Verse 2

The Foggy Dew

Verse 2

Fridays were Hogwart's version of the eighth ring of hell. Being Crucio'd was the seventh, if that gives you any indication of the pain involved. I believe the Chinese would have called it the Hell of the Inattentive Dunderheads and Exploding Potions. No student ever pays attention on Friday葉here are too many other important things on which to think besides a potentially life-threatening activity like brewing volatile potions... Please note my masterful use of sarcasm, I really am quite good at it.

Having survived my classes, barely, I was relaxing in my quarters with a glass of aged brandy much later that evening. Of late, I had indulged myself more and more in the privacy of my quarters. Silk sheets, rich food, the expensive bottles of liquor and wine I had hoarded. The war was escalating, it was going to happen soon--whatever it was. Potter would no doubt defeat that imbecile Tom Riddle, but what happened between this moment and that was conjecture, and I didn't want to meet my Avada with any regrets. As much as I would've liked to live to see the sun dawn on a day without that serpentine piece of shite wasting oxygen, I had my doubts.

I was interrupted from my maudlin musings by a tentative knock at the door leading from my office. Immediately enraged that someone not only broke through the considerable wards placed on my office, but decided to bother me as well, I answered the door ready to slice the offending party to ribbons with my tongue and send house points into the red. I choked back the harsh words as the singular most unexpected sight greeted me. My dear Miss Granger, pale and drawn, clutching her dressing gown at her chest as if it was some sort of woolen lifeline.

"Hermione! What on earth... come here this instant!" As her eyes widened in surprise, I realized I just called her by her given name for the first time, ever.

I watched her as she inhaled, and gathered herself. She stepped into my chambers with a steely resolve. Too bad her voice didn't match her face. Her trembling, "G-good evening, Professor," belied her calm facade.

Maybe I was too far in my cups, but I reached for her shoulder and gently clasped it. "Is everything alright? You look affright." Maybe it was my gentle tone, or the sincere concern that rearranged my severe features into something that wasn't out of a Gothic novel, but the dam broke. The sobbing young woman let herself be led to my sofa and drawn to my shoulder to cry it out. Considering the previous intimacies we've had, I had no guilt. Although, I did have a passing worry that maybe I was being too nice and she would suddenly ask me what I'd done with her potions professor...

Once she could speak, she told me brokenly that she was tired of being the strong one, being the one that Potter and Weasley counted on. She was scared to death of the impending battle, but she daren't show an inkling of weakness to those two dunderheads she calls friends. "I can't sleep anymore, Professor. My nights are riddled with horrible nightmares, and that monster always finds me." She shuddered in my arms.

"And, pray tell, what monster would that be?" My attempt at wry humor fell flat.

Her fear-bright eyes said it all before she even finished her answer, "Y-you-Know-W-who."

I tightened my arms about her, "Never fear, sweeting, he can't get you here. I won't let him." That did the trick. She stopped her hiccoughing, and gazed steadily into my eyes.

She initiated the kiss this time, and it was some moments later that I realized she was straddling me on the sofa, with her fingers entwined in my hair. How she could bear to touch it, I'll never know, but she kept running her deft fingers through my dank locks.

She broke the kiss for a breathless moment and looked entreatingly into my eyes. "T-tonight, Professor, can we finish this? I don't want to wait any longer and then regret it later," she finished in a whisper.

I noticed that passion makes her amaretto eyes shine even more than tears, and I closed my eyes and kissed her, again, before I lost myself in her pure, sweet soul.

"Severus..." I rasped out, "Please... Hermione. Call me Severus." She took it as the acquiescence it was meant to be and resumed kissing me with redoubled fervor.

Tricksy Gryffindor vixen!

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The Foggy Dew vs. 2

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