Chapter 5

A/N the first: I know I said the story was already complete, but a number of readers pointed out that the ending was somewhat unsatisfactory, and I was forced to agree. This, however, is absolutely, positively, the very last chapter. I mean it this time.

A/N the second: Please note the change to a higher rating - this chapter contains sexual situations. Much thanks to Bambu345 for her exemplary beta work.

Hermione stood in the dark bedroom, unsure what to do next. Severus had dropped her hand to open the door, then stepped into the room after her and closed it behind them. Should I say something? she wondered when suddenly she felt his hands on her upper arms. In the dim light, she saw his head lower towards hers and pause for the space of single breath before his mouth was on hers. This was no tentative, gentle brushing of lips. His tongue swept commandingly past her teeth, stroking and tasting her own until she responded in kind. Then his hands were moving over her, pulling her against him, roving up and down her form, stroking and kneading from the top of her head down past her buttocks even as his mouth opened further to let her tongue in as she eagerly met his challenge.

“Clothes,” he murmured between kisses, and his hands moved to his own body, opening buttons and discarding garments without ever letting his mouth leave hers.

Hermione unzipped and peeled off her skirt along with her hose, grabbing on to Severus’ shoulder to balance herself as she twisted awkwardly to one side to pry off a shoe and pull the clinging material off of her leg, then repeating the move on the other side without ever losing lip contact. By the time she broke the kiss by lifting her jumper over her head, he was completely undressed. Stepping away from her, he laid himself on the bed, his weight propped on one elbow. The shadows completely hid his expression as he watched her remove her undergarments and climb onto the bed next to him.

There were very few words.

“Like this?” he asked.

“A bit harder,” she answered.

Assorted yeses from each of them. Yes. Oh yes. Ye-esss. Also moans, whimpers, grunts, and gasps. In other words, the typical assortment of inarticulate noises made by couples too interested in what they are doing to give a frigging damn how they sound.

She wrapped herself around him, twining her legs around his and holding him tightly, as if her life depended on preventing so much as a breath of air finding its way between their bodies. His hands and mouth were greedy and demanding, exploring every inch of her skin, though he kept enough presence of mind to make sure to give her pleasure before finding his own. With one final kiss, more gentle than any they’d shared before, he rolled off of her. Reaching for his wand, he cast a cleaning spell on both of them before pulling the bedcovers over himself and turning to lay half-curled, facing away from her.

Hermione listened as he began to snore. It was a soft snore. Another woman might have been able to fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of that snore, but Hermione wasn’t the sort of woman to let either the late hour or post-orgasmic lethargy seduce her into slumber. Not when there were so many questions unanswered.

What had it been? No, that wasn’t the right way to think about it. What would it be? That was closer to the mark. Would she look back on this night as something that had simply happened, a celebration of a moment of accomplishment, never to be mentioned again? Or would it change everything, making future encounters between them awkward, until she finally granted him the solitude he seemed to crave? That might even be preferable; having been physically intimate with Severus, it would be torture to go on as they had been, pretending nothing had happened. But, was it possible that Severus intended more? And if so, what? Was he capable of seeing her, or anyone, for that matter, as a true romantic partner, or did he just want additional benefits to go with their … she supposed she could call it a friendship, but would he?

For one, insane moment she considered waking him and demanding that he explain himself. She groaned inwardly as she imagined his response, not only to being woken, but to being expected to talk about his feelings. No, if she was to have any hope of moving forward from this moment in any sort of graceful manner, she would have to choose a course of action based on her own preferences and her own reading of the situation.

First things first. To stay or to go? Should she spend the night in his bed and face him and whatever consequences there might be in the morning, or should she quietly dress and slip away? If she left, what then? She could wait the full week and appear on his doorstep with takeaway and a friend the following Wednesday, implying that she thought nothing had changed, or she could attempt to initiate an earlier meeting, perhaps invite him to her flat for a change, or ask him to meet her somewhere. She could always come up with a work-related excuse – ask for his expert opinion on some potion-related problem – but he would see right through it. Would he go along with the charade or mock her for lack of Gryffindor courage? Perhaps better to go all out and ask him for a proper date?

There were too many options to sort out all the ramifications in her head; she was going to need to draw up a chart. Right. There were parchment and quills in the sitting room and time was wasting, besides which, she was starting to give herself a headache. Slipping out of bed, she pulled on her knickers and jumper.

Hermione was scanning the shelves of his bathroom medicine cabinet for a headache potion when she saw it. A toothbrush.

“How dare you clutter up my home with your foolish Muggle fripperies! Take them away and indulge your vanity elsewhere.” Severus hurled the offending items at Hermione as she stepped in his front door.

“Which explains why they’re so yellow. The charm only removes food particles, it doesn’t clear away plaque. You need to brush regularly to get them properly clean, and from the looks of things, you’re beginning to get gum disease as well. The mouthwash will help with that.”

The Battle of the Toothbrush, as it became known to her friends, was the only one she had unequivocally lost. He never once used either toothbrush or mouthwash, and she finally gave up on bringing them into the house, though not before acquiring a few bruises when she couldn’t manage to get a blocking spell up in time. Not that it stopped her trying. She left pamphlets on the importance of dental hygiene on his chair, tucked under his pillow, and once even in his ham sandwich. The day he got her in the eye with the sharp corner of the toothpaste tube, she finally conceded defeat.

And yet, there was a toothbrush in his bathroom cabinet. Not just any toothbrush, a red toothbrush. A red toothbrush lying next to a tube of toothpaste. Not one of those dinky little sample tubes, or a travel-sized mini, but a full-sized Aquafresh Fresh & Minty, enough toothpaste to brush three times a day for months.

She closed the cabinet, went back to the bedroom, slipped off her knickers and jumper, climbed into bed, and fell asleep. Smiling.