Tattoos and Standards

A short update, but fluff ahoy!

Hugs to Shanastay for being a wonderful beta.

Chapter 23- Tattoos and Standards

The bright silvery light of the growing moon cast an ethereal glow down onto the foamy sea. High tide had come in, bringing the frothy, lapping waves go with only a few feet from the wooden deck. It was incredibly warm for the time of year, but still required a light sweater. Normally easily susceptible to the cold, Hermione was sure she would have needed much more covering were it not for the man sitting with her, his long arms wrapped amply around her. His breathing was slow and even, his heartbeat strong but steady, creating a very lulling, relaxing setting in the midst of the chaos of the world.

If only she had had this during the War. If only he had had this during the War. They would have both been better off having this complete and utter feeling of shelter and respite.

A cool, ocean wind blew over them, ruffling her hair and slicing straight through her sweater. She curled into him a bit more, not caring what he would think, resting her head on his shoulder. The hand that had been resting on her calves, draped over his lap for some time now, tightened slightly, but relaxed after a moment and a short, questioning glance at her.

It had become quite clear that he was not comfortable yet in situations like this, and she could not blame him. It was an understandable thing that he was a virgin, so to speak, in this area. Clinical knowledge he may have acquired through certain events during his time as a Death Eater. But gentle implementation with no practice was a wholly different Quidditch pitch, especially knowing he had never been on a "date" date before her.

His hand inched higher up her leg, and she stopped his progress with a hand over his. The dark, ugly mark on his forearm caught her attention then, for what seemed the hundredth time that night. She had been good and quelled her urge to ask all the questions she wanted to. The last thing she wanted was to be scolded for her inane questions again. The night was just too perfect for her to go and spoil it with her big mouth.

But it was eating away at her horribly.

She turned his hand so that the palm lay up, revealing the Mark completely. She had never seen one up close before, and was a bit surprised that the design had not yet faded away like many others had. Trailing her thumb up the inside of his wrist, she stopped for a moment at the head of the snake, brushing at the skin there as though the gesture would make it go away. He shivered slightly beneath her, and she quickly pulled her hand back, looking up at him. She fully expected him to go off and roar at her, but instead he smiled softly.

"It's not that, Hermione," he replied.

She chewed relentlessly on her lip and looked back at the Mark.

"Just ask me. I know you have many questions," he said sarcastically. "I'm actually quite surprised you withstood the temptation until now."

Hermione frowned and rolled her eyes. "I know how you get when I question."

"I'm beginning to get used to it," he said.

She smiled gently and rested her head back against his surprisingly comfortable shoulder, with the perfectly sized dip for her head. Silence passed between them for a few moments longer, as she appraised the Mark and continued to run her fingers along it in a testing manner.

"What was it like, Severus?" she asked quietly.

"Receiving the Mark?" he clarified.

"Yes."

"One of the most painful experiences of my life at that point," he replied quietly. "I was so young then, when I received it. I was foolish. I thought I could withstand any pain. I could already withstand all the emotional pain, why not the physical? How wrong I was when it came to His power."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"It was the seal of our pact with the Dark Lord. He made sure we would remember all that we had promised to do. Like kings in medieval times that would slap those they were knighting so they would not forget their vows. There have been times that I was tortured within an inch of my life, and that was the first."

"I see," she murmured. "Does it still bother you sometimes?"

"No," he shook his head. "It itches quite frequently, but never burns like it did when he was still..."

Hermione considered this for a moment, as his voice trailed off into the night air, and sighed heavily.

"I know it's not much to look at," he replied almost lackadaisically.

"Be quiet," she scolded. "It doesn't mean what it used to, and I don't mind it at all. At least it wasn't a drunken whim of fancy that led you to a defacing mark like that."

"Drunken, no," he said, and gave her a curious look. "Why did you say that?"

Hermione giggled and stood up. She grabbed her wand out of her back pocket and lifted the left side of her shirt, revealing her hip.

His eyes went wide for a moment, but when he realized her shirt would go no higher, he sat back again and watched.

Muttering a revealing charm and tapping the skin just above her waistband, three small stars done in gold metallic appeared together in a cluster. "It was Harry's birthday," she admitted. "We downed too much Ogden's and other spirits, we got onto how we thought it was funny that you called us the 'Golden Trio' and snuck out of the Burrow for Diagon Alley."

"Without anyone to guard you?"

"Yes," she replied. "It's past now, Severus, no use harping about it."

"How would it have felt if that little jaunt had completely mucked up all our chances?" he asked, bemused.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not important now. We weren't caught. Voldemort's gone, Harry's gone. I'm just showing you the stupid mistake we made that night."

"As much as I hate what that tattoo obviously symbolizes," he smirked slightly, "I do find it rather becoming on you, and in that particular location. You don't need to cover it up."

"But it also symbolizes the idiotic choice I, Hermione Granger, perfect student and keeper of most rules, made," she huffed.

"As you said, it's in the past." He stood up and moved closer to her, backing her up against the side railing, his warm hand covering the bare skin there.

A pleasant shiver ran from that point through the rest of her body. She giggled.

"Now, have you any more questions of me?" he asked.

"Not right now," she shook her head, running her hands up his chest and entwining them behind his neck.

"Good," he dropped his head to run his lips slowly across hers. "I'm getting cold out here."

"I think, perhaps, cold is good for right now," she teased. "If you were too warm, it might escalate to the removal of more clothing."

"Would you be completely adverse to that?" His lips connected with hers again, this time ardent and demanding.

Hermione giggled against his lips, breaking away for a quick moment. "This isn't what I had planned tonight when I told you to bring extra clothes."

"It isn't?" he teased silkily.

"No," she retorted, sitting back on the railing.

He pushed even closer, situating himself squarely between her thighs and pressing against her. "Are you quite certain?"

"No," she admitted, his lips traveling down her neck, as her insides turned to warm goo. For a man who, practically, knew little about women, he certainly made a very good case for natural-born talent.

"I thought so," he said.

Hermione pressed on his chest, making him take a step back. "Severus..."

"I know," he replied slowly and sighed. "We'll wait."

She gave him a feeble smile and chuckled. "Not that I really want to wait. Tonight has just been perfect. But you understand, don't you? That since we've only been together for such a short time..."

His lips silenced her before he again pulled away. "I understand, Hermione. We'll wait until you are convinced I'm not in this relationship only for gratification."

"That isn't what I think," she scoffed. "A witch just has to have her standards. And this is only our second date... technically."

He laughed. "Standards you may have, but I am very impressed with your impulse control in this matter."

"I do have impulse control," Hermione smiled. "Only when you would ignore me did I get impulsive."

"So your logic tells me that I should ignore you completely until you feel impulsive enough to wait nude in my bed for me," he mused. "Ah, I am beginning to understand the way your mind works now."

Hermione moved away from him and back toward the sliding door to the house. "You shouldn't get complacent in thinking you know how it works."

"You needn't worry, Hermione," he said. "I don't think anyone could ever understand that quagmire."

"Look who's calling the kettle black." She stepped inside the warm house and let out a long, relaxing sigh.

This "having standards" stuff was for the birds. She needed release in some form soon or she would go insane. And the constant, hardly harmless teasing both of them partook in was wearing her reserve to a very thin thread. Just a little longer, though. She should wait just a little while longer, though she did not know why exactly. It just felt right to wait. Woman's intuition or not, she was going to follow her gut feeling for a change.

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"Where did you get this?" asked the copy editor, looking up at the tall, blonde reporter.

"Don't ask me where I got it, just print it," the reporter said, tapping her bright red lips.

The copy editor shook his head back and forth, letting the air out of the space between his two front teeth in a low whistle. "What do you have against this girl anyway?"

"She's nothing but a horrible little snitch," she spat out.

"What did she do to you?" he asked. "Whatever you did, you most likely deserved it."

"The War is over. I'm registered. She has nothing on me now," she turned her nose up in the air. "Print the bloody story, Barnabus."

The portly copy editor sat back in his seat, considering the photographs accompanying the article. "This will either ruin us or promote us."

"Let's hope it's the latter," she said with a short sigh.

"You do realize you're taking a huge risk with these two, right?" he rephrased his worry. "Especially him."

She grunted in an unladylike fashion and tossed her rigid curls to the side. "Print it, Barnabus. Everyone likes a little bit of juicy gossip now and again. And without the Boy Who Lived... Well, the dearth has lasted for far too long. If you aren't going to print it, then I'm going elsewhere."

"Where? Witch Weekly? The Quibbler?" he let out a pretentious laugh. "I'd like to see what credibility you have there. You're lucky you're here as a free lancer, and using a different name, as it is. If the people here only knew who I kept getting these salacious stories from..."

"If they want to burn me at the stake, then so be it," she said. "But I'm going down in the flame of glory, knowing I have gotten my revenge on that witch."

"Fine!" he exclaimed. "And don't say I never did anything for you."