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9: Back Home

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There was pure chaos after the revelations of the sword, and everyone who had been there was out on the streets only minutes later, shouting the news out into everyone's face, into everyone's ears, be it Muggle or Squib, be it witch or wizard. "Voldemort's dead, really, really dead this time!" The cry rang through London's streets and houses, it got picked up all through the country, and by the end of the day, a special edition of the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler were published with the same news, but slightly different headlines:

"The Boy Who Lived Killed You-Know-Who!" said the Daily Prophet.

"Voldemort Finally Dead Due to Severus Snape's Plan!" said The Quibbler.

It didn't matter. What counted most for Hermione was that Scrimgeour was too overwhelmed by the news to continue with the trial. Escorted by Harry and Dumbledore, she marched up to him, Gryffindor's sword still in her hand and Dudley at her heels, and demanded that Professor Snape be set free immediately.

"Whatever," Scrimgeour huffed and once more nodded to the guards. "Take him. Make sure he doesn't die. It seems he's a bloody war hero now. Get him out through the back door so no one sees him in this condition."

"You disgust me, Rufus," Dumbledore stated calmly, thus saying the very words he once had said to a young Severus Snape to the Minister of Magic. Turning, he waved the two guards away, opened the Potions master's handcuffs, and offered him an arm. "I propose you come to Hogwarts with me, Severus. You look as if you could do with a week or two at the infirmary."

Silently, Hermione stepped next to Snape and wrapped her arm round his waist. "Don't even think about arguing. I will kill you if you dare to die simply because you are too stupid to accept help."

Snape just snorted, too weak to give a proper answer. But he allowed them to lead him out of the courtroom and out of the Ministry, at which point Dumbledore himself took the Potions master back home to Hogwarts via Side-Along-Apparition.

*****

Snape was glad to be back at Hogwarts, away from Azkaban, away from London, away from the courtroom and millions of people who wanted to know details about the Dark Lord's death. He couldn't believe it himself, that his master was finally dead. "Such a simple plan," he murmured whilst Dumbledore helped him with getting through the huge gates. "Should have thought of it years ago."

He refused to go to the infirmary. "My dungeons, or I will seek shelter at Spinner's End," he insisted, and Dumbledore could neither say nor do anything to persuade him otherwise. "I'll be fine. It's just a little fever – nothing my potions couldn't cure."

"My dear boy, it seems you underestimate your poor condition," the Headmaster scolded as Snape shivered in his arms, chilled to the bone and with skin too hot to be normal. "Poppy will take care of you..."

Snape ripped his arm free from the old man's surprisingly strong grip and staggered back, towards the staircase that would bring him down to his private quarters. Without wasting breath for another word, he took one stair at a time, slowly and carefully. Every bone hurt, breathing hurt, and he was slightly dizzy, both from the effects of Gryffindor's sword and the long time sitting in a cold cell at Azkaban. He might have fallen after a few steps if Hermione hadn't listened to their conversation and followed him.

Uninvited, she took his arm and ignored his attempt to push her away. "I will look after him, Albus," she said over his shoulder. "Could you make sure no one disturbs us? I think he would hex anyone who came into his rooms."

"I'll do my best," Dumbledore answered. "But if he doesn't get better in a day, you must promise me you will inform Poppy."

Nodding, she lit a few torches along the way so she could at least see where she was treading.

*****

It was a shock to her how easy it was to lead him to bed. By the time she had manoeuvred him downstairs and into his rooms, he was barely able to stand on his own. Luckily, he hadn't altered his wards before he had left to kidnap Harry; they opened at her command, and she sighed with relief when the door fell shut behind her. Outside, the world should go on as usual; inside, in those quiet rooms with the huge bookshelves and with walls several feet thick, she only hoped for a little peace.

And, of course, for Severus to get better. Therefore, she gently manoeuvred him into the bedroom despite his weak attempts to let go of her as soon as the doors closed behind them. His steps were small, and he became heavier with every moment he was on his feet. "You need to rest," Hermione said sternly, trying to cover her fear for him.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "Tired. Sleep. Go."

The bed was unmade – clearly, he had forbidden the house-elves to breach his privacy. Sweating, she clutched him closer, then finally managed to lower him onto the mattress. "You are not only tired, Severus, you are ill. You are burning with fever; you should be in the hospital wing!" There was no need to push him down; his muscles went limp once he was seated, and he slumped into the pillows with a heavy sigh.

But he wasn't asleep yet. "No," he murmured, eyes half closed. "Quiet down here. No screams. No people." With chattering teeth, he tried to pull the blanket up to his chest.

Hermione stopped him. "Let me undress you first." She knelt on the bed with him and opened the laces of his boots, pulled them off, then dropped them to the floor. For a moment she wondered if he would try to prevent her opening the belt of his trousers.

Obviously not. The trousers landed on the floor as well. Whilst she attended to the buttons of his shirt, she asked, "What do you mean, no screams? In Poppy's infirmary, people rarely scream."

He didn't answer. His head had sunken to the side; his breathing, though deep, didn't come easily. "What the hell?" Hermione said, startled, finally managing to take his shirt off. She gasped with shock. He was so thin! She could see his ribcage under the texture of his skin, could easily observe his heartbeat. Apart from his underpants, he was naked now, and the joints of hips and shoulders stood out far too much for a man of his size. At the right side of his chest, a deep, red wound clearly spoke of pain.

Azkaban obviously doesn't whet one's appetite, she thought and felt dizzy at the visible fact that he hadn't eaten much whilst in prison. "He was injured!" she whispered. "Still is. They let him starve there to make him talk, they didn't tend to his wounds... They wanted him to die!"

No wonder he was craving silence. Hagrid had once told her that Azkaban was never quiet, that there were always people crying or screaming.

No wonder Severus wanted to hide in the one place that was his – the dungeons, his dungeons, where the walls were thick and where no one would dare to bother him.

No one apart from her, that is. Swallowing hard and wiping the back of her hand angrily across her face, Hermione decided that she didn't have time to be soppy. He needed help, he needed it now, and she was here to provide it. At least she knew which potions he needed, knew where to find a book with healing spells. And she could light a fire, could banish the cold out of the room and the darkness as well.

The bed creaked when she got up, and it creaked as well when she came back, carrying potions and books. Cross-legged, she sat beside him and used her wand to inject him with a potion that hopefully would bring down the fever. A strengthening potion followed, then a salve she carefully added to the wound on his chest. In between, she lit the fireplace and more candles. Within the hour, the dark room became warm and cosy and Severus looked considerably less dead.

With a sigh, she pulled the blanket over the man in the bed, carefully avoiding touching his right shoulder. He still shivered, even in his sleep, and he muttered unintelligible words under his breath. Every now and then, he tossed his head aside; every now and then, he tried to get up, tried to kick the blanket away, tried to wake up.

"Sleep, Severus," Hermione murmured. She sat beside the bed now in one of the big armchairs she had hovered in from the living room. With her legs up, chin resting in her hand, she watched him with furrowed brow. "Sleep. Everything is fine. You are safe, and I will make sure no one disturbs you." Reaching out, she gently touched his hand and nearly jumped when he grabbed her, pulled, and nudged his cheek against her open palm. He sighed deeply; only then did the tossing stop, and he slipped into a deeper, healthier sleep.

*****

That one night of sleep didn't change anything. Quite the contrary. It seemed as if now that he was safe, home, Snape's body decided that 'now' was the perfect time to give up service. After a horrible experience in November when the Dark Lord had forced him to rape and the several horrible weeks afterwards when he had tried to deal with the outcomes of his crime, he had neglected the needs of his body. When Hermione had decided to end it in early January, it would have been the time to recover. But then, his simple little plan had appeared before his inner eye, and the need to outline the task had taken up his time. Brewing the potion, kidnapping Potter, looking into the Dark Lord's face whilst hindering the madman from reading his thoughts hadn't been easy, either.

And now, after everything was technically over, after he was finally safe, having survived even Azkaban, he seemed closer to death than ever.

Unfortunately, he refused help from anyone else but Hermione. Hoarsely, he refused Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey, and Healers from St. Mungo's. "I just need some rest," he insisted, too weak to do much more than either lay in bed or sit near the fireplace with a blanket tucked round his haggard frame. "If you dare let anyone in here, I will throw you out as well."

"As if you could," she hissed under her breath and didn't open the door to anyone who knocked. Occasionally, she talked to Albus through the fireplace, calmed his concerns and told him that his Potions master only needed another few days to recover.

It was a blatant lie, of course. Severus was nowhere near recovery, and they both knew it. The fever went up and down like a yoyo, the wound caused him pain despite the potions she used on it, and his nights were restless and plagued by nightmares. Eating as sparsely as a sparrow didn't do anything to improve his dwindling health, either, and about five days after Hermione had closed the door behind them, she exploded.

"Do you have a death wish?"

Snape looked up from the book he had pretended to read since at least one hour. He had never turned the pages, though, staring into the fireplace more often than at the letters. "If I had, I wouldn't allow you to be here," he returned acidly. "I would brew myself a nice potion and be done with this life."

She stood before him, arms crossed over her chest and looking furious. "Then why don't you go to the fucking infirmary?"

"Language, Miss Granger. I think I should take a few house points from you." However, he didn't do it. Instead, he lowered his head so the curtain of his black hair fell over his face, allowing him to avoid eye contact.

"You can't take house points from a colleague, Severus, and even if you could, I'd say take as many points as you like. I don't care. I want an answer, Severus. I want to know why... why... why everything. You are not the man to give up that easily, but give it another few days, and this wound will bring you to your grave. You are fading! You get weaker every day, you barely sleep, you don't eat..."

"I'm not hungry," he said tiredly. "And as for the why – tell me why not? Why not hide down here? Why not give up? I have served my purpose, and all that is left are nightmares of dying Muggles, tortured colleagues, and hateful students. I have done too much in the past twenty years to go back to normal. There is no 'normal' for me. The Dark Lord is dead; it seems logical that his second-in-command dies as well."

That left her speechless. She wouldn't have expected him to talk about death – his death – so easily, and she would have sworn an oath that now that he was free he would enjoy this freedom.

Apparently not. Working himself up from the chair in a painfully slow way, he turned his back to her and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had never done that before, and she took it as a clear sign that he wanted her gone.

With a hissed curse, she lifted the wards, stormed out of the Potions master's private rooms, and slammed the door shut as loudly as possible.

*****

Returning to her rooms was impossible, so she went to the library instead, seeking out a dark corner in the Forbidden Section. Pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, she lowered her head and began to cry. Hopeless, annoyed, bitter tears wet her jeans, and after a while, she shook with anger and fear. Anger that she hadn't been able to talk him out of his depression, fear that things wouldn't improve sort of immediately – honestly, someone should slaughter the man for his awful... gruesome... dreadful...

"Hi, Hermione."

She jumped, the chair tipped and fell, and she didn't know whether first to wipe the tears away or to slam a book into the face of the young man who stood in front of her. "Ron!" she exclaimed, exasperated and dumbstruck at the same time that someone had found her here of all places. "What the hell are you doing here, how have you found me and... Goodness, did anyone see you?"

"Nice to see you, too," Ron stated dryly and let himself fall in one of the wooden chairs. "I have been waiting for you to come out of the dungeons for days, I followed you, and no, I don't think anyone saw me. Now tell me – what's wrong with you?"

That was the moment when Hermione remembered that not too long ago, they had been together. Had gone for meals, had talked, had even gone to bed every now and then.

Not too long ago, they had been friends. She had told him everything, they had seen each other on a nearly daily basis, they had laughed together and...

And then things had changed that one winter night not yet three months ago when Snape had beaten her unconscious, when she had been raped, when her world had shattered to pieces. Back then, she had stopped talking to Ron. Answering his owls had seemed ridiculous in light of what had happened to her. Their friendship had dwindled and died in a few weeks simply because she hadn't been able to tell him what had happened to her.

What is he doing at Hogwarts? she wondered and couldn't help but wrap her arms round her suddenly shivering body. "I'm sorry," she whispered, taking in his red hair and the freckles and his friendly face, and there, her throat became tight and dry, and any second now she would begin to cry again. "I know you have the right to be angry at me for what I have done to you, but right now... I'm sorry. I really can't take your accusations right now."

Ron snorted once, pulled a huge handkerchief out of his trouser pockets, and held it out to her. "Blow your nose, Hermione. And then you will sit down and tell me why you are hysterical. You are never hysterical. I warn you – I will try to Legilimens you if you don't talk voluntarily." A hesitant grin curved his lips, and Hermione couldn't help a rush of warmth and happiness welling up inside her. She had missed him so much; not his love, not bedding him, but his friendship. And now he was sitting in front of her, holding out a handkerchief and asking her what was wrong.

"Everything is wrong," she sighed and slumped into the chair beside him. "And I should have told you... everything. We were friends. We..."

"Are," Ron cast in. "We are friends. And I'm damn, stinking angry that you dare to think anything could ever change that. Now take the damn tissue before my arm falls off." A flick of his hand, and the thing landed in her lap.

"Shit," Hermione murmured. "Now you made me cry again, you idiot. Thanks so much, Ron."

This time, his grin was bigger. "My pleasure. And don't take me wrong – I was shocked when I heard in the courtroom what had happened. I would have wanted to be there for you, to help you. As it is, you found your own solution. I just don't get why you have been hiding in the dungeons for more than a week. Everyone is celebrating Voldemort's death. Only you are missing. And the greasy git, of course, without whom the bastard wouldn't be dead."

"He wants to die," Hermione whispered and dropped her head. "And I don't know why. He's weak, the wound doesn't heal, he barely eats or sleeps. Half an hour ago he as good as threw me out of his rooms. Living seems a burden for him. I have no idea how to deal with this."

Silence claimed the library. Sunlight shone through the high windows and painted meaningless patterns on the floor.

Ron leaned over and took her hand in his. Her grip was hard, and she leaned against him after another heartbeat, seeking comfort and warmth as well as reassurance that she wasn't all alone. "What else has he said?" he asked, stroking her back. "And just for the protocol – I'm not asking because I am interested in his well-being. Only because I really, really like you."

That forced a hiccoughy chuckle out of her. "He doesn't speak much," she said. "He's hiding in his rooms, doesn't want to see anyone, forbids me to get Poppy or Albus, and even his own potions can't keep the damn fever down. I fear... I truly fear he won't survive this if I can't find out why he is like this."

Ron nodded solemnly. "Thought so. You know, if someone had told you as much as half a year ago that you would fall in love with Snape the dungeon bat, you would have hit this very unfortunate person squarely across the head." Acting fast, he caught her wrists before she could jump up again. With a swift move, he pulled her closer. "I saw it in the courtroom, Hermione. The way you looked at him. How you avoided eye contact, clearly afraid someone could see that he means the world to you. And then you stood up and told everyone what you had done to save the both of you – only someone who really, deeply cares would have done that."

She swallowed hard. "I don't know what you are talking about, Ron."

"And he loves you, too. Merlin, Hermione, he refused to say a single word simply to protect you! He would have been out of Azkaban in no time had he agreed to talk to Scrimgeour. But he didn't. He wanted to protect you, wanted to hide the fact that you used Dark Magic. If that's not love, my name's Percy."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying a word.

"Tell him you love him, Hermione," Ron said and got up. "The way I see it, he doesn't have a reason to live anymore, with You-Know-Who dead and his days as spy over and all. Give him a reason. And by the way, I haven't got a clue why you didn't figure this out on your own. It's said you're bright, 'Mione!" Holding out his hand, he waited until she had taken it.

"That obvious?" she asked hoarsely and allowed him to pull her up. "I thought... I didn't know..."

Ron slung his arm round her shoulders, leading her out of the library. "Not too obvious," he reassured her. "But I know you. You and Harry are my best friends. Now go and kick the greasy bat's bony arse. Tell him dying is not an option or you will come after him and... and... rip his head off or something."

This time, she didn't chuckle. This time, she laughed. Hugging Ron, she wondered how she could have ever thought that a little sex could interfere with real friendship.

*****

She feared that Severus had readjusted the wards, that she wouldn't be able to get back inside. She could see herself sitting outside his door, on the cold stones, hoping he would change his mind and worrying he was dying inside.

But he hadn't. The wards recognised her, and she slipped in silently, suppressing a relieved sigh.

The fire in the grate had nearly burned down; Severus was not in the living room. She knocked at the bedroom door once, wasn't surprised at not getting an answer, and sneaked in nevertheless. The darkness was complete – no fire, no candles. Only slow, forced breathing could be heard, and Hermione was more than glad that, apparently, Severus was still alive.

"Go away," he rasped. "I thought you had managed to leave me alone, but obviously you have an urge to pester me. I thought I made it clear that I don't want company."

With outstretched hands, she found her way to the bed, where she sat down. A murmured word, and the candle on the little table next to the bed lit up. Just one tiny candle, but at least she could see him now, and he could see her.

Could have, anyway, if his eyes weren't closed.

"I need an answer, Severus," she said. "I need to know why you insist on hiding down here. As long as you refuse to tell me that, I won't leave." Gently, she pushed a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

He didn't move, didn't object to being touched, didn't open his eyes either. He was silent for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. Therefore, when he finally spoke, she flinched with surprise.

"I wouldn't be able to answer their questions," he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest as if he were cold. "I wouldn't be able to tell them why I didn't come up with that plan years ago. I prefer being down here, Hermione, believe me."

"Right. So, why did you do it?" Her hand searched for his.

Now he looked at her. "I figured out the plan when Albus asked me if I was sure that you were safe," he said, fatigue making his tongue heavy. "He wondered if the Dark Lord would be satisfied with a single rape, or if he might like to play the same horrible game again. That was the moment I realised that Voldemort mustn't live any longer. I remembered your potion, I guessed I might manage to apply it to his wine, and I knew I could take Potter along, forcing him to strike the killing blow by letting him know that I had raped you."

Hermione entwined her fingers with his. Her heart began to beat faster when he responded by flexing his strong fingers. "I don't see the problem, Severus. All that counts is the result, is it not? And you don't need to answer the question, if it is asked at all." Carefully, as if not to startle him, she pressed her lips against his knuckles.

He laughed bitterly. "The Dark Lord killed so many people, Hermione. We were looking for a solution year after year and couldn't find one. I served him, I lied for him, I killed in his name. Still, that was not enough for me to find a way to finish him off. And then he forces me to hurt you and I just shoulder Gryffindor's sword and... do it? Because of a woman? People will be disgusted, Hermione, and they will be right. Everybody will think I could have done that years ago if only I had wanted to. I have failed despite the fact that the Dark Lord is nothing but dust anymore."

With a small shrug, Hermione let her cardigan slip to the floor. A quick kick, and both her shoes landed under the bed. Swiftly, she stretched out next to him and pulled a blanket over both of them. "Because of you, Voldemort is dead," she breathed in his ear. "No one will ever be able to get around this simple fact. You had an idea, and you acted accordingly. Less than a week after you learned about the potion, Harry was able to behead him. And I can't believe that you feel guilty for having saved the world with an ingenious idea."

She felt him stiffen at her touch, at the fact that her body was pressed against his. "I am guilty for not having saved the world years ago," he replied, barely audible. "What are you doing, Hermione?"

"I'm going to sleep, Severus. I have spent too many nights in your chair, holding your hand. My back hurts, my neck is strained, and I think it is only fair that you share your bed with me under the circumstances." Carefully avoiding touching his wound, she placed her neck on his shoulder and pulled his arm over her waist.

She heard him gulp. "Which circumstances are we talking about?"

Now she smiled. "Well, we are practically living together, and I have every intention to keep it that way. Although I have to admit that I didn't figure it out myself."

"Figure what out?" He sounded as if he feared her answer.

"That we have fallen in love with each other, of course. Pretty obvious once one properly thinks about it. And now we will sleep. Understood?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her closer and kissed her lightly on the lips.

*****

"It wouldn't have worked anyway," Hermione said a few days later when she and Severus sat at the breakfast table.

He lowered the newspaper he had been reading. His plate was empty, and he was drinking his third cup of tea. "Beg your pardon?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "What wouldn't have worked?"

"You saving the world before now." With a crunch, she bit off a bite from her toast and looked at the man she loved, searching for signs of fever, of returning weakness, of the black mood he had been in.

Instead, she could only confirm that he was not ill anymore. After she had slipped into bed with him, had held him close all night through, his health had improved literally overnight. The fever had been gone by morning, the wound in his chest finally stopped hurting, and no nightmares had plagued him since. He slept deeply, and so did she. Even his appetite had returned with a vengeance, and he had gained some weight as well. "Why do you say that?" he inquired, folded the newspaper, and put it onto the table.

"Because Voldemort was surrounded by many more followers until recently. You would have never caught him alone."

Snape nodded slowly. "True," he said. "Not many Death Eaters stayed with him once 'his plan to kill Dumbledore had failed. Many left; even more decided that he wasn't worth the constant danger of getting caught. He was forced to buy that rotting mansion Dudley Dursley remembered from his childhood. He often spent the days alone on his throne."

She smiled and Vanished the dishes into the kitchen with a flick of her wand. "Precisely. But with Death Eaters around, you couldn't have smuggled in the Sorting Hat. And they would have become suspicious at your manipulations. Harry would have never managed to get close enough to him with the sword. It was a now or never situation. Therefore, no reason to feel guilty."

"Thanks for pointing that out to me," Snape replied after a moment of consideration. "I must admit, I didn't think of that."

"Great," she said and got up. "Then let's get upstairs for lunch today. Please?"

He opened his mouth and she feared he would deny her this wish, but then he seemed to rethink. "All right. I must admit, I am tired of the sight of my rooms. I have never spent much time down here. The Great Hall will make a nice change. And if anyone asks stupid questions, you can hex him." Getting up, he headed for the bathroom, brushing crumbs off his shirt whilst he walked. The door creaked a bit when he opened it; he didn't close it behind him, though. Invitingly, it stood open just wide enough for her to see him getting undressed.

Heat flushed her from head to toes when she saw his shirt fall to the floor, heard the small jingle his belt made when his trousers dropped to the tiles. Then there was the tell-tale sound of water splashing into a bathtub, and suddenly, Hermione wondered if he had left the door open on purpose.

Slowly, she got up, taking one silent step after the other until she was right in front of the bathroom. Steam seeped out into the living room, scented steam smelling of spiced honey. With it came the sound of humming; it sent shivers along her spine. Does he know I'm watching him? she wondered and pushed the door a bit further open with one fingertip. If he does, he's more seductive than I have thought!

Although they had spent the nights together in his bed since nearly a week, snuggled up closely and waking up with entwined limbs, they hadn't made love yet. His condition had been too fragile, his health not strong enough, and so she hadn't made an attempt to touch him in an erotic way. Not that she hadn't wanted to; the memories of the night she had spent in his room and in this very bed were a sweet torment, and she longed to kiss him, to taste him, to feel his naked skin pressed against hers.

And now he was in the bathroom, and she wondered if she should open the door a bit wider... Just a little bit...

There he was, lying stretched out in the bathtub. Both arms dangled over the rim, his head rested against the white porcelain. The ends of his hair just touched the surface of the bubbly, steaming water, and she hesitated to step into the bathroom. He looks so relaxed, she thought. I shouldn't disturb him!

Just when she was about to turn and tiptoe out again, he opened one eye and smiled. "I could do with a massage," he tempted her. "Unless you have something better to do?"

Silently, she pulled the door closed and placed the book she had been reading on the sideboard. "I could make the bed," she mused, rolling up her sleeves. "I could do some dusting or find out how to brew this anti-sneeze potion..."

Flexing his fingers, he playfully sprayed some water at her. "Come over here, witch, and do your duty," he growled. "It's your best friend's fault that my neck and shoulders are hard as stone – getting stabbed surely is an unpleasant experience in itself, but the time it needs for healing is even worse. And if I remember correctly, your hands are strong. I would... appreciate a massage."

She grinned, delighted at his visible happiness. Still smiling, she stepped behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm and, naturally, wet. Soap made him slippery, and it felt so good to touch him without a garment between her skin and his.

Slowly, she began digging her fingers into his flesh, thus relaxing the muscles in his back. He moaned at her actions, stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders about – it didn't take her long to loosen him up, and soon, she was soaked from head to toes. "Do you mind if I take off my blouse and jeans?" she asked casually, but didn't await his answer. "And would you mind if I joined you in the bath? It's a bit fresh out here with nothing on."

He laughed and held out his hand to help her in. The water was deliciously hot, and only now then did she realize that indeed she had been cold, having knelt on the cool tiles for many minutes. "You don't intend to seduce me?" he asked when she wrestled her legs to the left and right of his hips. "I wouldn't mind, you know."

She grinned. "I am very much interested but considered it counter-productive to your health until now. Not to mention the fact that you fall asleep every night before eight o'clock. It makes seducing you quite impossible."

The bathtub turned out to be relatively small now that two people were sitting in it. Snape moved a bit and pulled her on top of him. "You could have woken me up," he murmured into the wet strands of her hair. His hands, as he couldn't put them anywhere else, began kneading her bum. "I might have been responsive to a kiss, witch."

"Really? If only I had known. A kiss like this, maybe?" As she was only an inch or two away from his face, she lightly brushed her lips over his. One more brush before she deepened the contact, parting his lips with her tongue, slipping a bit higher on his lean body and stroking his hard length with her belly simultaneously. Their legs entwined, her arms found their way round his neck, and she held fast so the soapy water wouldn't drown them.

It was a long kiss, sweet and tender. Her forehead rested against his, and she managed to part her legs and sit up a bit.

"A kiss like that would have been a good start," he said. His hands, though, developed a will of their own and glided lower to her breasts. Her time to get massaged; her time to moan with delight.

However, she didn't allow herself to get completely distracted, and just sitting on his lap was not what she had had in mind when getting into the bathtub. "How about... that?" She shifted, and he gasped when the tip of his cock slipped between her legs. It was impossible to say if it was just the soapy water or her own wetness that made this sensation so awesome. Only a heartbeat later, she moved again, this time with her hand wrapped round the base of his shaft, guiding it inside her.

The grip of his fingers was strong at her waist when she began to move with a slow, entrancing rhythm whilst his length was fully sheathed inside her narrow cave. His eyes were firmly closed, as were hers, and water sloshed out of the bathtub with every thrust of his hips, every push of her bum. Both seemed to be lost in their own pleasure; both held each other close, shared their breath, moved as one until they both climaxed.

*****

"Good thing you figured that one out," Snape murmured contently, dripping soap bubbles on her neck and shoulders. "That love problem. Makes things a lot easier now that we know what we feel."

"Agreed," she said dreamily. Still lying on top of him, she was in the perfect position to lightly kiss his throat. "But it wasn't me who put a finger on it. It was Ron."

The floor of the bathroom was already a small lake when he suddenly moved, causing another splash to land on the tiles. "What?" He sounded incredulous. "Weasley... what?"

A kiss calmed him down a bit. "Ron had waited for me. When he saw me coming out of the dungeons, heading for the library, he followed me. And then he... scolded me. Thoroughly. I must admit, I was flabbergasted that he had seen something I hadn't. That's the reason why I came back so quickly. Without him, I would have probably hidden for a day or two." Nudging his chin up, she rested her head against his shoulder and pushed her hands under his bottom.

A most comfortable position, in her opinion, but he seemed too shocked to lay still. Pushing himself up, he opened the drain with his big toe. The water vanished with small, gurgly sounds. "You mean – are you saying I owe the fact of you being in my arms to Ronald Weasley?"

"And you being in mine," she confirmed, getting up reluctantly. Soapy water decorated her heated skin. Maybe Snape would have considered a second bath if she hadn't Summoned a towel and wrapped it round her. "So be friendly to him. I am certain he is upstairs in the Great Hall, waiting for us. Like everyone else, by the way."

"Good gods," the Potions master muttered under his breath. "I fear this will have unusual consequences. Most unusual."

"Ready?" Hermione called, already dressed. "I'm hungry. In fact, I am starving. Come along, love!"

A/N: And now only the epilogue is left.