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 19: Intimate

"I've found something…or, well, I think I have," Hermione announced, shoving the book Snape had given her into Harry's lap. "You might have been right. There could be a Horcrux here."

Things had become stagnant in the castle, but reports from Potterwatch, a radio show the twins had created to keep people informed about the true happenings in the war, made it clear things were getting worse everywhere else. The pressure to end things quickly was at an all time high.

That was the reason Hermione was showing Harry this book now. Originally, she'd planned to wait until the Christmas Hols when they'd have a bit more freedom to do something about it. But since he and Ron had finished searching Diagon Alley, he'd been getting more and more insistent about visiting Godric's Hollow. So this book, and focusing on Hogwarts, was the best distraction she could come up with.

"The cup. Hufflepuff's cup," Ron said excitedly, looking at Hermione's hands as though the decorative goblet would suddenly appear.

"And if it isn't the cup?" Harry asked, and only then did Ron frown, beginning to realise she didn't already have a Horcrux in her possession.

"You haven't found it, then?"

"No," Hermione confirmed, voice clipped with annoyance.

"Then you're just assuming something is here," Ron said, a hint of pink staining his cheeks and blending in with his abundant freckles.

"It is. I knew it!" Harry gasped, rubbing his scar as though erasing a phantom pain.

"How?" Ron demanded.

"He's been thinking about visiting a lot lately. It's probably so he can check on it!"

"And you're only telling us this now?" Hermione railed, pursing her lips and gritting her teeth. But she only gave herself a moment to fume because Harry looked ready to defend himself. So she headed him off, saying, "Oh, never mind! It's not the cup, at least I don't think it is. I think he might have found something of Ravenclaw's here at Hogwarts, and probably stashed it here after turning it into a Horcrux."

Hermione gestured at the book, but neither made to read it. Sighing, Hermione flipped to one particular passage, stabbing a finger at it as she rolled her eyes. Neither of her friends so much as glanced at it.

"What was that about You-Know-Who coming here?" Ron questioned, not as ready to brush that particular piece of news aside. "You're just guessing about that, right? Or do you know, know, he is?"

Hermione huffed, irritated by Harry's continued disregard for the danger he was bringing on them. He simply ignored her, pretending he didn't notice her fuming as he answered. "It's fine. He just wants to, but probably won't for a while. He's out of the country looking for someone. I wish I knew who the guy was. He thinks about him all the time."

It was too much. She couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "Harry! You have to stop that. Block him. It's too dangerous!" What if he accidentally revealed that they were staying in the castle?

"Sounds like it's a bit late to start worrying about that now. And now we know he's away, so we're safe for a spell. Anyways, what makes you think that something of Ravenclaw's is here?" Ron asked, probably hoping to distract her so that he didn't have to listen to a tired rant yet again.

"It says so in the book," Hermione said crisply, reaching over to pointedly tap the still unopened book in Harry's lap. "Well, it implies Ravenclaw may still have things here, at least."

"You really think You-Know-Who left it here? But didn't Dumbledore already check the castle?" Ron asked sceptically.

"Yeah, I think he would. This was his first true home," Harry replied quietly, glancing fondly at the students mingling and laughing throughout the room.

"Sentimentality aside," Hermione pushed, sharing her opinion, "he thinks it's safe here. He gave the Malfoys a Horcrux to guard, and I've been thinking…what if he wanted Hogwarts so badly, and he wanted Snape to be Headmaster, because he wanted his loyal Death Eater in place to guard it?"

"That actually makes sense," Ron said, blinking at her.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Hermione griped, glaring at her friend and crossing her arms.

Ron flushed, and quickly added, "I only meant it's a better reason than Harry's for something being hidden here."

"Does this mention what the object is?" Harry asked, brushing her hand aside to flip through the pages she'd marked while he ignored the usual bickering occurring between his friends.

"Well, no. Not exactly," Hermione hedged, unwilling to be discouraged. It'd been some time since they'd caught a break like this. "It doesn't even say for certain that Ravenclaw had any possessions, but she was still living here when she died, and she didn't have any living family at the time of her death."

"So you're guessing she did like Dumbledore," Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It could be anything, anywhere… If there even is something to find."

"We're getting nowhere with this. We can't come up with what we don't know," Ron complained, standing up swifting to look around, and making Harry and Hermione exchange equally baffled looks. "Have either of you ever heard of any famous relics related to Ravenclaw? Is there, I don't know…like…a shrine to her in the common room or something similar?" Ron called, directing the overly loud question to the two youngest students in the room.

They each shook their heads, looking wide-eyed and timid for having suddenly been put on the spot by one of the Golden Trio.

"They're Hufflepuffs, Ron," Hermione said dryly, though she could relate with his feelings of frustration that had prompted him to seek outside help from the readily available sources.

"I knew that," he muttered to Harry, lying through his teeth.

Luna tilted her head, drifting away from Neville to join the trio as the question triggered something in her memory. Hermione braced herself for what would come out of her friend's mouth. Hermione genuinely liked Luna, but she was still rational enough to take most of what she said with a grain of salt.

"Well, there's Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem," Luna suggested slowly, forming the words carefully.

"Yeah, but that's lost," the shorter of the two boys, an edge of roundness puffing his rosy cheeks, inserted, still paying attention to what they were discussing. Almost arrogantly, he elbowed his friend and loudly explained, "It's in the name."

Ron glared at them, wrapping a possessive arm about Luna's waist where she'd daintily perched on the arm of his chair. Privately, Hermione thought the boy had made a valid point, though she didn't much care for his patronising tone. Then there was the fact that Hermione had never heard of any such diadem – and she'd been searching for references of that very nature for months now. All in all, the diadem seemed highly unlikely to be the Horcrux.

"Just because it was lost, doesn't mean someone can't find it," Luna said airily, unbothered by the disdain her idea had garnered. "People have been searching for centuries."

Nothing stays lost or hidden forever.

How many times had her father said that when he'd taken Hermione to history museums growing up? He'd originally wanted to study archeology, but his parents had convinced him it was too dicey of a career, so he'd taken the practical route of becoming a dentist instead. But he'd never stopped being excited by new discoveries or encouraging her to read history books.

"Surely time would have destroyed it," Harry said, but Hermione could already see him making connections in his mind. Probably, he'd recognized how much Voldemort would have relished being the one to locate something lost for ages, and proving his superiority by outwitting all others.

"It was goblin-made, then enchanted by Rowena herself," Luna said knowingly.

The trio glanced meaningfully amongst themselves. The pieces fit neatly together. If anyone was determined enough, it'd have been Voldemort. He'd certainly demonstrated that much with the other relics.

"Luna," Harry began cautiously, not wanting to betray his interest too much given the number of ears listening in, "do you know what the diadem looks like?"

"My mum spent years trying to recreate it before she died. I'll take a picture when I get home for break," Luna offered, beaming at Ron.

"I'm sure that will be really helpful," Harry said awkwardly, a wrinkle in his brow betraying his true thoughts. Whatever Luna's mum had been trying to make, there was a very strong likelihood that it in no way actually resembled the founder's original diadem.

At least they had something to go on, even if it was a slim, blind chance. Actually, this lead was even better than she'd hoped for when bringing the matter up with Harry.

They all let the subject drop after that. Particularly considering they couldn't exactly investigate right now. But at least they knew what to look for, so they had a much better shot of finding the blasted thing. Assuming Voldemort had succeeded where no one else had.

Just one more week. One more week, then nearly every single student and teacher would be leaving the castle, and they'd be able to do a proper search.

"You're despicable. We'd all be better off if Dumbledore had let you rot in Azkaban years ago," McGonagall said brusquely. "He never should have vouched for you."

Hermione halted mid-step. Not just because the vast majority of students had left for the Christmas Hols that morning, so she'd not anticipated encountering anyone on her trek. There'd certainly been no one around when they'd visited the Ravenclaw Tower that afternoon and searched every dorm room from year one all the way to year seven. No, this was much more than that. Never had she ever heard Professor McGonagall's voice so filled with disdain and vitriol. Not even when she spoke of Sirius's supposed betrayal of the Potters that time in The Three Broomsticks.

Carefully, she crept closer to the hallway intersection, grateful that Harry's cloak concealed her as she poked her head around to see who the unlucky recipient of her wrath was.

Snape. Of course.

She could clearly see him. Every line in his body was stiff, with only the shallowest of breaths moving his frame. Especially his face. It was a carefully controlled mask, appearing carved from polished stone.

Hermione wondered if McGonagall's current upset with the Headmaster had anything to do with the updated list of students for the following year. Snape had discussed it with Hermione the night before at length, and she knew he'd be proposing his suggestion to Voldemort at some point in the next few days.

It was going to be a dangerous gamble. But Hermione sincerely hoped—

"Minerva—"

"I never should have given Death Eater scum like you a second chance. Once vile, always so," she hissed, her feline Animagus form never more apparent than in that moment. "You were always such a malicious child."

Snape recovered quickly and sneered at her, somehow refraining from remarking. After all, there was nothing he could say without giving himself away – not that she'd believe him anyways. McGonagall had clearly already written him off.

It was so unbelievable to Hermione. This woman, a witch Hermione had admired and looked up to for years, had known Snape even longer than she had. Most of his life. Yet she was treating him like scum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Yes, Snape had killed Dumbledore. But McGonagall wasn't even questioning it. She'd latched onto the worst depiction of him and forgotten everything else she knew.

But the instant McGonagall gave Snape her back, turning away in disgust, Snape's face crumpled and his shoulders curled in until he was hunched nearly double, the barbed words hitting their mark and slicing him to ribbons. Hermione was moving before she had a chance to think better of it, only pausing to press against the wall when McGonagall swooped past her.

"Come with me," she murmured, reaching out to catch Snape's clammy hand, the tips cold as ice.

He didn't resist, letting her invisible form guide him away and towards his office where she'd been heading before stumbling upon the unfortunate scene. As they walked, Snape turned his face away, relying on his hair to shield his features and the tears she'd detected in the flickering torchlight.

They didn't stop until Hermione had led them into his bedroom. He didn't speak. Barely breathed.

He ducked his chin further, a valiant attempt to keep her from seeing the pain etched into the rough, devastated groves that marred his face. If she had to guess, he was internally flagellating himself for allowing her to see him in such a state. He hated appearing anything less than totally in control.

Uncertain how to help, Hermione went up on her toes to fuse her lips to his and tasted the salt of the tears he'd been unable to swallow down. This was the basis of their interactions, after all. Physical comfort and stress relief. Nothing more intimate than that.

She kept it soft, but his response was perfunctory at best. Attempting to stir a familiar response, Hermione went about removing his shirt, dropping light kisses across his torso as her hands ran delicately up and down his back.

Snape didn't stop her, but nor did he react as she tried to arouse him. He also didn't actively touch her, not that she expected him to – right now was about him. But he did step out of his trousers when they pooled around his ankles.

He was soft when she cupped him, wrapping her fingers around his shaft through the silk of his underpants. Never before had he not been at least partially stiff by the time they got to this point.

"She was like family. A friend…one of my—" he broke off, inhaling raggedly, the sound of it catching in his throat painful to hear. "I have no one. Everyone in the world despises me," he finished weakly.

She released him at once, instantly recognizing that sex might not be what he needed most from her right then, despite the silent restrictions defining the terms of their interactions. Hermione's hands fluttered, wanting to touch him, but afraid at the same time.

He didn't look directly at her, still keeping his eyes downcast. She'd not expected him to take McGonagall's words to heart this much. If anything, she'd expected him to be furious and bitter.

"I don't. I couldn't. Snape, you're basically the only reason I have any hope at all," she insisted, willing him to believe her. After all, it was the truth.

Harry would be dead ten times over if not for him. Ron would be mangled and useless. Without Snape, the Order would have been in the dark and many more would have likely died over the years. He was the one keeping her sane and offering crucial advice. Hogwarts would have already descended into depravity and despair if not for him. Every one of them was better off for having Snape do the things the others couldn't or wouldn't.

But he only shook his head, so she shared just a few of her reasons, explaining, "You stopped me from making a horrible decision last month. You're the reason I didn't accidentally mangle my best mate. You're the reason Harry will win. It means everything – even if no one else is aware."

His hands came up to rub his face roughly, shielding himself from her. He must hate allowing her to see him so vulnerable. It thoroughly amazed her that he allowed her past his impenetrable walls and near enough to witness him in this state.

A new tenderness for the man washed over her, prompting her to catch his hands and reveal his face. Then she kissed him lightly, giving him the softness he seemed to deny himself much of the time.

He kept his forehead pressed to hers as their lips parted. A warm, wet tear hit her face, but she ignored it, knowing he didn't wish for her to acknowledge the fact he was crying. Merlin, he'd probably banish her forever if she said a single word about it.

"Can I stay? Not for sex, but can I stay with you tonight? Please?" she asked, unwilling to leave him on his own when he was like this. "I want to be with you. Please, let me. I need this."

"Yes," he breathed shakily, relief and gratitude nearly palpable.

Getting ready for bed was a little awkward. She'd never even shared a bed with a girlfriend growing up, let alone a man. But she tried not to let it show as Snape wordlessly offered her a shirt to sleep in while he wore only silk bottoms. At first, as she climbed into bed, she wasn't sure what to do, but Snape pulled her close, holding her so that her head rested on his chest, his hand absently fiddling with one of her honey-brown curls. The steady drumming of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep, and within minutes, she was lost to a world of dreams and the deepest sleep she'd had in months.

The scratchy prickling on her inner thighs woke her what seemed only minutes later. A grogginess clung to her, preventing her from processing anything clearly. She tried to stretch as she got her bearings, but the press of hands on her thighs pinned her in place. Then a wet tongue was lapping at her sex. The gentle strokes coaxed her to full wakefulness.

As she blinked the haze of sleep from her mind, she caught sight of Snape's dark head nestled between her splayed thighs, the bedding having been thrown aside to reveal her entirely. His lips fastened around her clit, his tongue lazily stimulating the little button as he steadily aroused her.

Hermione felt the scrape of his unshaved jaw against her legs and reached to brush his hair behind his ear, wanting to see him. Dark eyes darted to hers before he gave a more deliberate swipe against her.

"Snape, that feels really good, but I want to feel you inside me. Please," she urged, idly noting how sleep-roughened her voice sounded. And that there was just something about waking up all warm and surrounded by another's scent and presence, as though you were more one being than two separate individuals.

His answer was to insert two fingers deep in her channel, pumping with all the haste of a turtle crossing the road.

She groaned in frustration, rolling her hips helplessly, but he simply continued worshipping her. Long, slow licks with the flat of his tongue against her clit followed by the blunt pressure of his teeth. He was clearly in no hurry at all, ignorant of her throbbing core.

Hermione impatiently tugged up her borrowed top, dark as a starless midnight, to fondle her own breasts. That was finally enough to capture his attention, and Snape sat back on his heels to watch her. As he did, Hermione saw that he was naked as well, having already discarded his bottoms, though the sheet had concealed him before. But now it was obvious with his cock standing proudly, pointing straight up from his lap.

"I want you," Hermione gasped. "Snape."

Briefly, he closed his eyes, visibly inhaling as his nostrils flared. Probably, he could scent her blatant arousal. It usually didn't take much more than the sight of him these days for her to get turned on, given the fact that this was how they always ended up before too long when they were in the same room.

Snape moved easily to lean against the headboard and reached for Hermione, helping her climb onto his lap. She accepted him easily, and he fit perfectly in her ready sheath.

"Keep touching your breasts," he urged, running his hands along her back in sure, greedy strokes.

For him, when he asked like that – like he was dying of thirst and this was the glass of water that would save him – she would do anything.

Her head fell back as she shaped and pinched her nipples, manipulating the sensitive nubs. Her inner walls quivered in response, and she clenched tighter around his length. Then the wet heat of Snape's mouth surrounded her left nipple, strands of his silky hair trailing down to tickle her belly and make her squirm. He sucked and nipped, tugging with his teeth until he released her with an audible pop.

Arms came up to wrap around her, tracing her spine and ribs, before hooking on her shoulders. She was only barely rocking on him, but it was still better to have him filling and stretching her than any other feeling she'd ever experienced.

Hermione cupped his face with both of her hands, letting her fingers just barely tangle in his hair as she pushed it back to see him clearly.

"What do you want? Tell me and it's yours," she offered, seeing him anew after the way he'd held her close all night long.

She wanted to give him something in return for that new experience. She wanted to help him forget the awful way McGonagall had spoken to him. She wanted to make him feel as alive and incredible as he made her feel.

With him, it was always good. He made her want to be adventurous and try everything. She trusted him completely with her body. And after the night before, she felt driven to reassure him of that fact. So she would do whatever he asked of her.

"Kiss me, Granger," he requested softly, his fingers ghosting across the back of her neck.

Such a simple request. And one that was in no way a hardship.

The kiss was passionate and consuming, alternating between soft presses of lips and plunging swipes of tongues. Time stopped, or at least it seemed to, until the need for air forced Hermione to break away and gasp, burying her face against his neck while their fused bodies continued an ancient dance.

Hermione clung to him, feeling a bit like an octopus with her arms and legs behaving like tentacles permanently suckered around Snape. She seriously doubted anything was strong enough to pry her away – not that he seemed to mind.

"Granger," he groaned, kissing her temple. His breath fanned over her ear, stirring a curl so that it tickled her back.

"Mhh." It was all she could manage, words having long since lost meaning.

It was rather unexpected when her climax flooded her system. She'd been oblivious to the approaching pinnacle since there was nothing hurried or deliberate in either of their actions.

Reluctant wasn't a sufficient enough word to describe how she felt about relaxing her hold on Snape afterwards, so she was immensely grateful that he was still gripping her and pushing his hips up to meet hers for another minute before he came, filling her with the familiar heat of his release.

They stayed locked together for far longer than normal, and only the beginning of cramping muscles prompted Hermione to leave Snape's lap and get dressed. Well, that and the sound of portraits talking in his office. They wouldn't be making such a racket if they didn't have something new to report.

Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful Snape didn't have any in his private rooms that could interrupt them. It was bad enough when they popped into the office, but if they'd seen Hermione sleeping—

Sleeping. Morning. It was morning. Hermione had been out all night.

"I have to get back," she burst out, scrambling to get her shoes on and go.

When she'd proposed staying, it had been with the intention of returning before Harry and Ron woke to notice how long she'd been gone. But she'd completely lost track of time after waking to Snape's mouth pleasuring her.

"Yes. I should see what they want as well," he said, avoiding looking directly at her.

Hermione swallowed, hesitating for a second. A nagging thought said staying had been a bad idea, and that she needed to talk to Snape about what had just transpired. Somehow, she had the sense that the last twelve hours hadn't been the wisest move, though she couldn't quite place her finger on why.

This whole encounter was far more intimate than what they usually got up to. They'd each been very clear so far that what they were getting up to was merely physical, a necessary outlet in order to keep functioning as needed.

They were each others' confidants. They were co-conspirators. They were…friends. That was all. It wasn't like they were really in a relationship. Snape had never indicated that he wanted something like that from her. And unless they talked, she wouldn't know if that had changed.

Did she want anything to change? It was such a loaded question. One more stressful puzzle to go with all the rest. The very last thing needed right now.

Hermione opened her mouth, the words she thought she should say on the tip of her tongue.

But the second passed, and Hermione talked herself out of bringing the topic up. Besides, she needed to get back as soon as possible.

"See you tonight," she said instead, receiving Snape's customary nod in response.

She rushed back to the Room of Requirement, only to meet Harry and Ron waiting for her just inside the door with matching expressions of worry infused with fury. Half a second was all it took for her to understand why. Because there, clenched in the fist at Harry's side, was the Marauder's Map. The Map they'd used to get in and out of Ravenclaw's Tower, and the Map Hermione had forgotten to take with her afterwards. The Map that surely showed she'd just come from the Head office where Snape had been as well.