inadvertently making her recline back. The sound abruptly cut off as Snape's finger traced around her entrance, once, twice, before plunging in. An instant later, his mouth descended to cover the tiny pearl of pleasure at the apex of her thighs.

"Yes! Uh, yes. That's what I want," Hermione said quickly, afraid he'd stop if she didn't confirm he'd finally settled on the right spot.

It wasn't rushed, like yesterday when he'd been determined to make her orgasm as quickly as possible, but he was clearly finished teasing her.

His fingers and mouth worked in tandem, each seeking to drive her wild. Butterflies erupted in her belly, swarming and fluttering with rapid beats of their soft wings. Faster and faster.

Then he stopped. Snape pulled away seconds before she came.

"Fuck," she hissed, frustrated and wanting.

Hermione sat upright, about to demand an explanation, but he invaded her space, stepping into the V of her legs as he roughly agreed, "Indeed."

Without giving her time to process, Snape's arms went around her, reaching to grip her shoulders. His cock was jutting forward, freed from the confines of his pants as he pleasured her, and now it found her unerringly.

With a swift push, he was inside her, easily engulfed in her slick heat. Eagerly, Hermione hooked her legs about his waist and grabbed onto the edge of the desk with one hand. It was just in time too.

Snape set a steady rhythm, and her body welcomed him, taking all he had to give and begging for more. As the fabric of his shirt roughly abraded her nipples, Hermione snaked a hand beneath to feel his flushed skin, her nails pricking his back as she held on while he rode her.

Before long, Snape's mouth found hers, his tongue plundering her mouth in time with his thrusts. She could taste herself on him, and it was both passionate and exciting. Never had she surrendered herself to such hedonistic pursuits.

The world spun out of control, and she was lost. Sensations mounted, building and exploding, rippling through every cell.

"Snape!" she cried, screaming his name as her climax rushed through her, harder for being prolonged.

"Yes," he growled, pumping twice more, rough and hard before he spilled.

His arms were slow to unwind from the deathlock he had her in. Not that she minded, needing his support to keep from turning into a puddle of goo.

Hermione's legs were rubbery and unsteady as she pulled her trousers back on, idly watching as Snape sank back onto his discarded chair. She jumped and wiggled a bit, trying to get the material over her hips, and finding it unusually difficult thanks to the sheen of sweat covering her limbs. A pleased hum had her glancing at Snape, and only then did she realise she'd been fully naked while he hadn't.

Snape caught her hand before she could fasten her trousers. "I thought you wanted my mouth on your breasts?" he inquired softly, words a seductive caress ghosting over her. Her memory had no problem recalling how decadent and exquisite his tongue felt against her skin.

"Yes," she answered, only just realising that hadn't happened.

With a tug, Snape pulled her onto his lap. Hermione sprawled ungracefully, but didn't have time to do more than gasp before Snape caught her hands and brought them up to cup her breasts, holding them out like an offering for him.

"I got distracted earlier, but it would be a shame for you to leave before I did as you so politely asked."

"You don't have to. I mean…we've already…," Hermione tried uncertainly, closing her eyes when his fingers began pinching and tugging expertly at her nipples.

Was it normal to fool around afterwards? She thought foreplay was just that – play before the main event. But did normal really matter when his fingers felt sublime, and his mouth was certain to surpass that?

"Perhaps this is about what I want. Considering I've already surrendered to this, I might as well enjoy it thoroughly. No regrets. No enduring punishments. Nothing outside these walls plaguing us, right, Granger?"

That was an interesting way—

Her thoughts stopped, leaving her mind as blank as a sheet of copy paper when his dark head bent to capture a peak in the wet heat of his mouth.

By the time she left, they'd shagged again, and she'd needed a potion to relieve her sore muscles, unfamiliar as they were to this sort of activity.