Five

I want to thank you all for the amazing and supportive comments you've given to this fic. Again, special thanks to stgulik, the world's best editor/beta. I do not own these characters, and I make no money from this or any other work of fanfiction.

Shortly after lunch, an approaching summer storm began bruising the sky with dense purple clouds. By tea time, they were layered over the castle like blankets, heavy and stifling. The air turned stultifying and still; the metallic taste of it lay heavy on the tongue. It was so eerily quiet, not even the Whomping Willow moved. The world held its breath, waiting.

By eventide, the first skirmishes of hot and cold air rumbled like approaching cannon from the west. The wind picked up, swirling into dust devils as tall as the Astronomy Tower. Hermione and the ghosts quickly roamed up and down the corridors, battening down hatches and seeing that everyone in the castle was accounted for and safe. The temperature dropped twenty degrees, and there was nothing to do but let it happen. Hermione hated it.

Thunderstorms reminded her too much of the sounds of the final battle.

The first huge drops of rain caught her as she started across the main courtyard toward her study. With a heart-stopping crash of thunder, the skies opened, and even at a dead run Hermione was soon soaked to the skin before she even had the chance to cast a water-repelling charm.

Severus actually laughed at her bedraggled state as she squelched into the library, while Hermione applied a drying charm and tried not to flinch with each boom of thunder. Catching her expression, Severus sobered, and called for Toidle, who appeared with an accompanying bolt of lightning.

"Headmaster is wanting something?"

"Yes, Toidle. Take the Headmistress to her chambers and build a warm fire in the parlour. She'll be more comfortable there."

"But Severus..."

"The noise doesn't carry so much in there, and I will still be here in the morning when the storm is over," he said firmly. "It will be pointless to try and carry on with you jumping out of your skin at every thunderclap."

Hermione looked from the elf to the mirror. "Fair enough, but I see no reason it should interrupt our research. Toidle, I'll take myself to my chambers. Take Professor Snape to my parlour. And please be careful."

Toidle gave her a look that could almost be taken as loving. "Yes, Headmistress Gee." With a POP! he and the mirror were gone.

Severus was correct; it was quieter in her chambers. As she bustled about, changing into warm, dry clothes and wringing the last droplets from her hair, Hermione thought of the wizard in her parlour, sitting in the reflected chair by the fireplace. A pleasant fantasy spun in her head: she would walk into the room, and he would rise from the chair and offer her a glass of brandy. Perhaps he would join her on the sofa, and they could talk about the storm, and what they would do tomorrow once the harsh weather had passed. They could walk the grounds together, surveying any damage the storm might have caused. As the thunder rolled overhead, perhaps his large hand would cover hers reassuringly ...

Hermione shook her head to clear it. For some strange reason, she suddenly felt ashamed. She quickly joined Severus in the parlour. "How about...oh, I see Toidle has already beat me to it!" she said, indicating the brandy glass in his hand.

Severus rose to his feet as she crossed to the sofa. "Indeed. Toidle was always one to show concern over my creature comforts back in the day."

"You were well liked by many here. Even when they weren't supposed to."

He made a strange dismissive gesture as he resumed his seat. "Part of me hated it. It made my job harder. How can you be the enemy when the gargoyles and the house-elves are hanging on to your every word and stroking you like you're their favourite pet?"

Hermione smiled. "Still, it must have given you some comfort knowing the castle was on your side."

He regarded her solemnly. "I didn't want to look at it that way, Hermione. It was too hard, trying to hold everything together. I was so afraid all of the time. I had to keep everyone at a safe enough distance so the cracks wouldn't show." He looked away. "That way, I didn't have to take responsibility for the hideous things I had to do in order to keep my cover." He stared into the fire. "It was surprisingly easy to become the most hated wizard in Britain."

When he did not continue, Hermione put her glass down, and moved closer. "You aren't hated anymore by anyone, Severus. Let it go. Be the wizard you want to be. Good or bad, nice or not, you can do it on your own terms now, without any fear of anything."

He shot her a nervous look. "I don't know how to do that."

"You will," she said firmly, believing it. "You will when you are free. And if you truly don't wish to be the next Head of Hogwarts, so be it. The book can't trap you here like this damn mirror. You can do whatever you want."

The crackling fire was the only sound in the room for perhaps the space of ten heartbeats. Severus put down his glass. "And what if all I want is you?"

~o0o~

Hermione's hands were shaking as she positioned the mirror to face her bed. She lay down and pulled it close, until it was as if she and Severus were lying together, facing one another on the bed. He closed his eyes and a sigh slipped from his lips. "I'd forgotten just how comfortable this bed was." He opened his eyes, and his hand pressed against the mirror. "You look like an angel lying in it."

She placed her hand against his, matching fingertip to fingertip. An ache bloomed in her chest, as heavy and dark as the storm. "I wish I could touch you right now," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I'd give anything to make love to you."

His eyes were so close. They blocked out everything in her vision. "Close your eyes, Hermione." His voice was so sweet. It was as if she could feel the rush of it as he spoke.

"I don't want to stop looking at you."

"Do this for me, Hermione," he insisted, his voice low and throbbing with desire. "Close your eyes ... close your eyes, and dream ..."

Obediently, her eyes fluttered closed, and there was a soft, gentle whisper of air against her face. "Hermione," he purred, and she could feel his voice, the soft tap of consonants, the puff of vowels, the caress of his fingers against her skin ...

Hermione opened her eyes, and he was there, his hand amazingly warm on her cheek. "Is this a dream?"

"If it's a dream, it's my dream too," he replied, his voice so entrancing she moaned with desire. "I want you, Hermione Granger. I have since the moment I recognised you, all grown up and so beautiful. I am aching to touch you."

She was drowning in his eyes, his voice, the heat of him. "Severus, I want this more than anything..."

"Shhh," he soothed, and moved close, until their bodies were touching. "Then let's not waste a moment of it. Kiss me."

His lips were soft, and Hermione stopped trying to think, stopped trying to understand, and gave into the sweet suffocation of his kisses. He moaned into her mouth, and she pulled him closer, to drink from him, her hands sliding into his silky hair. In the way of dreams, they were suddenly naked, and he was sparsely beautiful, like an icon. Pale, smooth skin, black hair, caramel nipples, long wiry limbs. She stroked his chest, down, down, carding her fingers through the line of black hair pointing to his hard cock. He moaned rapturously, and pulled her to him, their bodies twining, their mouths fused hungrily.

He pressed her into the bed, pining her under his weight, and she mewled helplessly. It had been so long since she had been with a man, and she drank in the sight of him, breathed in his scent, willed him to melt into her, to feel his heat and hard planes and soft skin. His hands stroked her skin with greedy urgency, and as his mouth closed around one tight and aching nipple, his dexterous fingers plied the other until she was writhing against him, needy and desperate for his touch.

Even as what was left of her rational mind tried to reason with her that this was not real, her body hummed, riding this sensual, languid tide of desire, floating with him like leaves in a summer stream. He stilled, and looked down into her face with such wonder and longing her vision swam with tears. She tried to turn in his arms, to give him back some tiny piece of the pleasure he was giving her so selflessly, but he was too strong, and his intentions too focused.

He parted her thighs, and eased down between them, gifting her with the tenderest of kisses. "Please, more," she whispered helplessly, impatient and terrified this incredible dream would end before he did.

"My love," he whispered hoarsely, and opened her with his lips, his tongue. His moan of hunger parted her, swelling her core with desire, teasing her until she was helpless, his for the taking. She came immediately, her entire body pulsing in time with her pounding heart.

He lifted his head to watch her climax, his face flushed, his lips glossy and red, and Hermione rose from the bed to capture his mouth with hers. He kissed her without finesse or tricks, only hungry, intoxicating desire, as if he could find every release within her body. His arms snapped around her, until she could barely breathe. "Please, now, Severus," she gasped between his drugging, overwhelming kisses. She reached between them, and when her fingers closed around what she sought, he trembled like a boy. He was impossibly hot, and so hard it did not seem possible that he was made of only flesh and blood.

"Oh, gods," he moaned. "Touch me. Please, touch me." Hermione stroked the hard, desperate length of him, and he shivered with pleasure at each caress. As her hand slid between his legs, caressing his sac, his perineum, he closed his eyes, a look of agonised pleasure on his face. "I want you now, Hermione. Please let me take you now."

"Yes," she moaned, opening her thighs, guiding him to where she needed him most. He loomed over her, allowing his cock to tease her primed and drenched core. His face was the very picture of ecstasy. Eyes closed, mouth parted, his silky brows turned inward. Without warning or indication, he sank into her, and they cried out at the sweet pain of her body stretching and encasing him. Hermione's legs slid around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he ground out her name as he took his first slow, generous plunge into her.

Even as his body shuddered at the effort to be gentle, it was still almost too much. He crooned sweetly in her ear as his hips slid against hers in that timeless erotic dance. She could tell he wanted to give into his passion and take her, and that was all that mattered. He wanted her, here, now. "Do whatever you want with me," she gasped, kissing the slender column of scarred flesh at his throat. "I'm yours now. Do whatever you want with me, Severus. Tell me, show me ..."

Even as she spoke, his body shifted, and the control that had allowed him to ease his cock in and out of her with such slow, deliberate skill eroded and crumbled away. He rose onto his forearms, pumping into her faster and faster, until his thrusts were wild and unleashed. Soon he was fucking her, hard and fast, his voice a low growl of dizzyingly intense, masculine lust. It hurt and it was beautiful, and even as his hips crashed against hers, she felt her body tightening, preparing for flight, ready to burst apart with his.

Suddenly a deep growl rose from his chest, and he cried out her name, as his body froze in extremis. His cry of release was a wild, sweet animal sound. It sang in her bloodstream along with her own joyfully pounding heart, and she let go. Her orgasm was swift and overwhelming. It went on and on as he rode her, his thrusts spear-like and relentless. All she could do was hold on, pinned to him by his hard, male body, the curses uttered harshly in her ear, the crushing arms that both hurt and cradled her. Gradually, his grip softened by inches, to a caress that made her want to weep. As their breathing gradually slowed, Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at him.

He was still panting, his face glistening with sweat, his lovely eyes unfocused and glassy. "Hermione," he breathed, covering her face with frantic, desperate kisses. "Hermione."

She tried to answer him, but sleep was overtaking her consciousness like a drug. She was fading, her eyes too heavy, her body too spent. "No," he moaned, pulling her closer, as if his embrace could keep them together. "Not yet, please ... Hermione, hold me, stay with me, touch me ..."

Her eyes flew open, and she looked into the mirror. Severus was there, still asleep. Tears slid from his closed eyes. "Touch me," he whispered.

The yearning in those two words crushed her, and her own tears began to fall.

~o0o~

"Albus is driving me mad," Hermione announced as she entered the room. Her arms were laden with parchments that had arrived earlier from the Wizarding Library in Alexandria. "Gods, I hate it when he tries to be coy. You were right, Severus. Gryffindors are pants at being cryptic. Ambiguity is the true reserve of Slytherin."

He smirked. "It's practically our raison d'etre," he said. He looked at the tower of documents with something like bewilderment. "What is our illustrious predecessor on about now?"

"He keeps saying that I need to dig. If he'd tell me where to dig and what I was digging for, I might be a little more inclined to listen. I swear he grows more barmy by the year." She gave him her patented Reproachful Head Tilt. It worked wonderfully on younger students. "He keeps telling me I already know the answer."

"I think he says that sort of rubbish when he wants everyone to think he knows more than he does," Severus grumbled, picking up a scroll and untying the ribbon that secured it.

"I agree. And I don't have time to chase his riddles. I'm not eleven," she replied, grabbing another scroll. She tugged at the bow impatiently, knotting it in the process. "I got everything they had on mirror magic, but we can only keep these parchments for three days before they have to go back to Alexandria."

"I must confess, I do like the sound of that."

Hermione looked up, and to her surprise Severus was smiling at her. "Like the sound of what?"

He ducked his head, and his cheeks coloured. "We. I like being part of this." His eyes met hers. "I've never really been part of a couple before, but I confess it pleases me. To be part of you."

Hermione blushed. They had been sleeping together since the night of the storm, and even though they did not actually touch, it was lovely to feel his presence in the room, to wake up and see him lying beside her, his severe face gentled in sleep. Hermione did not question what power it took to bring them together in her dreams; she merely took it for the gift it was.

Fueled by passion and tenderness, they sometimes made love until oblivion overtook them with the rising sun. It did not happen every night; sometimes they were only able to connect for a few fleeting moments. Sometimes they could not come together at all, no matter how they tried. But on those occasions when the magic happened, Severus could not get enough of her touch, and they held onto one another in wordless, desperate bliss. Every moment they could touch, every second they were apart from one another; they all increased Hermione's resolve to find a way to end their separation once and for all.

Hermione paused over the scroll. "We do make a good team, don't we?" His level nod served to answer. Smiling to herself, Hermione shifted her attentions back to the satin ribbon, and the knot running laps around the scroll. "I think once we get started we can make a good dent in all this reading if ... oh, for Merlin's sake!"

With a huff of frustration, she picked up a letter opener and jabbed at the pernicious knot. As she struggled to cut through the ribbon, the knife slipped and gouged into her hand. "Damn!" she cried, quickly moving away from the delicate scrolls. She caught her foot on a chair, and stumbled backward, banging her hand against the mirror with another juicy curse.

"Bloody hell, what a mess!" she hissed, looking down at her bleeding hand. It was shallow cut, but long. After grabbing her wand and quickly healing the wound with a hastily-muttered spell, she grumbled, "You'd think after all these years I would remember I'm a witch! Why I didn't just untie the knot with my wand I'll never know! I didn't get any blood on the scroll did I? The Librarian at Alexandria will go mad if I do. She makes Madam Pince look like a pussycat..."

She turned, but Severus wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the small smear of blood left behind where she had struck the mirror, his eyes huge with shock. "Gods," he whispered hoarsely.

Tentatively, he took a swipe at the stain, and the breath left Hermione's body as Severus held up his trembling hand, dappled with her blood.