Chapter Four: Temperature Rising

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Chapter Four: Temperature Rising

My name is Severus. She studied the note again and smiled as she remembered his antics in the library. Would anybody ever believe Severus Snape had a silly side? Not in a million years. Which was a moot point, as she had no intention of sharing that revelation with anyone. What was the blown kiss and the leg rubbing all about? she wondered as she sprawled on her bed. And that greeting as I arrived? Not for one moment did she think it was accidental. She really should go away for a few days more often. It seemed the man had missed her as much as she had missed him and had suddenly developed an affectionate streak. Where it had come from was beyond her. A little attention from a woman, and he was changing the habits of a lifetime. She sobered as she considered why he had been so harsh and apparently unfeeling for most of the seven years she had known him. Who had ever given him affection without strings attached, attention without an agenda, trust without question? As far as she knew, no-one. Even his beloved Lily had given up on him, just when he was most vulnerable. Well, she was more than happy to give him all he had lacked and more; he only needed to ask. With that decided, she changed into her pyjamas and hopped into bed, losing herself to dreams of a tall, dark athlete.

***

Overnight, the temperature dropped, and clouds gathered overhead. Hermione awoke to the sound of pouring rain and a howling wind. Clearly, there would be no rendezvous at the Quidditch pitch that morning. Disappointed, she decided to go for a walk anyway, indoors this time. She strolled aimlessly around the castle, her mind on her last interaction with her Potions professor. Turning a corner near the staircase down to the dungeons, she ran, once again, into the object of her thoughts.

"Miss Granger. I do not believe breakfast is served this early. Neither is it served in this part of the castle," he said, once again holding on to her a fraction longer than necessary.

"I was awake early, so I decided to go for a walk," she explained, acutely aware of the nearby portraits.

"Wandering around at this hour of the morning could get you into trouble," he warned, eyes dark and intense.

"No more than it already has," she whispered.

Appearing to make an impulsive decision, he lightly caught her arm and breathed, "Come."

She followed him without hesitation along corridors rarely travelled until they reached a room just below the roof of the Astronomy Tower. Taking her hand, he drew her to an east-facing window and turned her to look outside. Hermione gasped in pleasure at the perfect view down the length of the lake to the lightening sky beyond. She felt his body heat as he stood close behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. Together, they watched their sunrise once again, shards of crystal light piercing the heavy clouds, reflecting off the surface of the lake, and colouring the mountains in the distance a soft pink. She relaxed into his embrace for several perfect moments, but as the sun emerged briefly into the morning sky before losing its battle with the clouds, she felt a gentle kiss atop her head and an apologetic squeeze of her shoulders. Mourning the loss of his warmth, she turned to find he was gone.

Working in the library under Madam Pince's slightly mistrustful gaze, the day passed rapidly. Hermione had managed to reorganise the Restricted Section to the older witch's satisfaction by dinnertime and was even rewarded with a faint smile as she left.

To her surprise and delight, when she arrived back at the library that evening, no-one else was there except one black-clad Potions master. She sat across the table from him, noticing the quick smile half hidden by his hair as he read his book. Breathing a sigh of relief, she relaxed into her chair and opened her Potions text to the section they were due to study on Monday.

"Still trying to get ahead of me?" he murmured after half an hour of companionable reading, not raising his eyes from his book.

"Always," she replied equally softly and discreetly stifled a snicker at his assumed air of disregard.

"You'll have to try harder than that to get on top of me," he breathed.

Her face flushed. "I'm sure if I did, you would rise to the challenge," she hissed, taking pleasure in the matching colour that stained his cheeks at her words.

He groaned softly and shifted in his seat. Taking a scrap of parchment from his pocket, he scratched a single word and left it lying on the table as he hurriedly left. Curious as to his sudden departure, she reached over and picked up the note. Tomorrow. She sedately packed away her books, only allowing the beam of pleasure to transform her face once she was well away from the library and the ever-watchful librarian.

The heavy rain continued the following day, much to Hermione's chagrin. She slipped through her door and found her way to the room from the morning before. A few minutes later, soft steps told her she was no longer alone. Turning to find Snape immediately behind her, she reached up and caressed his cheek in wonder at the look in his eyes, to find her hand clasped in his and gently turned to his lips for a soft kiss. "Severus," she whispered, trying out the feel of his name.

His eyes closed, and he inhaled sharply. "Say it again," he murmured and leaned closer, lips almost brushing hers as she said, louder, "Severus..." Finally, after an eternity, their lips met – warming, rejoicing, affirming. His tongue slid along her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, seeking entrance. She welcomed him avidly and sampled his offering in return.

Their own heavy breathing brought them to their senses some minutes later. The sun had risen, unheeded by the couple at the window, and it was time for them to be leaving, lest they be missed at breakfast.

"Tonight, the rest of the school returns. We cannot meet here tomorrow," he pronounced, confirming her own, unwelcome conclusion. One further brief kiss, and they made their way separately to the Great Hall, once again returning to their professor and student roles.

***

"So, how were your last few days, Hermione?" asked Ron that evening at dinner, his mouth stuffed full as usual. "Do anything exciting apart from play with dusty old books?"

"Nothing much," she replied evasively. Just a little heavy snogging with the Potions professor, nothing much at all, she thought with a secretive smile. Harry gave her an odd look, then returned his attention to his meal. Hermione artfully sidetracked any further questions by inquiring how their weekend had passed, to be regaled with tales of the Great Quidditch Playoff between The Weasleys and The Rest. Even poor Neville had been roped into playing, not that he managed to get his hand on the Quaffle at all, spending most of his time trying to stay on his broom. Needless to say, The Weasleys won, even with Harry Potter playing Seeker for The Rest.

A Hogsmeade weekend had been declared for a fortnight's time, and all were looking forward to an excuse to make out with their partner of choice. Hermione was once again besieged by offers of advice for prospective dates.

"What about Terry Boot?" Harry suggested, in his most helpful mode. "He is smart enough for you."

"And boring. Besides, rumour has it he is having a quiet affair with a Ravenclaw sixth-year, but I don't know her name," Hermione replied.

"Or maybe it is his name," contributed Ron, grinning broadly at his own joke.

"Really, Ronald, you should not be spreading unfounded rumours. Whether Terry Boot has a female or male friend, it is none of your business!" she scolded.

"All right, all right. What about a Slytherin, if you want a bit of excitement? I dare say some of them may be up for the challenge of dating you," joked Harry.

"I say, Harry, that's a bit rough," interjected Ron.

"Oh, I don't know," mused Hermione, "I imagine if you found the right man..."

"Man? In Slytherin? I thought they were all ferrets?" laughed Harry. At that, they all collapsed in a heap, remembering Malfoy the Bouncing Ferret from fourth-year.

Giving up on matchmaking Hermione, the boys started planning their own dates.

Readying herself for bed, Hermione hoped for a mild morning. She wondered just what the dawn would bring, as the last two weeks had wrought changes in both of them. With a sudden bout of sneezing, she settled in under her quilt and let her mind consider the possibilities until she drifted off to sleep.

***

The early morning was clear, and the air held no hint of rain as she left the castle, but it was still quite cold. She held onto her spell-warmed cup of hot chocolate and made her way to her customary seat in the Quidditch stands. As the darkness lifted to the east, she heard the familiar footfalls of her early morning athlete. Without so much as glancing in her direction, Severus continued his circuits until the sun's rays were streaking across the lake, gilding the surrounding hills in a coruscating display. Hermione found herself lost in his form as he stretched, then stripped down and commenced his callisthenics, naked, despite the temperature.

His nude body had been an essay in physical beauty and athleticism before, but with their new, closer relationship, had become something else altogether. Muscles contracted beneath smooth, pale skin, and his limbs moved with grace and precision. Long, lean legs lead up to well-defined buttocks and narrow hips. She became aware of an impossible heat growing at her centre, her breathing becoming erratic as he moved through the now familiar routine, nearing the last set of exercises in which she knew he would turn to face her. He appeared to falter, as if unsure, but finally turned, his cheeks stained pink. The reason became abundantly clear as her eyes travelled down his body. Her breath escaped in a hiss as shudders racked her body in a wave of pleasure so intense she whimpered in surprise. Hot chocolate forgotten, she continued to stare at him, entranced, then disappointed when he turned and quickly dressed.

As he sat beside her, his head dropped forward, strands of black hair camouflaging his expression. "I am sorry for that unfortunate display. My apologies if I offended you," he ground out, shoulders stiff and defensive.

"Apologies? For the most incredibly arousing experience I have ever had?" He turned to her, startled out of his discomposure. "Look at me, Severus. Do I look offended?" she implored.

He took in her flushed face, her still erratic breathing, and the pearls of moisture beaded on her brow. "You... you... Did you...?" He frowned, disbelieving the evidence in front of his own eyes.

"Oh, yes. I did. I definitely did. And it was amazing. Just from seeing you... like that." Hermione blushed herself as she realised just how much she had admitted to this man. She groaned and sank back in the seat, covering her face with her hands. "I can't believe I just told you that," she muttered.

He took her hands and drew them from her face. Black eyes met brown, searching for any hint of mockery. Finding nothing but unlimited depths of desire and something else, something so newborn and precious he was not sure if it was real or simply a figment of his own, wistful imagination, he looked away, ashamed at his lack of faith. Regaining his composure, he reassured her. "Never regret your passion. I am flattered I could generate such a response from you." He glanced down, the evidence of his own physical state of need obvious in his brief shorts.

She followed the direction of his gaze. Slowly, without conscious thought or intention, her hand reached out to touch the distinct bulge at his groin. He gasped as she made contact, a fingertip tentatively exploring his length through the thin fabric. He grasped her hand desperately and pulled it away. She looked up, startled.

"No. I have barely enough control over myself as it is. If you don't stop, I will be unable to..."

"What, Severus?" she asked, voice low and seductive. She shook his hand away and again touched him intimately. "Let go, don't hold back. I want to see you lose control, the way I just did." He groaned as she deliberately held him firmly and stroked up and down, watching his face as she did so, learning which movements brought pleasure. Gripping the sides of his seat tightly, he yielded to her will as he hardened even more in her hand.

"Oh, Merlin!" He panted as his hips rose to meet her with each stroke. She stopped her movements briefly as she eased his shorts down low enough to release his straining erection. Studying it closely for a few moments, she curiously ran her thumb over the moistened tip. After a few minutes under her scrutiny, he placed his hand over hers. "It's not a Potions ingredient," he murmured.

"It's just... I haven't... It's amazing how soft and yet how hard it is. Like velvet over steel. It's beautiful."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. Uninhibitedly, unashamedly laughed. "You're the one who is beautiful, Hermione. You have bewitched me, woman." Her lips silenced him as she once again started moving her hand, gradually increasing the tempo as his breathing became ragged and his body tensed.

"Touch me," she pleaded.

"Are you sure?" he asked. At her breathless nod, his hand slid up her thigh to rest on the damp cotton of her underwear. Slipping his fingers beneath the lace edge, he found her wet and wanting. With a few skilled flicks in the right spot, he soon had her approaching the edge of reason. His thrusts were matched by her desperate grinding, until with dual cries, he spent his passion over her hand as she shattered under his.

Once again, they had missed the sunrise.

***

A/N: This story is dedicated to the esteemed leader of F.A.R.T, Robbi, whose encouragement, nay, nagging, turned this story from a vague idea to an actuality. Of course, my dear friend, ladyinthecloak, bossed the commas into submission and tidied up any mistakes. Thanks, girls!