25: Rung Eleven – Him

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

JoyCrux made me another lovely banner! It reminds me of the scene in the first two chapters. Thank you so much JoyCrux!

25: Rung Eleven – Him

September 30th, 7:05 pm

I pause before tapping upon her door, schooling myself to a state of seeming calmness.

Merlin, I concede that Albus is correct when he says it has only been three months for her, but it feels an innumerable amount of time for me.

My knock brings her quickly. "Professor Snape. Please, come in."

She is eager to see me, yet we are back to formal titles?

"Professor Granger." I keep my voice neutral.

Her sitting room is pleasantly decorated in warm browns and rich woods. But what pleases me most is the fact that only one photograph graces her mantle, one containing her and an older couple I assume to be her parents.

So, the ginger menace is truly out of her life.

Each bodes well.

"Thank you for agreeing to postpone our meeting until this time. I'm afraid the party for Tonks went on far longer than anyone expected, and I wanted to run a few more calculations before we spoke."

As her room is uncomfortably warm in comparison to the dungeons, I remove my robes. "The results from St. Mungo's are too critical to put off for any longer. In fact, I was willing to make any necessary sacrifice in order to meet today."

Any sacrifice.

"Yes. Yes, of course." She pauses to arrange herself upon the settee. "I've just correlated the results you sent me yesterday with the earlier data collected by Healer Shoredom."

Noticing that she has not squeezed herself into the settee's far edge, I take that as an encouraging sign and make sure to seat myself at a normal distance – close enough to touch easily yet not so near as to be overly suggestive.

"It actually appears to be for the better that we held off on our research a bit because we've been able to obtain two months' worth of control-group data. Using the questionnaire, we now have a very good idea as to the baseline relief offered by regular Wolfsbane Potion."

As she pauses in order to determine which parchment she requires, I take the opportunity to observe her. It is the first time we have been in such close physical proximity since that fateful night of three months ago.

She is beautiful.

She has not, of course, been weeping upon this occasion, so it is normal to expect an improvement in appearance. But it is something more than simply a lack of redness around the nose and eyes that adds to her loveliness. There is a ... lightness to her that I do not ever remember detecting during the year past, a relaxation of the jaw muscles and shoulders.

She truly was miserable, and I failed to note it – I never actually saw her as she was.

But, if allowed, I will strive to do so in the future.

"It's good that we collected data for two full moons because there are small variances in the subjects' results," she continues. "With only one month's worth of data, we wouldn't have been as sure of the precision of the answers – after all, we're dealing with people's subjective assessments, not something we can accurately measure with an instrument. The extra month allows us to say that the results may vary slightly from person to person, but that each person remains consistent in their assessment."

"Good – I would hate to think that our delay brought nothing of value."

If only such were the case for other matters as well.

Waving at the parchments she holds, I ask in a voice schooled to neutrality, "What exactly are the baseline numbers?"

"For now we can look at the averages for the group. Physically, their transformation-pain level was seventy-one percent out of a highest level of one hundred, and their transformation-discomfort level seventy-seven percent. So they're still experiencing a great deal of both using traditional Wolfsbane. Mentally, they understood that they are human fifty-seven percent of the time and could think rationally forty-nine percent of the time. Therefore, Wolfsbane is a bit more successful in this area, but there's still a great deal of room for improvement."

Indeed, this gives us ample opportunity for success!

I doubt I ever realized just how much 'room for improvement' there was with the Wolfsbane Potion. It is no wonder Lupin always appeared so physically ragged and careworn.

"And how does this correlate with the latest findings from Healer Shoredom?" I ask.

Her joyous expression almost tells me more than her words, and it certainly conveys the message instantaneously. "We'll have to collect more data over the next few months, but, Severus, it looks so promising!"

Is she even cognizant that she has called me by my given name?

"Do go on."

"Well, look here." Extending the parchment into the space between us, she waits for me to stabilize my side of it before pointing to the pertinent figures involved. "See – it's fabulous! With our Wolfsbane variant, pain and discomfort are down to sixty-three percent and fifty-nine percent respectively. And their ability to remember they're human rose to seventy-one percent with rational thought reaching sixty-seven percent. These are significant changes, and we haven't even altered the incantations yet!"

Thank Merlin! Such success will go a long way towards ameliorating any remaining prejudice against me in the Potions arena. The journals will be forced to publish such results.

Upon seeing her rather glazed and flushed expression, I realize that the tic I cultivated so purposefully has truly become a part of my being. My finger now taps lips seemingly of its own accord.

It is fortunate that it appears to have lost none of its allure for her.

And equally true that when such a look graces her countenance blood stirs to life in my cock. Of course, the brush of my knee against hers only serves to further matters, and the smile I initially turn upon her must contain more than a touch of the feral.

Yet the pure joy on her face causes an alteration in mine, and I find myself returning her smile with utter sincerity.

Or at least until the moment that I observe a quiver of arousal cross her face and soon after the rest of her person; then, I must concede, my expression becomes once more a smirk – even if this time it is rather smug. Concomitantly, my erection springs to full life, straining against cloth, straining towards her.

Perhaps you should be somewhat subtler than that, old man.

Returning to the matter at hand, I wave towards the parchment we hold suspended between us. "But these calculations are not predictions of the future; therefore, you cannot be using Arithmancy."

"You're right; I'm not. It's Muggle maths – statistics. I couldn't find anything of the sort in Arithmancy or Astronomy for comparing sets of numbers to determine improvements – it's as if such research has never been done before."

Another incident of inventiveness. Brilliant!

"I think you will find that the Wizarding world is infamously slow to change." Amusement colors my voice. "Most tend to accept the status quo instead of striving for true innovation, and unfortunately, researchers are not immune to suffering from such a bias."

As I resume tapping my lips, although consciously this time, I make use of the temporary lull in conversation to maneuver her hand towards me by lowering the parchment onto my legs.

The touch of her hand upon my thigh is almost more exciting than having her actually palm my erection, which twitches in a jolt of tingling sensation.

Merlin, to feel said hand upon my cock!

I detect an irregularity in the rhythm of her breathing and scrutinize her visage peripherally. Yes – she appears affected as well – there is a decided flush staining her cheeks as her eyes follow the fingers I now use to stroke the parchment.

Remember that this is a slow seduction, old man – entice her.

With such in mind, I return my focus to her warrantedly laudable intellectual feats. "Your work on solving large numbers of multiple equations is going to revolutionize Arithmancy. I would expect that the process will eventually be denominated in your favor since you have succeeded in far surpassing anything Marchwood's work could have accomplished."

The utter level of astonishment she evinces via wide-eyed staring and mouth gaping elicits a laugh. "You must know that I find you highly intelligent, Hermione."

My beautiful, brilliant Hermione.

Who surprisingly leaps from the settee to crisscross the end of the room. "Severus, I can't do this anymore! As crucial as these results are, as important as this meeting is, I can't ..."

Fucking hell! I cannot believe that I have so misread the situation!

My heart pounds fiercely under an onslaught of adrenaline, which sends animalistic signals to my hind brain: fight ... flee ... fuck... Only years of self-restraint enable me to remain still for the next few moments.

She halts her perambulations to confront me head on, her reddened lower lip springing free from sharp, white teeth. "Severus, I know."

"You know."

"I know what I want us to be."

Maintaining a blank countenance has rarely proved as difficult as I find it now, especially as I find myself curling my hands into tight fists to keep from springing up to yell for her to just bloody well get on with it!

"I want us to be more than colleagues."

Merlin, yes!

And suddenly I can breathe, I can move. Energy uncoils from within to move me seemingly effortlessly, for the next thing I know, I stand before her, drawing in her unique scent of petitgrain, watching her face for stretched moments that undoubtedly take less than a second in objective reality.

As I reach for her, I pause for confirmation, my voice hushed in a nonsensical attempt to not startle her from this decision. "Hermione, are you certain? I ... need for you to be certain."

Her eyes are joyously clear, her smile breathtaking. "I'm more than certain, Severus. I'm utterly positive." Feeling her hand upon the bare skin of my neck is my final undoing.

Our lips meet in a dance of fleeting sensation – a whirl of soft flesh and moist heat as we tease and delight, retreating to only advance again. Both of her arms serve to bring me ever closer as I add my own impetus to the movement by palming her lower back to draw her flush against me.

The hot wetness of her tongue laves my lips, and I open so that mine may join hers in an escalation of the dance. Her breathy whimpers inflate my already engorged erection, and I strain to press it against her, reveling in the pressure and warmth of her body. A body that struggles to be nearer, that I can feel striving for fulfillment. I make no attempt to stifle the chuckle of delight her movements cause me to bring forth.

Damn, I want this woman!

When she pulls her lips from mine, she at least does so for a good reason. "No ladder this time, no stone wall, or too-small settee – I want you, and I want you on a bed, Severus."

My only response is a growl that cannot be silenced even by crushing my open mouth to hers once more.