Chapter 4

Severus took a moment to decide how he would respond. Did he dare take a chance? The ghost of the satyr's lips on his ear and her breathy promise – "Your attentions will be truly welcome." – gave him the sliver of hope he needed to make up his mind. On the way to the bathroom, he paused by her bed and took a moment to verify Hermione left her wand under her pillow; he had no desire to face an upset and armed Hermione.

He rapped once on the door to warn her before he entered. Hermione was sitting on the floor before the tub, her head buried in her hands and sobbing brokenly. There's courage and then there's courage, Severus thought before he sat down next to her, setting aside his wand. Tentatively, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She jerked away from the contact and scooted over the few inches she could. Severus pulled his arm back and stayed where he was. He sighed and spoke quietly.

"Granger...Hermione," he corrected himself, "have you ever encountered satyrs in your studies?"

She didn't look up, but nodded her head. Her sobbing had slowed and was punctuated by the occasional hiccup.

"I am surprised you have, even as widely read as you are. As a topic, they are only discussed by those who make an intensive study of not just the dark arts, but dark creatures." Unconsciously, he slipped into his teaching mode, imparting information to a captive audience. He pitched his voice lower and began to speak in a smooth rhythm. "Though they are not properly dark, their influence is so pervasive that they can effectively compel those they influence to act against their normal impulses."

"Like Imperius?" Hermione asked, her sobbing now reduced to sniffles.

"Not quite. Satyrs make those in their influence feel lust. Typically, it's a sexual compulsion for the satyr, sometimes it's for another person – or object if the satyr is maliciously inclined. And, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the satyr is male. Female satyrs are far more successful than their male counterparts, but far more rare. Their influence is insidious and powerful. It is female satyrs who gave rise to the Muggle myth of the succubus; Muggles believed them to be demonic because of their goat legs and horns. Incubi are from male satyrs, who while being far more common were also less powerful than their female counterparts."

"How, how did you banish her?" Hermione asked quietly. Her sniffles were nearly done as information kicked her scholarly impulses to the fore.

Severus smiled, though he knew she could not see it. "Satyrs cannot be banished, Hermione. They leave when they will it, usually when whatever purpose has been fulfilled. A satyr may desire to leave if they cannot incite desire in a subject, but few human beings are capable of deadening their emotions to an extent that will drive one off. Their only constraint is that they must be invited to enter a human or wizard's residence or touch them in any way. Given their nature, that invitation is easily obtained.

"This one left after telling me that she was invited in by you. Hermione, why did you wish for me?"

Hermione finally looked up from her hands. As expected, her eyes were red and her face blotchy and tear streaked. Besides that, her hair had been loosed from its braid and was frizzing wildly about her head. Severus made no comment on her appearance – no one, not even Hermione, was attractive in the wake of such emotion – and waited with uncharacteristic patience.

After what seemed like ages, Hermione responded quietly, "You seemed so angry and snappish at the fountain. I didn't really believe it would work as a wishing well, and really, I didn't think at all. It was, to me, a harmless wish." She laughed bitterly. "I did not expect this."

"No one would," he replied soothingly. Now he slid over on the floor, coming next to her once more. Again, he draped his arm across her shoulders, and this time, she accepted the comfort, snuggling against him and tucking her head against his shoulder. A frisson of rightness shivered through him.

Again, he heard the satyr's words, "Your attentions will be truly welcome." He steeled himself for rejection and stroked the tangled mass of hair twining down Hermione's back and arm. For all its resemblance to brambles, it was feather soft against his fingers.

Quietly, he said, "Your hair is so much softer than I thought it would be."

Hermione moved deeper into his grasp, wrapping her arms around him. He completed the embrace by encircling his other arm around hers. "You thought about it?" she asked.

"For longer than I care to admit," Severus replied.

Hermione twisted in his arms so that she now faced him. "Really?" Her face was still marked by tear tracks and her eyes were still red, but her complexion was returned to its normal creamy tone and her eyes shone with hope, echoed in her voice.

"Yes," he said and, seizing his courage, dipped his head and kissed her for the first time.

It was sweet and soft, and Hermione was pliant in his arms, her mouth moving lazily beneath his. It was a kiss with all the time in the world; there was no hurry to it. He pressed slightly to open her mouth to his tongue, tasting her mouth and the minty echoes of her toothpaste. He let her explore his mouth in return, savoring the moment.

It was Hermione who broke the kiss. She shifted out of his arms and moved on the floor so that she knelt in front of him. "Is this really what you want?" she asked with a small voice. "Or are you just affected by her, by the satyr?"

There was a part of Severus that wanted to silence her doubts with kisses, but he knew that would never work. Not with Hermione. There was another part of him that wanted to obscure the truth reflexively. The small part of him that held out hope that this could be something he'd wanted all his life demanded honesty. And it, somehow, won. "Even when she touched me, I thought of you," he replied.

And Hermione smiled and it was worth the sacrifice. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. This kiss was eager and hopeful and warm. She sucked on his lower lip until he opened to her and her tongue darted in, demanding response. He replied and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer to him.

As their kisses grew more intense, they stroked and touched each other hesitantly at first, then growing more and more bold. Severus grabbed Hermione's hips and pulled her into his lap; Hermione's hands dove into his hair and tugged gently, sending pleasure shooting down his spine. Soon he used his grip on her hips to grind his now hard length against her. She mewled against his mouth and rocked her hips in his lap.

They broke apart panting. "Bed," Hermione said, sliding her fingers out of his hair and stumbling to a standing position. Looking up, he could see her nipples were rock hard and tenting her pajama shirt. Severus rose as shakily behind her, his pajama pants clearly tented by his own arousal.

"Bed," he agreed and holding out his hand for her. She took his hand and half-dragged him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom and onto her bed next to her. Instead of returning to kisses, he reached for her shirt. "Let me see you," he murmured.

Hermione nodded and reached for his own shirt, tugging at the sleeve. "Fair's fair," she replied. "I want to see you too."

He worked quickly on the buttons. As soon as the last one was undone, she shrugged out of the top; he took the time to remove his own shirt, exposing the flat, leanly muscled planes of his own chest. Forever too thin, his ribs were still visible shadows, marked by occasional scars. The largest by far marred his neck. Still, any reluctance to expose himself fled as he finally could touch the skin he'd dreamt about. He did, letting his hands skim along her now bare back, enjoying the silken texture of her skin.

He let his hands slide forward along her ribs. Barely hidden by healthy weight from sight, they were present to his questing fingers. He let his hands finally touch the underside of those full breasts that had been tempting him. Their nipples were hard, and he savored their pebbly feel as he fondled her.

As he explored her chest and torso, Hermione's hands explored him in turn. Her palms crested along his ribs, dipped low to his hips, caressed his back and traced his scars. He slid lower on the bed and began to lavish kisses on the nearer breast, letting his fingers caress and tease its mate. Hermione's breathy cries encouraged him, and he drew the taut nipple in his mouth, suckling gently before nipping the hard flesh and kissing it better. He was rewarded with Hermione's hands in his hair and continued his assault.

Gently, he shifted Hermione onto her back and continued to tease her perfect breasts: one hand kneading the firm flesh and tweaking the hardened nub, the other stretching down to the waist of her pajama pants, and his mouth busy on her nipple. Letting her continued mewling banish his doubts, Severus slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her pajama pants and reached for the juncture between her legs. He found the damp thatch and slipped a single long finger inside.

Hermione arced up from the bed with a loud moan. Letting himself smile, he removed his hands and mouth from Hermione's body and reached for her pants. She lifted her hips high and reached for the knot to help Severus remove the barrier. The blue pants were unceremoniously tossed in a corner, and Hermione returned to the bed, her legs splayed open. In the dim light, she looked at Severus and said quietly, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Severus slid back down next to her, his hand caressing her ribs. "Why do you ask?"

She turned to face him and said, "If you do this, I won't let you walk away. I won't let you tell yourself that this was a mistake and it was just the influence of that damnable satyr or..."

Severus did the expedient thing: he kissed her, trying to put all of his longing and frustration into that act. When they separated, breathless and panting, he replied, "I want this. I want you. For as long as I can have you."

Hermione smiled and reached for Severus, pulling his lanky frame back over her. Severus returned to his ministrations, slipping his long fingers into the trimmed thatch of dark curls to tease her clit. Almost involuntarily, her hand reached to correct his. Severus whispered in her ear, "Show me. Show me how to please you."

Hermione's smaller hand guided his in her preferred motions, the strokes she knew would please her best. Severus was a quick learner and soon his deft fingers were stroking her clit just so, and Hermione's hands moved to grab her breasts, to tease her nipples to add just that last bit of sensation to send her over the edge.

It wasn't enough, Severus though. He had to be in her, now. Quickly, he stripped off his own pajama pants, tossing them next to her discarded pair, and moved between her legs while she was still panting and coming down off of her orgasm. He lifted her legs and swiftly buried himself inside her.

It was everything he thought it would be and more. She was soft and wet, hot and tight. He paused for a moment, looking down at Hermione. She smiled and reached up to hold him, rocking her hips to encourage him. It was all he needed. He began to thrust, slowly at first. Hermione growled beneath him and wrapped her legs around his hip and used the leverage to thrust against him faster.

Severus complied. He shifted the angle of his body to thrust deeper and harder to please them both and let go of restraint.

"Oh, yes!" Hermione cried, her nails digging into his back. "Just like that!"

Severus thrust harder, sweat soaking his hair, reaching gladly for his own orgasm. It came all too soon as Hermione keened and her tight depths grabbed him and pushed him over the edge. He came with a rough wordless scream.

He collapsed back on the bed next to Hermione, who smiled at him. He smiled in return and kissed her softly. She curled next to him, embracing him. He returned the embrace, kissing the top of her head.

"Thank you, Severus," she said sleepily.

Amused, he replied, "You're welcome, my dear. Are you going to sleep?"

"Uh huh. It's been a long night."

Severus couldn't help it. He laughed and settled into her bed. If she was going to sleep, he might as well too.