Chapter Five

T/N: Many thanks to exartemarte, Britpicker extraordinaire.

The first bright rays of morning had begun to threaten an end to the night, and Hermione and Severus were fast asleep in the same bed.

Warm.

Comfortable.

She moved away a bit, but he pressed her against his body, her back against his chest, his hands at her waist.

From the blissful oblivion of sleep, Severus pondered what a fine thing it was to have a woman asleep in his arms. He had never experienced it before, first of all because it was too risky for a spy to do, and second...but no less important...because he'd never met anyone who would really have wanted to sleep with him. Sex, maybe, but to stay there asleep in his arms was a different matter entirely. It implied a certain intimacy...more, ironically, than he was willing to offer the women with whom he'd had sex, and more than they were willing to offer him. But now he was asleep, and while his mind was idle, his body sought her out, his nose buried itself against her nape to smell her, his hands searched out the softness of the skin at her waist underneath the blouse . . . and that was all, because the rest of his body refused to cooperate, except for one not-so-small detail which had been dormant since his encounter with Nagini and had apparently chosen this particular moment to come back to life. Ah, everything was so warm. So soft. So . . . perfect.

Hermione, also lost in the depths of sleep, pressed against the lean, warm body that wrapped around and caressed her. In her dream it was Ron, but it felt nothing like Ron. When she was with him, things didn't feel half this good . . . but this was a dream, and dreams are not like real life. The few times that she and Ron had spent the night together they had been uncomfortable, unable to find a way for their bodies to fit together and let them fall asleep. There were too many elbows and knees, when he put his arm around her it pulled her hair . . . and in the end they had rolled apart and slept on opposite sides of the bed. Although she would have loved it if he had held her like this, large hands holding her firmly by the waist, pressing her possessively against his body and against, ah! the physical evidence of his desire.

Hermione didn't consider herself ugly, but she didn't think she was particularly desirable either, so she was secretly proud of her ability to evoke this reaction in a man. Delighting in the sensations of her dream, she pressed back against the swelling, eliciting a groan from the lips of her dream-husband.

Perfect.

Neither wanted to wake from this exquisite dream. They held close to the warmth, unwilling to let it go.

Hermione turned to embrace him, entangling her legs with his. Circe! They seemed made to measure for each other, so well did their bodies fit together. She rested her head on his shoulder and let her hands wander over his torso, slowly, with a delicious languor.

When the sun broke through the window, a songbird perched on the sill and began to sing. Loudly. They both heard it and groaned in unison as they realized they were waking up.

"No . . . " protested Severus, and Hermione, recognizing the voice, and that her dream-lover had not vanished when she awakened, opened her startled eyes to find herself face to face with her Potions professor.

"AAAAHHHHH!!!!" she shrieked, leaping from the bed.

"Sshhh! Miss Granger! Calm down!" implored Severus, terrified that someone would hear.

But Hermione remembered only that she had got drunk the night before and . . .

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, what have we done?"

"Nothing outrageous . . . " he began, but she mistook his meaning.

"What the hell do you mean, nothing outrageous?"

"Shhh, be quiet, I'm telling you that you fell asleep and that was it. Look at yourself...you're wearing those Muggle trousers that are the closest thing I know to a suit of armor," he said, gesturing toward the jeans she wore beneath her robe. "And furthermore, in case you were forgetting, I'm completely useless from the waist down." This last was a lie, of course: he was perfectly aware that he'd had an erection, the first since his injury, but this was hardly the time to mention it.

This detail had not passed unnoticed by Hermione either; she remember having pressed herself back against that bulge . . . oh, but in order for anything of a sexual nature to have happened, she would have had to climb on top . . . don't go there, Hermione, she warned herself, blushing furiously at the direction her thoughts had traveled.

And suddenly, once the initial blast of adrenalin had passed, the hangover blossomed in her head as if someone had hit her with an axe.

"Oohhh . . . " she said, holding her head in both hands. "I swear I will never drink alcohol again . . . "

"Yes, yes, a hangover potion will disabuse you of that notion in short order, but for the love of God, Miss Granger, get out of here."

She stared at him, her eyes like saucers. Ron. Everyone had seen her in the Three Broomsticks with Snape. And she'd never made it back to Gryffindor Tower to sleep. Oh, no, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do . . . and she left at a run, hoping against hope that she could get back to the dormitory before the other girls woke.

Snape watched her disappear through the doorway and rolled over into the middle of the bed, seeking out the warmth of her body, which had already begun to dissipate, and the aroma of her hair which clung to the pillowcase.

Lily, he thought, trying to summon up the memory of the love of his life. He wanted to put her in Hermione's place, to imagine that it had been she who shared the bed with him, whom he had clasped to his chest.

But he knew perfectly well that it had not been Lily. The two women were too different. And somehow he felt that his debt to her had been paid when he protected her son with his own life. He understood that finally, after so many years and so much pain, he was letting her slip away . . . but he didn't want it to be so. He wanted to cling to her memory, he wanted to love her until the day he died, he wanted to be faithful to her even though she was dead, he wanted . . .

But what one wants and what one is able to do are different things.

Lily, what is happening to me? He buried his head in the pillow, breathing deeply of the faint smell of jasmine that remained on the fabric, and fell back asleep.

***

Thank all the gods, thought Hermione as she entered the dormitory full of sleeping girls. But before she could get her bearings, her feet were entangled in a furry orange mass. There was a loud yowl of protest from her cat, who had leapt out happily to greet her, only to have one of his paws squashed beneath her trainer. She held her breath, hoping that the noise hadn't wakened anyone.

"Hermione, is that you?" Lavender peered at her out of one eye. "Where have you been? We were worried. Everyone was talking about you and Snape drinking together at the Three Broomsticks, and that he was in a wheelchair . . ."

Fucking Crookshanks! she thought. Her best stealthy entrance, foiled by a cat.

"Erm, well, I had to take care of him, and . . . " She tried desperately to think of a plausible excuse, but then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Lavender had fallen back asleep. That would give her time to invent an alibi. Although really, when you thought about it, who would believe she had spent the night with Snape? She put her pyjamas on, and crawled into bed. She'd think of something, but for now all she wanted was to sleep just a little longer.

But as soon as she closed her eyes in search of sleep, the memory of a pair of arms wrapped firmly about her waist invaded her mind. She tried to shake it off (for God's sake, Hermione, it's SNAPE!) but in the end she told herself that no one was ever going to find out, and she permitted herself to relax a little and savor the memory. Everyone was allowed at least one guilty pleasure, weren't they?

When she awoke again the rest of the girls had risen and gone, so she had a bit of time to put herself to rights and go out to the common room. She'd missed breakfast, but she didn't care; all she needed was a hangover potion and she'd be as good as new.

"Hi, Hermione, your eyes look like two burn holes in a blanket. Something you'd like to tell me?"

She felt her stomach lurch. Harry had been waiting for her, and where Harry was . . .

"Hi, Harry. Where's Ron?"

"He went to Hogsmeade to do some last-minute shopping. He wanted to give you some chocolates, but we forgot to go by the shop. Don't tell him I told you, it's supposed to be a surprise. But, hey, that's not why I wanted to talk to you. Everyone saw you at the Three Broomsticks, drinking with Snape..." here he lowered his voice, "...and you didn't get back here until this morning."

Hermione cast about desperately for an excuse, but she looked in Harry's eyes and knew immediately that she wouldn't be able to lie...not to him. And anyway, what was she feeling so guilty about? It had just been an accident, after all. An unfortunate accident.

They sat down together on a sofa in the empty room, and in whispered tones she told him everything.

Everything except for the fact that she and Snape had slept in each other's arms and she had liked it.

"Ron's going to kill me. And he's going to kill Professor Snape for getting me drunk. Or more likely, he'll try to kill him, and end up dead himself."

"Calm down, Ron has no idea. Nobody's had the bottle to tell him. But you ought to, you know. He's your fiancé, after all; you're getting married in what, a few months?"

Hermione knew he was right. A relationship had to be based on trust and sincerity. Where was her confidence in her fiancé? It must be hiding under a bed somewhere, because just at the moment she couldn't locate it. She would just have to summon up the courage to tell him what had happened. The censored version, anyway.

"Mione!" exclaimed Ron, bursting into the room. "I missed you! How much longer are you going to have to take care of His Greasiness?" He gave her a large, smacking kiss and handed her a box of chocolates. "Not today, at least. Mum's waiting for us at home, Luna and the others are on their way. And I want you to myself for a bit."

"Thanks, Ron, you shouldn't have," she said, looking down at the box of chocolates.

"No, I like indulging my girlfriend. And maybe we can run by Grimmauld Place and . . . you know."

Hermione looked around and saw that Harry had quietly disappeared to give the lovers their space. Taking a deep breath, she realized that this was the moment to come clean with Ron about the night before.

Choosing her words carefully, she began recounting the events, unable to look at his face while she did so. When she was done she looked up and their eyes met, and he burst out laughing.

"I can't believe it! You had to spend the night with the bat! You poor thing, you'll have nightmares for a month!"

She felt as though a great weight, the weight of her secret, had been lifted from her chest. How could she have been afraid to tell Ron? Really, he was such a love. Such a friend. Relieved, she opened the box of chocolates and offered him one.

***

"I think the margins have contracted a bit more," commented Hermione, as she cleaned the wound and changed the bandage. "Pretty soon you're not going to need my care at all."

Severus smiled grimly.

"If only that were the case. I don't know how I'm going to manage stuck in this chair."

"Professor, the NEWTs are coming up soon, and then I'll be leaving school for good. I expect someone else will have to take care of you. I've already spent far more hours here than St Mungo's requires of its student nurses." She didn't like to remind him of it, but she knew she needed to make it clear that she couldn't stay at his side forever.

"I'm well aware of that, Miss Granger. And I do hate to be in anyone's debt."

He rolled the chair over to one of the bookshelves. Since they had made the excursion to Hogsmeade, Poppy had judged him fit enough to return to his rooms, which is where they found themselves at the moment. He took a battered old notebook down and held it out to her.

"What's this? Oh!" she exclaimed upon opening it and realizing what it was...his personal notes for the elaboration of advanced potions. "Professor, I can't accept this . . . it's your work, your studies, it wouldn't be right for me to use this . . . "

"Take it, foolish girl. You wouldn't have such scruples if it were printed, would you? What's the difference between this and a book? This is just a more exclusive edition."

She felt an impulse to go over and kiss him on the cheek, but contented herself with pressing the book to her chest.

"Thank you, Professor."

She was thrilled with the gift, and although she felt she hardly deserved it, did not hesitate to make the most of it. When she showed it to the others, their jaws dropped in disbelief.

"Snape gave you his notes? That snake venom must have pickled his brain . . ."

The truth was that after the nasty argument they'd had, he had gradually begun to treat her a little better. Not excessively, but enough to make it clear that he didn't actually hate her. Of course, Harry and Ron would never believe he was really trying to be friendly with her. But she knew that he was, and that was enough for her; she smiled every time she looked at the tattered notebook.

A few days later, after she had harried Snape into taking a turn about the lake to get some fresh air, they were sitting in the shade of a large tree. Hermione took out the notebook and opened it to a page with a description of an obscure fortifying potion.

"I'm going to leave a little early today, Professor; I want to have another go at brewing this potion."

"Is it giving you trouble?" he asked, quirking his left eyebrow. "Perhaps you haven't followed the instructions to the letter."

"I have done!" she cried, her pride wounded, and then continued in a dejected tone of voice, "but it doesn't turn out right, no matter what I do."

"Let's go in. Any more fresh air and my lungs will collapse."

"Where to?"

"To my laboratory, Miss Granger, where else?" he replied acerbically.

"Are you going to help me brew the Augeo potion? Why?"

"Because if you keep on experimenting, you're going to blow your head off, and I'll lose my nurse."

"But . . . "

"Be quiet and start pushing, before I change my mind."

Hermione was genuinely surprised. Snape had not returned to his laboratory since his encounter with Nagini. And she knew he'd had no intention of returning unless he could walk and do magic again; otherwise there'd be no point to it, since he'd be unable to brew potions. Nevertheless, that appeared to be where they were going.

Once inside, Severus made a sweeping gesture with one hand, giving her permission to begin.

"Have at it, Granger; show me your version of Augeo."

She began immediately to work, confident in her abilities, but soon she had to stop, knife in hand.

"No, no, you're holding the knife wrong."

"That's always how I've held my knife; it's the correct way to do it, just like the book shows."

"I would have thought you'd have realized by now that you've reached the limit of what books can show you, Granger. " Severus rolled closer to the table, but from a sitting position he was unable to reach high enough to show her the correct way to hold the knife.

"What are you waiting for, Granger? Shorten the table legs!"

Hermione hurried to comply, but then the table was too low for her. With a noisy sigh, Snape rolled his chair up behind her, striking the backs of her knees with his own and making her fall seated into his lap. She gave a little shriek of surprise but he silenced her with a gesture.

"Here, hold it like this." He placed the knife in her hand and guided it with his own, and rhythmically, methodically, they began to slice the silkworms. Hermione couldn't suppress a laugh of delight...she had never been able to cut up those slippery creatures this easily!

Severus heard her laugh and something clicked inside of him. The memory of the night in the Three Broomsticks hit him like a Bludger; he remembered how marvelous it was to hear and see her laughter. And soon he was all too aware that she was seated across his legs, that he was securing her with an arm around her waist, and that his right hand was laid over the top of hers. His face was only an inch or two from hers; he could smell perfectly the jasmine fragrance of her shampoo. And as if it belonged to someone else, his left arm tightened against her of its own accord, and his right hand squeezed hers, lingering there for a moment.

Hermione felt him pressing her closer, and a little involuntary groan escaped her lips. An unfamiliar sensation flooded over her from head to toe, like an electric shock, but not disagreeable. She could feel her professor's face by her ear, she could hear him breathing . . . and she wished she were brave enough to lean her head back for a moment and rest it on his shoulder . . . . offer him her neck . . . Get a grip, Hermione, she thought, and released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Snape, when he heard her groan, almost lost his head completely. He had never in his life felt anything like this for a student. He wished he were twenty years younger and had the courage to turn her head towards him and kiss her senseless. Caress her, possess her . . . Control yourself, Severus, he thought. You're not a hormonal adolescent. And she's your student. And she would never, ever fancy you.

She's not your student any more, said the other voice in his head. She's just your assistant. And you'll never know whether she fancies you if you don't give it a try.