Two

‘What are you doing?’ Hermione asked impatiently. It seemed like he’d been kneeling there for hours, and she had better things to do than examine the top of Snape’s head all evening. Gods, but his hair was still a greasy mess—although there wasn’t a streak of grey in that stringy mop, she’d give him that. ‘Can you hurry up. Please?’

Without warning, Snape lifted the hem of Hermione’s robe, surreptitiously fingering the heavy woollen fabric, and laid it gently over her knees. He swallowed hard and rasped, ‘You have the most delectably perfect arches I’ve ever seen, Miss Granger.’

*

And they were, too. Perfect. Just… perfect. As were the toes, the ankles… everything. He hungrily took note of every ridge and dimple of the unblemished skin, traced the networks of veins with his eyes, assessing the overall proportions of each foot. Beautiful. Just as he’d imagined.

She was talking again, but Severus was oblivious, lost in his own little world. He licked his lips unconsciously, already hard in anticipation of actually touching… Savouring… A minute more…

A sharp tap on the shoulder broke the spell. He glanced up only to lock eyes with one very exasperated, cross-looking witch.

*

Severus supposed he owed her some sort of explanation. ‘Has it never occurred to you that, in a society where women are clad in mediaeval robes, the glimpse of a well-turned ankle has a certain… appeal?’

Hermione snorted. ‘How terribly… Victorian. Besides,’ she added, ‘you live amongst Muggles. Just Apparate to Manchester on a Friday night. You’ll see enough flesh there to make your eyes bleed.’

‘Not the same,’ Severus replied, scowling. ‘Now, please. Allow me this. Think of it as an act of atonement, if you must.’

‘Get on with it, then. But I’m warning you: I’m very ticklish.’

*

Hermione flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. On her quest for the location of the earliest known copy of the Abramelin Grimoire, she’d met with all sorts of opposition, been led down several blind alleys and had some rather unsavoury wizards take advantage of her desperation. Enduring Snape washing her feet with a flannel was pretty tame in comparison, peculiar though it was. This was hopefully the final hurdle. Pervy old wizards and the wizarding world would soon be a distant memory. Once she’d gained access to the portal, she’d be free from all of it.

*

The heady scent of something decadent laced with a dash of sin filled the air. Severus smirked as Hermione inhaled deeply, visibly relaxing into the coverlet.

She sighed. ‘Is this where you try to ensnare my senses?’

Chuckling, Severus began drying her feet, paying particular attention to the skin between each individual toe. ‘Only some scented oils. You are far too tense.’ To prove his point, he scratched a nail along the underside of her foot.

Hermione fisted her hands into the bedclothes as she jerked reflexively. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Relax,’ Severus chided. ‘You never know: you might even enjoy it.’

*

Somehow, Hermione doubted it, but she tried her best not to tense up as dextrous fingers began wiggling toes, articulating each joint, massaging arches: first the left then the right. Whether he’d hit some special pressure point or pinched a nerve, she didn’t know, but the sensitivity was ebbing away…

How curious… Her mind battled with the conundrum and decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Simultaneously, her fingers relaxed their death grip on the quilt. Actually, it was sort of… nice.

The muted sighs from her tormentor and the slight tickling sensation between her toes seemed very far away indeed.

*

Good. It was working. As Hermione’s breathing evened, Severus made the first pass with the ribbon, tucking it carefully around the big toe. Once secured, he let the charm take over.

The ribbon wove its way through the toes, criss-crossing the instep and wrapping around the ankle like a ballet slipper. At that point, Severus halted the charm, looking up anxiously as a long sigh escaped the witch on his bed. But to his relief, Hermione quickly settled back into her comfortable stupor without opening her eyes.

‘Now, Miss Granger’, he urged softly. ‘Hermione… Turn over for me. Please.’

*