Chapter Ten

T/N: Thanks as always to exartemarte for beta and Britpickage.

The alarm clock on her bedside table read three a.m., and Hermione gave a hiss of irritation. There was simply no way she was going to get any sleep. She was dead tired after a frantic day of dress fittings, hair consultations, and any number of other last-minute decisions to be made before the weekend. Running back and forth between her parents' house and the Burrow; Ginny babbling every few seconds that she couldn't believe they were going to be sisters at long last, and that when she and Harry got married they'd all be one big family; Molly looking over the invitation list for the umpteenth time and saying, "I know that I've left someone off, but I can't think who;" Arthur playing with the Muggle appliances that had arrived as wedding presents from her side of the family. And the constant clamor of the house, full of people coming and going, conversing, laughing and making merry.

She would have liked to put her elegantly gloved hands over her ears and shut it all out.

So when she finally arrived at the Prince residence that night, at well past midnight, she blessed the absolute silence that greeted her, and thanked the gods that Ron was training for his team and couldn't come to sleep with her that night. She wanted to be alone in the bed, able to lie down in the middle with her arms and legs outstretched, finding the coolest part of the sheets . . . and to sleep. Sleep deeply, because in her dreams she could put it all out of her mind, could forget who she was and what was expected of her. Rest.

But after three hours of tossing and turning between the sheets she began to believe that even that simple pleasure would be denied her. She could always get up and go to ask Severus for a sleeping draught. Hermione couldn't help but smile ruefully into the darkness; she had spent three hours trying not to think about him and had failed miserably, and getting up at three in the morning to knock on his bedroom door in her nightgown was not exactly the best way of putting him out of her mind.

Was it really so bad to think about him? She told herself that a little fantasy never hurt anyone, and hugging her pillow close, she let her thoughts wander freely. And of course, as soon as it had slipped the leash, her mind flew back to the memory of her Potions professor. With her eyes closed, she watched the parade of images: the memory of the morning they had woken up together, or the moment when she had first realized that her relationship with him was something special. She imagined herself lying by his side in his bed while he pulled her close against his body, hearing his breathing in her ear, feeling his hands traversing her skin. And just think, now he was in complete control of his body . . . she couldn't stop her mind from going there, and she buried her face in the pillow to stifle the hysterical laughter that threatened to overtake her. But just as she got the laughter under control, another memory assaulted her: the memory of being held against his body, weeping, while he gazed at her as if nothing else existed in the universe except the brilliance in her eyes; the way he had held her, and dried her tears, the comforting sound of his soft, gentle voice. And that amazing kiss that had made her question everything she had been taking for granted before.

Did he have feelings for her? She refused to believe that the kiss had meant nothing. It had been so intense, so fraught with emotion, it had come directly from that corner of her heart where she kept her most profound, secret feelings. It was a kiss that should never have been allowed to happen, but nevertheless had.

When they kissed she had been certain that he felt the same for her, that his kiss had also come from that hidden place; that he had struggled to resist it, and finally given in. She would still be sure of it, were it not for the recollection of his expressionless face when she had looked into his eyes.

Fucking enigmatic bat.

But what would she do if he really was in love with her? Would that change anything?

Damn it, this is not healthy, she thought, throwing off the sheet abruptly and getting up to go to the kitchen for a glass of milk. She was not about to wake up the elves at three in the morning.

Severus had not been able to sleep either until he heard her arrive alone at her bedroom door. At that moment he felt himself heave a sigh of relief. Home: safe, sound . . . and by herself. He couldn't bear the idea that she would have to share her life with that idiot Weasley. He knew there was nothing he could do to change her fate, but at least for tonight she wouldn't have to share her bed with him.

The following morning they both were showing the effects of too little sleep, but Hermione looked really dreadful.

"Pre-wedding jitters getting the best of you, Miss Granger?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"I think so. I could barely sleep last night. I think I finally dropped off about half five," she said with a yawn. "I had no idea a night could be so long."

"Why didn't you ask me for a sleeping draught? All modesty aside, I do know a thing or two about them."

"Really, sir, I didn't want to disturb you. I would have been interrupting your sleep, I didn't..." She had been on the verge of saying, "I didn't want to risk it," but her voice trailed off in mid-sentence and her eyes lost focus, gazing off into nothingness.

"Miss Granger? Hermione?" He waved a hand in front of her eyes. "Perhaps you should go back to bed."

"No, I've got a million things to do. Although to tell the truth, I don't have the slightest interest in any of them, and it does seem like everyone is managing just fine without me."

"Go and lie down. I'll have Trixy bring you a potion."

Severus left the dining room to get the potion, but when he returned he found her asleep, her head pillowed on one arm. The sight of her warmed what was left of his heart, and he was flooded with a feeling of tenderness. He ached to take her in his arms and just watch her sleep . . . memorize every feature of her face, count her eyelashes, stroke her hair and be there, the first thing she would see when she woke.

Bugger it, he thought, and made up his mind. He slipped one arm under her knees and another behind her back and lifted her almost effortlessly. Feeling the movement, Hermione startled awake and found herself looking into the face of her professor. She furrowed her brow and started to ask him something, but he silenced her.

"Shhh, Granger . . . go back to sleep," and he pulled her head down against his chest. She murmured something unintelligible, nestled her head against her professor's jacket, and closed her eyes, completely secure in his arms. When he laid her on her bed she didn't wake up. He covered her with a blanket to keep off the chill, and looked at her for a long moment. Fighting back the urge to kiss her on the mouth, he left her to sleep in her bedroom, and went to curse his luck somewhere else, where he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid that he would later regret.

***

The remainder of Hermione's week was no better. By day she had no interest in doing anything, and by night she was unable to sleep. She had decided that it was probably typical bride's nerves, but Severus saw things with more clarity...he had never heard of a bride so indifferent to the preparations for her own wedding.

He cast about desperately for some way to intervene. It wouldn't matter if she didn't choose him...he could hardly ask that she leave Weasley for him...but . . . at least, let her not marry that boy. Weasley would never make her happy, he could never be what she needed. And the worst of it all was that she would change to accommodate him, and that would end up killing the girl Severus had fallen in love with.

Yes, there was no point denying it now: he had fallen in love with her.

He had fallen in love with the headlong passion of an adolescent.

It was already Friday, and tomorrow at midday she would be married. He had to do something. He had to move, to come up with some kind of plan to prevent that wedding . . . take her away somewhere . . . but then she would hate him. Well, at least she would be safe from Weasley.

For the fourth time he paused with his hand on the doorknob, ready to go and knock on her bedroom door. What would he say? Merlin, the anguish was eating him alive.

Hermione had succeeded in falling asleep for a moment, but she had a horrible nightmare which she couldn't remember. She awoke sobbing and fighting for air. She sat up in the bed and looked at the clock on her bedside table: it was scarcely half past midnight. Another of those interminable nights evidently awaited her, but surely this would be the last. Tomorrow night she'd be Hermione Weasley and would sleep in her husband's bed.

But something was wrong, horribly wrong, and she knew it. That's why the closer she came to her wedding day, the more desperate she felt.

Severus . . . her whole being cried out for the presence of Severus. She couldn't be mistaken, he must love her . . . despite his coldness, despite acting like she didn't matter to him, he must love her . . . she needed to know. It wouldn't change anything, she knew she had to get married tomorrow, but she needed to know if he loved her the way she loved him. Just once, before she got married, before her loyalty was completely pledged to her husband.

It would be wrong, of course . . . but not as serious as doing it once she was married.

She got out of bed without realizing what she was doing or how she came to be knocking on the door of his bedroom. How could she tell him what she wanted to say? She hoped he knew already, and that he would not ask her for explanations. Might he love her back? Would he take what she was offering, or would he send her back to her rooms humiliated?

Trembling in fear she stood before his door, barefoot and dressed only in her short nightgown. Defenseless. She raised her hand to knock, but at that moment the door opened and he appeared, looking surprised to see her there.

"Trouble sleeping?"

She only nodded, and he stood aside to let her enter.

Now was the time. He could implore her not to marry Weasley. Ah, no, he couldn't. Coward, he said to himself as he poured a dose of sleeping draught into a glass and handed it to her.

She held out her hand to take it, and her fingers brushed his hand; she was trembling. The glass slipped between her fingers and fell to the carpet. Severus's gaze followed the trajectory of the glass, and when he raised his eyes again he saw her looking at him intensely. The next thing he knew she had thrown her arms around his neck and his lips were on hers.

Severus had thought that he had no decency left, but apparently a tiny bit remained. So he struggled with himself to return from the magical place where Hermione's kiss had dragged him; he opened his eyes and broke free of her.

No, she didn't deserve to be with someone like Weasley, but neither did she deserve to be with someone like him. What could he offer her? Money? That didn't matter to her. Making a supreme effort, he grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her against the wall, immobilizing her.

"What do you suppose you're doing, Miss Granger?" he said, with deliberate coldness.

Hermione wanted to scream in frustration: she had been so close, so close . . . but he must love her, she knew it, she felt it . . .

She was incapable of responding, stunned by the magnitude of her own actions, by the nearness of his body and by the position in which he held her. If he had wanted to frighten her, he was not succeeding...in fact, she was feeling an overwhelming desire to surrender to him . . .

"Do you think you can come here and kiss me as if I were one of your adolescent boyfriends? Make no mistake, Miss Granger, I'm not a boy, and I won't settle for kisses, do you understand?"

Severus thought that this would be enough to frighten her, to evoke the image of the evil despoiler of maidens. A Death-Eater who, if provoked, would not hesitate to take her by force. But instead of shrinking away, she closed her eyes and uttered the most erotic moan his ears had ever heard.

In disbelief, he struggled against the urge to kiss her, and pressed her harder against the wall with his body. He wanted her so much that he felt he would explode. Better still; that way she'll know I'm not joking.

"This is what you want, then, right?" he said menacingly, rubbing his body against hers so that she could feel his erection. "Are you sure? Do you want me to use you, so that tomorrow you can feel cheap and filthy?"

Hermione smiled. Who was he trying to fool?

"No. I don't care what you say. I know you feel something for me, Severus."

"Lack of sleep has made you delirious, Miss Granger."

"Then tell me why my Boggart didn't change form when you stepped between it and me! Are you perhaps afraid of Bellatrix? You weren't afraid of her when she was alive; why would you fear her now that she's dead? Answer me!"

Severus did not answer, because there was no possible response to that question that would not reveal what he felt for her. So instead of speaking, he silenced her in the only way those perfect lips deserved: he kissed her.

It was a sweet kiss, with eyes closed and lips barely touching, and bore no relation to the obscene posture in which he was holding her. He stepped back to look at her, and she opened her eyes slowly.

"Please, Severus, let me know what it is to be with you before I marry Ron," she whispered.

Severus swallowed.

Oh.

So it wouldn't matter what he did, wouldn't matter if he declared his undying love for her, if he made love to or her gave her the moon, she would still marry her Ron.

"Ron! Ron!" he growled, not shouting but with a blood-chilling rage. "Does Ron by chance kiss you like this?"

And he kissed her furiously, holding her with force, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. "Does Ron make you feel like this?" he hissed, his lips against her neck, making her shudder violently. "Answer me!"

He grabbed the collar of her nightgown and ripped it from her, tearing it almost in two. Hermione was in a state beyond words. She knew what she had exposed herself to when she offered herself to him, but she didn't have it in her to be sorry. She simply accepted her fate at his hands, at his lips, wanted him to sink his teeth into her flesh, run his fingers across her skin, mark her with his mouth, for his desire to consume her. She was scarcely conscious that his kisses and caresses were drawing groans from her throat, and she heard his voice as from a distance, asking her if Ron was able to produce these sensations in her, if he had ever made love to her like this. Ridiculous, no one else could make love to me like this.

"Tell me, Hermione, has he ever touched you like this?" he asked, lowering his voice, stroking her with his words while he drew her knickers off, then returning to run his hand up the inside of her leg. Completely surrendered to his will, she parted her legs gently to permit him access, and his fingers touched her just where she needed to be touched. He was not surprised by her wetness, but feeling it between his fingers, the evidence of her desire for him, made him lose control completely. He wanted to frighten her, to make her run away from him, but he realized that he couldn't, that he would not be able to let her go now, even if she asked him to.

"Tell me, Hermione, if he's ever made you feel this," he said, at the instant that he pulled his own pajama bottoms down and penetrated her mercilessly.

She arched up to receive him and gasped, stunned by the force with which he possessed her. From somewhere deep within her she found the strength to articulate the words that escaped her lips, and she cried,

"No! It could never be like this with him!"

Severus caught his breath, shocked by the intensity in her voice, and had to hold himself back to contain the orgasm that threatened to release itself too soon. He had dreamed for so long of having her like this, and it had been so long, so long since he had been with a woman . . .

He kissed her again, and made love to her as he had always imagined he would.