Seven

"There you are, dear." Professor McGonagall enfolded Hermione into an embrace that smelled of talcum powder and whisky. "We were worried."

"Mf, Professor Snape took very good care of me," Hermione replied, struggling (politely) to free herself.

"I'm sure he did, but oh, to be stranded with him on the other side of the world for a week... you must know, dear, his bark... worse than his bite, but still, I'm sorry – you should have come to me, I would have been able to help you."

"I... you're busy," Hermione wound up lamely.

I tried to... why didn't you say anything when I turned the pumpkin juice into snakes?

"I admit, when you Transfigured your pumpkin juice that morning, I was concerned... I apologize," McGonagall said again. "Had I known, I would never have sent Severus to help you. I thought you were..."

Showing off? Hermione thought bitterly.

"Erm, practicing for your practical NEWT."

Showing off.

"But that's all sorted now, and you won't have to leave Hogwarts until you're ready."

"But Professor, I think... I think that I won't be staying at Hogwarts much longer past my NEWTs."

"Why on earth not? I was hoping... well, Filius was hoping, dear, that you would be interested in taking on an apprenticeship. That way, you can stay here!" Professor McGonagall beamed at her.

"Oh, Professor, I'd love to... but really, I can't stay. This isn't my home."

"What on earth do you mean, child? Hogwarts is your home, as it was mine, and I sincerely hope that we've made you feel welcome."

"It's not that I don't feel welcome, Professor... It's just that I don't belong here."

"Oh? And where do you belong?"

Hermione frowned. "Professor Snape says that it's impossible, but, I think I belong where..." Before Hermione could finish, the door burst open and Snape billowed into the staff room.

Back to where we were before, I see.

"Minerva, there you are. Now that you have finished welcoming Granger back to your fold, I would suggest we begin our meeting?"

"Of course, Severus," Professor McGonagall replied. "Hermione, dear, why don't you come by the office later for a nice cup of tea, and we'll discuss this."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said. Turning to Snape, "Thank you, sir, for your assistance this week."

"Granger. It was necessary."

Hermione hurried from the room.

Necessary indeed. So why did he hold me so gently when we Portkey'd together?

---

The week seemed to fly. Hermione taught the first years with no more incidents and, having convinced Flitwick to allow her to deduct points, fewer disruptions.

She could feel, however, her magic wavering as the week progressed.

"It will be that way," Snape informed her. She had taken to seeking him out in the evenings before curfew, in what she though of as his nook. There, she would question him – demand answers. And he would give them.

Their arguments were spirited: she would challenge him, he would respond, cutting down her assumptions with biting sarcasm

But she began to notice that his sarcasm was less cutting and more amusing. And the anger she felt, the frustration of not being able to discover the answers to all of her problems in books and the reliance she had had to place on him, began to fade.

"How did you find the house?"

"Like you, I learned to concentrate. To focus on my magic and its origins."

"It still sounds unlike you. You're always..."

"Angry? Only at stupidity. And blindness."

"How did you..."

"I learned to focus my rage. And learned to regret impulsiveness before I decided to Apparate five thousand miles. "

"Yes, well..."

He seemed to relent. "We all make unwise decisions," he said.

"And sometimes," Hermione said slowly, "we survive them well enough to learn from them."

"Sometimes," he agreed.

---

On Friday afternoon, Hermione was bursting with excitement. She would have an entire weekend to spend with him. An entire weekend to talk, to drink his wine, to eat with him, to argue with him, to enjoy his presence, his silence.

Granger, her conscience warned her, be careful. Smitten with your Professor is about the last thing you need.

Hermione wrapped her Muggle jacket around her and told her conscience to shut up!

"Are you ready?" she asked Snape as he met her at the gates to the school.

"Patience," Snape responded, "is still, I see, not a Gryffindor trait."

Had he said that a week ago, she would have flushed uncomfortably at his words. Now, however, she smiled cheekily and was flattered to see him smile briefly.

"Let's go," she said.

Snape looked at her for a long moment, and Hermione wished that she had even the slightest talent at Legilimency. His silence seemed to be the silence of a man making a decision against his better sense.

"Hold on," he finally said, pulling her towards him.

Once again, she felt the tug behind her navel. Once again, it was overshadowed by his presence.

---

A wild storm beat against the house.

Outside, the sea moaned.

Inside, a cheerful fire flickered, casting dancing shadows against the wall.

Hermione was curled up on what she now considered "her" sofa, nose buried in a book as Snape busied himself in the kitchen.

It was perfect, she reflected. It was home.

---

Despite being well fed and enjoying two nice glasses of wine, Hermione lay stiffly on her sofa, unable to sleep.

"This is my place," she whispered to herself. "So why can I not relax?"

You know why, Granger.

"But it's Professor Snape!"

There's an attraction there: he's clever, brave, an excellent cook.

"He thinks of me as a child!"

You could try showing him you're not.

Hermione lay speechless, shocked at the thoughts that wandered across her brain.

Morning found her sleepless and worried.

I cannot be fancying Professor Snape!

---

"We need to talk," Snape announced later that morning over tea.

"It sounds like you're breaking up with me," Hermione quipped.

Snape glared. "We have a serious problem," he said. "Are you aware of the consequences of the fact that you, apparently, have an affinity for the same location from which I draw my own magic?"

"No."

"I thought not. For all your reading, you have no powers of observation, do you, Granger?"

Hermione scowled at him. "So," she said, "what is it, then, that is so important that I have missed?"

"Granger, did it not occur to you that there is a reason why Narcissa Black left London, the home of the Black family, to become Narcissa Malfoy? Why Arthur Weasley loves the Burrow as much as he does? To the extent that he will not leave it for extended periods of time?"

"No... didn't they...weren't they always..."

"No, Granger. They discovered an affinity for certain places, a desire to draw their magic from the place where their soul mate drew his or her magic."

Hermione's brain latched onto "soul mate."

"But they're married to Lucius Malfoy and Molly Weasley!" she protested.

"And why do you think that is? Yes, they are both examples of couples deeply in love, but what do you think keeps them tied to Wiltshire and Ottery St Catchpole?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"Do you mean... that you... and I..."

"It is a force," Snape said, leaning across the table and grabbing her hand. "It draws the couple together, does not let them go. It creates a bond that cannot be broken. It is said that when they are joined, there is absolute peace, absolute contentment, and absolute joy."

"Joined," Hermione echoed. "As in... physically?" She could feel a flush rising on her cheeks. Somewhere, deep within her, she felt an unfurling of desire.

"It's impossible," Snape said definitively, releasing her hand. "It has to be. I don't... Granger, it's... It's not possible. It was a mistake to bring this up."

He pushed away from the table, leaving Hermione to sit in shocked silence.

---

He was blushing, you saw it. He likes you! It's not your imagination that he holds you closer than he should when you travel. That he saved you, that he cared for you so well.

Hermione scowled at her rapidly cooling cup of tea. It was all so preposterous.

He saved you, saved your magic. And now he wants to...

Hermione stood rapidly, trying to push the thought out of his mind.

"Severus," she said, trying the name on her tongue. "Severus."

It didn't sound bad.

There you go, Granger. Now try calling him by his name.

---

She found him on the deck, glaring at the heaving ocean.

"Severus," she said tentatively.

"Granger."

"Try Hermione. I don't... I don't know why I'm drawn here, Severus."

"Well, there's a reason for it, and if I am being honest, Hermione, I do not... object."

"Object to what?" Hermione demanded.

"Object to sharing this place with you."

"Severus..." Hermione held out her hand. "I don't know where this is going, but I do believe that we're to tread this path together."

Snape took her hand.

"I am not accustomed to flirtation, Gr- Hermione."

"Good," Hermione said, pulling him towards her with a grin. "I would rather dispense with flirtation entirely."

"Have you ever...?" Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Have I what?"

"Are you... experienced?"

"Oh, that. Well," Hermione, still holding his hand, moved to the sliding glass door, "why don't I show you?"

"Granger, I cannot pretend that..." Snape protested.

"Perhaps we should just start where we are," Hermione countered, pulling him into the living room, "and go from there."

---

Snape hesitated at the door of his bedroom.

Courage, Granger, Hermione told herself.

"Come on," she said. "If you're right – and this is meant to be, it'll be like falling off of a log."

"I don't need metaphors, Granger."

At which point, it hit Hermione like a thunderclap.

"You're nervous!" she blurted.

---

Hermione realized that she had never been upstairs in the house.

Snape's bedroom was tucked under the peak of the roof and contained a view that was even more spectacular than the one downstairs. Hermione drifted to the window. Before her stretched the Pacific Ocean, immense in its vastness. She knew that somewhere, thousands of miles away, was the northern tip of the Japanese archipelago and the Chinese mainland, but as Snape's hand fell upon her shoulder, all thoughts of world geography vanished.

"I will ask you again," he murmured in her ear, "is this an experience that will be... novel for you?"

Hermione suppressed the urge to laugh as she turned around.

"I promise you, Severus," she whispered, "I am more than ready. Are you?"

"Miss Granger – Hermione," he replied softly, "I can assure you, I am."

And he brought his lips to hers.

Later on, Hermione would admit that she had wondered what it would be like to kiss Severus Snape. Perhaps it had begun when she'd first actually heard one of his lectures – the Defense lecture when Lupin had been incapacitated – that she realized that she'd fancied him. Not as a woman, not then, but in that scary, adolescent way. That frightening adolescent attraction that had kept her awake at nights, thinking of him while Lavender and Parvati snored peacefully.

When Snape flicked his tongue across her lips, encouraging them to part, all thoughts of herself as a gawky, bushy-haired girl vanished. She opened her mouth, allowing him entrance, gliding her tongue across his.

He moaned.

Suddenly, what had been a tiny spark, a small attraction, became an inferno, blazing to life as she ground against him when he pulled her closer to him.

He was not close enough. He would never be close enough.

"Please," she murmured, breaking the kiss.

"Bed," he replied, his voice gravelly with desire.

Their flight to the bed was anything but dignified – Hermione managed to undo his belt buckle and top button and was struggling with his zip, as best she could with Snape practically glued to her lips.

His hands seemed to be everywhere, pulling at her jumper (a Molly Weasley present), caressing her breasts through the fabric, tugging at her jeans, wrapping themselves in her hair. It was awkward. It was heaven.

They collapsed on the bed together in a tangle of limbs and half-discarded clothing.

"This is ridiculous," Snape said, rolling away from her and grappling with his trousers as Hermione shucked off her jeans and tugged her jumper over her head. T-shirt and bra quickly followed, so that she was clad only in her knickers when Snape turned, finally having managed to discard his trousers and shirt.

A wave of uncertainty overwhelmed her: an awkward eighteen year old, too skinny from a year of deprivation, with out of control hair. She was painfully aware of her breasts, her thighs, the scarring on her torso from the hex at the Battle of the Ministry, all those things that she knew weren't right – too big, too small, not high enough, not tight enough, shiny and puckered. She looked down at the bedspread, aware that she'd neglected to shave her legs above her knees, aware she'd forgotten to perform the bikini waxing charm she'd perfected when she and Ron had started to...

"Beautiful," she heard Snape murmur as she looked up. He was clad only in his shorts (black, she noticed), which barely contained the bulge within. Above the waistband was a trail of black hair, and above that a chest that was much too thin – wiry would be a kind description. His neck was scarred, and Hermione knew the desire to place her lips upon it, as if her touch could bestow healing magic.

"Oh, Severus," she whispered All doubt and self-consciousness vanished, and she held out her arms to him.

"Hermione," he answered, and he was in her arms, worshipping her body, pressing himself to her as she wrapped her legs around him.

"Please," she cried, bucking up against his erection. "Please."

Snape drew back, and with a tender smile, he caressed his way down her neck, laving her breasts with his tongue, spending an extra moment on her scars.

He's not repulsed!

"I want to," he murmured as he kissed her stomach, the waistband of her knickers, before drawing them down. Hermione resisted the urge to roll away from him.

"No," Snape said, "I want to see." His eyes glittered and she felt a wave of lust as he drew his hands down her hips and to her pelvis, easing her legs apart and pulling the knickers off.

"I want to taste," he murmured. "I want to smell. I want to touch." He dipped his head, and his tongue, so quick to criticize, to maim, to invoke pain, drew across her quim.

Hermione's head dropped back and she moaned. "Oh, yes!"

Snape's answering chuckle sent jolts of desire through her. But it wasn't enough.

"I need you," Hermione gasped raggedly. "I need you."

"And you shall have me," he replied, raising his head.

"Take them off," Hermione ordered, clutching at his shorts as he crawled back up her.

"As you desire," Snape responded, puling them down. Hermione took advantage, grasping his cock with her hand. "Temptress," he growled, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Enough with the flirtation," Hermione gasped, tugging him towards her.

"Hermione," Snape said, holding her gaze. "Once we join, our magics will become..."

"I know," Hermione moaned, "and I want it. I want you."

"You will be mine," Snape growled.

"No," Hermione replied, hooking her legs around his body hips. "You will be mine."

Snape groaned as he sank into her.

"Gods."

"Say it," Hermione gasped as he moved within her. Never had Ron felt like this. Never had she been overwhelmed by desire. "You are mine!"

"Yours."

"Yours," Hermione agreed, tilting her pelvis as he brought his hand between them. "Oh, yes."

Snape chuckled darkly and continued to thrust. Hermione tightened around him as she felt the first signs of her impending climax.

"Severus, I'm..." she gasped, freeing her hands and, pulling him towards her. "Please," she murmured.

Taken aback by her sudden movement, Snape slid into her, filling her as she ground against his pelvis.

"Severus." His name was a moan as she came.

"Hermione, you're going to make... Fuck!" Snape swore explosively as his climax overwhelmed him and he collapsed onto his elbows above her. "Hermione," he whispered, bringing a hand to her face, pushing aside her tangled hair.

"Well," Hermione said, "that was something."

Snape's answering chuckle tugged at her heart.

---

If Snape's bedroom was breathtaking, his bathroom was magnificent. The view still encompassed the ocean, the broad beach, the gulls wheeling in the sky, clouds scudding above them, but indoors, there was a beautiful bathtub, large enough for two to recline more than comfortably in, complete with a broad shelf, perfect for placing books.

"Oh, my..." Hermione said dreamily, dropping her borrowed robe.

"Oh yes," Snape agreed, pressing up against her. "It's one of the nicer features of this place," he murmured in her ear.

---

Hermione stretched in the tub, leaning against his chest as he licked and nibbled her neck. His hands were busy with her breasts. Hermione frowned – as lovely as it was, something was wrong. All her impulsiveness, her decision to open herself up to Snape, of all people, was troubling her.

"This is heavenly," she murmured.

"Agreed."

"But," she said, "We have a problem."

"You're noticing this now? Hermione, we just had sex under what amounts to a mystical influence."

"That's just it! I barely know you. But... it doesn't seem to matter. It's all rather annoying." Hermione moved away from him. "I always thought that the man I'd be in love with... oh, God! I'm in love with you!"

"You know more than you think," Snape replied. "I assume you saw what Potter saw that night?"

Hermione paused – as far as she could recall, Snape had never directly referred to the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I did," she replied. "I... didn't know, of course, that now..."

"Yes, there is that. But Hermione, you've known quite a bit about me for a while. You know about my commitment to protecting Potter, about how Albus hung Lily over my head all those years, about how, to protect Draco, I had to..."

"You did what you had to," Hermione finished for him, turning to face him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, sliding her legs around his waist. "And you are the bravest man I've ever met. Braver even than Harry. Look at me, Severus."

Snape raised his eyes to hers.

"I won't pretend," she continued, "that I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you, or the first time I realized that at some level I was attracted to you. But I do want to know you. To discover what you like." She kissed him. "What you dislike." Another kiss. "Why you call your cat Saturn." A third kiss. "If you like football." A fourth. "If you can tolerate my taste in music." A fifth. "If we can be together and I can finish my education, pursue my dreams." A sixth and seventh kiss.

"Hermione," Snape said, "put away the list. Stop making tick marks. Do you trust me?"

"What? Yes, I suppose. I've been trusting you since before..."

"But do you trust me now? This is important."

Hermione looked at him silently for a long moment. Desire throbbed within her.

"Yes."

"Then trust this," he said, sliding so that his hardened cock was positioned just at her entrance. "Trust me that we will work this out." He slid into her. "Trust me," he said, "that our bond is strong." He moved within her and she cried out. "Trust me," he said, "that you and I are one."

Hermione clung to him, tumbling over the cliff into joy.

---

It wasn't perfect at first – neither of them truly expected it to be.

Hermione consistently left her socks in the living room.

Crookshanks and Saturn did not get along well at first.

Snape was not, as it turned out, a morning person.

Hermione was.

Ron swore up and down that she had been cursed and said several quite nasty things behind her back and to her face before Hermione hexed him rather badly.

Harry said nothing for two months, until finally he interrupted the written portion Hermione's Charms NEWT to enfold her in a desperate hug and give her a brief, "Whatever you decide, Hermione, remember, I'm there for you." Professor Flitwick was prostrate.

Professor McGonagall was more voluble, but less traumatized than Ron, Harry and Flitwick. She did, however make several pointed remarks regarding Snape's job security and the position of his bollocks if he so much as made Hermione cry.

But they managed, much to the smug satisfaction of one Vincent Crabbe – who was overheard remarking to Moaning Myrtle that he'd always known the Granger swot had a thing for old Snapey.

Myrtle was quite impressed by his perspicacity and invited him to join her in the prefect's bath any time he chose.

But the less said about that, the better.

---

AN: Not mine, no money. Thank you so much to Subversa, Bluestocking, Dicky, and Annie for all of their wonderful and speedy help with this little story.

And thank you for reading it!