Burgeoning Intimacies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o 26 o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Burgeoning Intimacies

~H~

Hermione had curled up in a ball and cried in the shower, letting the water carry away her tears. She had no idea why the death of an unseen and unknown wizard had affected her so deeply when she’d fought in a war only months before, but it had. It also mattered that she’d killed him, unintentionally. All she’d done was make a quick flick of her wand that sent a jet of light in the direction she’d wanted, and then she’d turned to duck as the wall she’d aimed for had exploded, just as she’d expected it to. She’d done the same during the battles at Hogwarts, first in her sixth year and again when she’d followed Harry back to the castle to face Voldemort. Flick her wrist while saying the incantation, duck, turn, and run without a backward glance. The pulse of her spell had flown through her, down her arm and out of her wand tip. Then she’d ducked and turned so as not to be hit. Repeat. And repeat again, just as her war-honed instincts directed her. She had never given it any thought before. Never had stopped to think how many people had died by her wand.

When Ginny had knocked on the door asking if she was all right, Hermione had pulled herself together enough to answer, yes. She was fine. Be out in a minute. She’d dressed and had managed to eat a few bites of toast for breakfast. Ginny had tried to get her to stay in the house, but Hermione needed to be busy, to focus on anything else other than the wizard she’d killed. The countless unknown others she didn’t know about. Harry had understood. He had laid a hand on her back, his eyes looking at her knowingly.

Still, he’d insisted on escorting Hermione to work in the morning. There had been two Aurors sitting at the café across from the shop for most of the day, but other than that, her day had seemed rather normal.

Hermione had buried herself in making as many of the shop’s products as she and George could, up in his sitting room. Ron had been sulking in the back room downstairs for most of the morning, but by noon, he’d at least started acting like his old self. Harry showed up with fish and chips at lunch, and he’d hung out with Ron in the shop afterwards for a few hours. Before he’d left, Harry came back up to the flat to tell Hermione he’d see her at the house, asking her again if she was all right. She was fine, putting it behind her and trying to forget. She appreciated his concern, but she was coping with the events of the attack, chalking it up to an extension of the war. That, and Severus was right: it had been down to either them or her, and she had been only defending herself and Severus. As long as she had kept saying that, she’d been able to force herself to believe it.

For Hermione, the day had gone by quickly. Thankfully, George had understood as well, keeping her busy and giving her little time to mull over the events of the previous night. She and George were working well together now, nearly flawlessly, and were able to keep up production to meet the demands of the shop. They were sitting knee to knee, crossed-legged on the floor with a cauldron between them, filling quills with his charmed yellow Glitter and Stars Ink. The Spittle Quills in both primary and secondary colors were a favorite item among young girls, especially the ones in the house colors.

Suddenly, George laid a hand on Hermione’s wrist. “I think we should be stopping for the day,” he insisted, laughing lightly. “It’s late, almost dinnertime. Angie is due any minute, and if she sees you and me like this, she’s is going to think I’m cheating on her.” His eyes sparkled, showing his jovial mood.

Hermione blanched. “Severus! Oh, my, gods – what time is it?”

“It’s after six – I know, time got away from me too,” he said, rising to his feet and offering her a hand up. “Angie was going to come over at five-thirty, but she must be running late, too. You can stick around if you like.”

“No, I can’t! Not tonight!” Hermione rushed down to the shop and quickly scratched out a note to Severus, pleading with him not to be mad at her for losing track of time and begging him to understand. “He’s going to be furious,” she mumbled.

“Just send him a Patronus again,” Ron suggested, walking into the back room with his arms full of owl deliveries.

Just like before, she was so nervous that it took two tries to make her otter form. She infused it with her voice. ‘I’m sorry! We were working, and I lost track of time again. Please don’t be mad at me!’

The otter sped out the door just as Angie arrived. “Hermione! Are you joining us for dinner?” she asked, handing George a large covered dish.

“Nope, hot date tonight,” George teased, giving Angie a kiss on the cheek. “Ron’s staying though. You did make enough, right?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. I wish I could, but I can’t.” She tried to ease by everyone standing in the doorway so she could collect her things and get home in time to meet Severus.

“C’mon,” Angie said, following her toward the back room but stopping at the door. “I have a new idea for the Decoy Detonators I want to bounce off you.”

“I really haven’t time. Maybe tell George, and then he can relay it to me,” she suggested, stacking her books and journals. Severus’ Patronus sailed into the shop, his smooth voice making Hermione hold her breath. ‘Reservations are for seven thirty. I shall pick you up promptly at seven fifteen. Don’t be late.’

Hermione slowly exhaled as the silvery hawk vanished. The message was so calm, softly spoken, brief, and to the point that it didn’t indicate to her if he was angry or not. She decided not to chance discussing anything now and risk being late for their date.

“I was only going to suggest that maybe you could combine the Sparkler Balls to the Detonators, or possibly the Peruvian Darkness Powder,” Angie said as Hermione picked up her purse.

“That’s not bad idea. It would’ve come in really handy last year,” Hermione said.

“Already tried the darkness powder – doesn’t work – counteracts the spells,” George replied.

“Not if we put the powder in a timed-release capsule or a sound activated capsule on the detonator, not actually part of it,” Hermione suggested, her mind already devising the best way to go about the alterations as she slid a journal in her purse.

George grinned at her then turned to Angie. “See why I love her so? What a mind!”

“Nice to know who my competition is,” Angie said, laughing as she took the casserole from him and walked up the stairs to his flat.

“Well, I have to see my daytime girl home,” he shouted up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and indicated that Hermione use the Floo.

“Can’t. I have to pick something up from The Old Candle bookshop,” Hermione said, turning for the door. “Mr. Carmichael sent me a note at lunch that he’d found the book I wanted.”

George escorted Hermione to the bookshop, then walked her to the Apparation site. They Apparated Side-Along to Grimmauld Place, and he waited on the pavement until she was inside the house before Disapparating for home.

Severus checked the time on the mantel in the drawing room. He was on time; she was running late. He hated waiting for women to primp. He smirked at the thundering clomps Hermione made while running down the stairs and scoffed as she came to a halt, then proceeded in a more dignified manner. When she appeared, he was momentarily stunned by her appearance, but quickly recovered. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She greeted him with a nod and walked past him into the foyer. She had braided her hair loosely, from the crown of her head down, with tendrils of curls at her temples, ears, and neck. The fabric of her dress clung enticingly to her body, though the fullness of the skirt swished around her legs. The neckline was low, but not too low, hinting without revealing too much of her cleavage, but a good portion of her back was bare. It was neither blue nor green, but a combination of both. The colors changed as she moved, which enhanced the sway of her hips and emphasized her waist. He wondered where she’d purchased such a dress and shook his head, realizing that it was a Madam Malkin fabric and design. He noticed she was wearing a perfume that smelled of both soft spices and bergamot. He inhaled the scent as he took her arm to Apparate them to their destination.

The small, quaint Italian restaurant was very busy, and the lobby area was already full of customers. When Narcissa had suggested the place, he had known that it was exclusive, although reasonable. She’d assured him that she’d made the reservations for him before he’d left. Severus was glad because between his interrogations with the Death Eater, Steele, and then his meetings with Kingsley and the Aurors, it had escaped his mind.

“Name?” the Maitre d’ asked.

“Severus Snape, party of two,” he said, wondering just how long he’d have to wait. The Chicken Marsala was excellent here, and he didn’t want to have to go somewhere else. The restaurant was famous for its magical frescos, depicting many areas of Italy, its delicious food, and fine wines. He noticed that Hermione was getting a lot of attention, mostly from the men, and he stepped closer to her, placing his hand on the curve of her back. The fabric of her dress was soft and incredibly silky under his fingers, and he resisted running his hand over her.

“Yes, sir, the Positano niche at seven thirty. Right this way,” the Maitre d’ said.

Severus managed to control his surprise and indicated for Hermione to follow the Maitre d’. Several wizards in the place turned their heads as Hermione walked by, but she seemed ignorant of the attention her dress was causing. Their table was in a slight alcove next to a vine-covered pillar with a scenic fresco on the wall of Positano, Italy.

As Hermione sat down and turned to look around, Severus took the opportunity to study her face in the soft illumination of the restaurant. When the waiter came, Severus suggested the Chicken Marsala, which Hermione decided to try, and he asked for the wine Lucius had suggested. Hermione was unnaturally quiet as they waited.

“So what did you do today?” she finally asked.

Severus scowled slightly. “I had appointments for most of the day.”

“With whom, if I may ask?” she asked, sitting primly with her hands in her lap.

“With the Minister. Hermione, I’m not one for small talk,” he said, hoping she’d find another topic. He didn’t want to tell her he’d spent the day with Kingsley and four Aurors trying to track down the third assailant. They’d found two rogue Voldemort sympathizers who had apparently taken the wizard in last night, and another ex-Death Eater, but not the wizard Severus had sliced in the fight.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation,” she said, obviously unhappy with his response. After a long pause, she looked directly at him. “If you won’t open up to me, how am I to get to know you?”

“Open up to you?” he asked, startled by her question. “In what way have I not opened up to you?”

“In every way,” she said as the waiter arrived with their wine. Hermione waited patiently until the waiter walked away. “You’re a closed book. Sure, you tell me bits and pieces, but I have to drag it out of you. You don’t let me in. I don’t know you at all – except as my ex-Professor. When you do talk to me of your past, all you do is drudge up the worst memories. I want to know at least something about you. Why are you so evasive?”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, sitting back, his fingers caressing the stem of his wine glass.

“Everything. Anything. Well, for starters, do you have any relatives? I know your father was a Muggle; what did he do? What was your mother like? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What aspects of school did you like? What do you like? You never talk about yourself, and it’s like pulling teeth to learn what, if anything, we share in common.”

“I could give you a list. I like books. I like reading about all aspects, practices, and disciplines of magic. I like brewing Potions, creating magic with the delicate balance of the ingredients,” he said and stopped. He had no idea what else they shared in common.

“That’s a start I suppose,” she said. “What else do you like? What hobbies do you have?”

His glass froze mid way to his mouth. “Hobbies? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t be like that! Just talk to me,” she said, leaning back slightly to allow the waiter to set down her plate. She picked up her fork. “Haven’t you ever had anyone you were interested in getting to know? Wasn’t there anyone who wanted to get to know you? Don’t you understand the concept?”

He sat staring at her not believing what she was babbling about. “No,” he said, finally. “Most of my friends I met in school or through… other activities. Most accepted me as I am or by my actions, few through my associations – most often because of my associations.”

“What about women?” she asked, obviously hedging again.

He huffed at her statement. “Women. Oh, yes, I’m a babe magnet.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I know you had a close friendship with Harry’s mum, and I’m not prying there, but you must have opened up to her.”

“I was ten,” he replied. He took a bite of his chicken, wanting to savor the delicate flavors of the sauce.

“So, how did you become friends with her?” Hermione asked. She was watching him as she took a bite of her pasta side dish.

“I told her she was a witch,” Severus said, watching as she licked a tiny bit of marinara sauce from the corner of her lips. “We started with that.” He took a bite of his pasta, realizing that Hermione was watching him, waiting for a more complete answer. “We were kids from the same neighborhood – I’m not talking about my relationship with Lily.”

Hermione tilted her head, her forehead creased slightly in thought. “Then tell me three things about your childhood. Three things you remember that were nice.”

He set down his fork. Was she kidding? “There’s not much to tell you then.”

“Severus,” she pleaded.

“You first,” he said, hoping to divert her.

“No! You first,” she insisted. “I don’t see why you can’t come up with any happy memories. Everyone has at least a few happy memories of their childhood.”

His eyes narrowed. You want to bet? “You already know one,” he said a bit too curtly.

Hermione nodded. “The pier. That doesn’t count as one of your three; I already know about that one.”

He shifted in his seat.

Hermione waited.

He did remember one that was benign enough. “My mum made a salve – for cuts and scrapes. The other women used to buy it from her. She would take the money, and we’d walk to the Fish n’ Chippy for lunch…”

Hermione ate a few bites, watching him expectantly.

Severus looked at her and took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “We used to walk back along the river to her favorite tree and eat our lunch in the shade. She would then tell me stories. Okay.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a bite of her dinner. “What stories?”

“She used to make them up,” he stated, hoping that was enough.

“Now, was that hard?” she asked.

“Yes,” he snapped without the vinegar he used to have. “I suppose you want another one.” Hermione nodded, and he grunted softly. “When I was eight, I liked to make leaves fly. I used to fashion leaves and sticks into airplanes with string and make them fly. Once my dad caught me at it and…” He paused, didn’t to want to finish that part of the story. His gaze wandered to the wall and back as Hermione waited. “That year, for my birthday, my parents gave me a wooden glider, one of the cheap ones made from balsa wood that you put together. I used to make it fly.” He looked at her. “I broke it once, and Mum repaired it.” Once again his expression became guarded.

“Did you ever play with boats?” she asked, setting down her wine glass.

This was getting annoying. “No, we didn’t have that kind of money – look, Hermione you might as well know. We were poor. My dad worked in the factory until it closed. He couldn’t find work. He drank a lot and eventually got sick. Mum started doing laundry and light cleaning for some families that lived across the bridge. Dad hated her working.” He forced himself to relax. “That’s three.”

“Well, that’s two out of three,” she said, her eyebrows rising as she smiled at him. “You said you made planes, I just wondered if you ever made boats from sticks and leaves or branches? You did say you played by the river.”

“I didn’t play in the river, only next to it, and no, I didn’t make boats. I did on occasion drop leaves from the bridge to watch them float away, and there was a tree I liked to climb,” he said, hoping that satisfied her.

Hermione smiled, and he was glad that she seemed appeased.

“Okay, now tell me three things you like the flavor of?”

“Is this a game?” he asked, aware that this was not going to be a nice quiet dinner after all.

“No. You won’t tell me anything, so I’m asking,” she said stubbornly.

He named the first three things that came into his head without considering if they were his favorite things or not. “Vanilla ice cream. Brandy. Strawberries – the fruit – not flavored stuff.” He smirked at her. “Your turn.”

Unlike him, Hermione actually looked like she was considering her answers. “Chocolate, anything chocolate… hot apple cider with cinnamon sticks, and… vegetables cooked on the grill.” She smiled and toyed with her fork. “Okay, did you…”

“Enough,” he snapped softly.

“This getting to tough for you?” she asked as if unaware that her questions were driving him nuts.

He scowled at her. “I don’t like games.”

She dropped her fork, making it clatter. “Then talk to me. Tell me something. Tell me about your school years, anything, but tell me something!”

“I think we should go,” he said.

Hermione sighed, obviously feeling defeated. “No, you haven’t finished your dinner.” She sounded dejected.

“Hermione, there’s not that much that was good about my childhood. I really don’t want to discuss my years at school, and I will not give you the gory details about my years as a Death Eater. Most of that I want to forget. Besides, you know too much about that already.” They ate in relative silence for a while. “I’m sorry. I don’t like talking about my past.”

“I suppose I can understand your reluctance,” she replied.

“Tell me about yours,” he suggested. He hadn’t expected her to answer, but she did. By the time they’d finished, he knew that her parents were dentists, and her mother had joined her father’s practice after working for the free clinic. Her dad had helped her make kites, bought her dolls, fixed up an old antique doll house for her, and had taught her to read. Her mum baked bran muffins, made her eat all her vegetables, and taught her how to cook. Her grandparents had taken her to museums and to plays. Her grandfather loved history and had told her about his tour in Italy during the war. Her grandmother had taught her how to knit. Hermione had a bike, a cat, and a dog, but the cat had died before she’d started school, and the dog had stayed home with her mum. She liked to ride horses, flossed regularly, loved the zoo and the seashore, and read anything she could get her hands on. “I just like knowing things.”

He dropped some money on the table and rose to go. He was amazed at how easily she opened up to him. He knew he couldn’t do it as easily in return.

Out on the street Hermione tried again. “Tell me about Albert Waltham.”

Severus looked at her in surprise. “Where did you…? My trial.” He looked ahead, as they walked. “He was a Healer I apprenticed under. I have always been rather adept at Potions, and I wanted to pursue a career as a Brewer…”

Severus watched her Apparate for Grimmauld Place and felt a sense of relief. The only problem was that little nagging bit in his mind that he couldn’t push away. He had wanted to kiss her all day, to unzip her dress so he could feel her skin under his hands, and the thought was still nudging away at him. And he was still stiff from his physical reaction to her kiss goodnight. She had even moaned when he’d held her and deepened the kiss. Bugger!

He felt like he had to go for a walk and clear his head. He needed the peace of a garden and the solitude of the night… Severus opened his door and casually strolled down the street, turning for the river that ran through the town.

He stopped and shook his head. Living at the Manor had obviously gotten to him.

He decided to go to Grimmauld Place and apologize for... snapping at her, he supposed. For getting angry with her for digging into his past when all she was trying to do was find something to talk about. Mostly, he just wanted to kiss her and bring her back home.

Hermione Apparated to Grimmauld Place and stopped to look at the architecture of the houses on either side of Harry’s. The Georgian terraced house that Harry owned still had the antique handrails, elaborate ironwork that decorated the lower third of the windows, and the sculpted brickwork of the era of which the house was built, unlike the neighboring houses that had been updated and remodeled with new windows and window boxes.

She looked at the door, which Ginny had painted blue, the new steps with the wider top landing, and hesitated. She wasn’t ready yet to face questions about her date with Severus.

She turned and walked slowly down the street, looking at the various potted plants, and headed to the gated private park a few blocks away, thinking about everything Severus had told her today. Just like before, he’d made his childhood sound so horrible, and yet Harry had told her about of what he’d seen in the Pensive: meeting Lily in the park and sitting with Lily under a tree on the riverbank. There had to have been good memories in his life, something worth remembering. At least something – some happy moments.

Hermione opened the gate with a tiny flick of her wand and pulled an ivy leaf off the gatepost as she entered the private garden. She twirled it in her fingers as she walked.

There was so much hurt in him, so much pain, so much sorrow, and so much he wanted to forget. She knew from talking to Harry about the Dursleys that abusive parents left scars on their children, scars that Severus carried deeply. He was starting to actually open up to her and answer her questions, albeit reluctantly, with minimal sneering or snapping at her or calling her a silly girl. Still, he’d only opened up so much, revealed little, and it was obviously difficult for him to do so. Nevertheless, the time they had spent together the day before and this evening had been enlightening.

Severus arrived in front of Grimmauld Place and immediately knew that she was not inside. But he could feel her, just not from inside the house. He turned and looked both ways down the street, not surprised when he didn’t see her. He closed his eyes, trying to fathom where she might have gone. He turned and started walking down the street.

He instantly had the feeling that he was going the wrong way. He stopped and tried to listen to his inner voice. Yes. She is near – but behind me. He turned around. He shoved his hands in his pockets to appear causal to any possible observer and continued walking quickly, but not too hurriedly as to attract attention, knowing that he was indeed getting closer to her.

Severus stopped on the pavement next to an iron gate in an ivy-covered wall that apparently led to a private park or someone’s garden. Hermione was in there; he knew it. The gate was locked, which didn’t deter him from opening it anyway. He slipped inside, scanning the park for Hermione. The grassy landscape had rolling mounds, lush trees, benches, bushes… all great for concealment or lying in wait. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Danger. Unseen. Lurking. He looked around. Nothing. He moved cautiously, staying off the path, his wand drawn ready for anything. He saw her heading for the gate on the path beside a manmade stream, and several yards behind her was a man in a long black coat…

Hermione looked up and realized that the light was fading. She usually didn’t stay out this late, and she knew that Harry would berate her for it. She turned and followed the path in the direction of the gate, still sorting everything out in her mind.

The bonding spells Severus had selected for her to read in the library had been enlightening. The ones he’d marked for her had all been triad spells like the Moon Song Spell. The books he’d selected were mostly Dark Arts spells, entrapments, and curses. Most were designed to last for life – either the life of the caster or that of the victim. Most bonding spells bound the magical core of the individual to that of the targeted person or object. There were also a few books on plight spells and betrothal charms that explained their magic and fervent nature of the spell on those effected, as well as the consequences of consummating the spell. Everything Severus had told her had been true. She and he were Bonded. Till death do us part. At least he wasn’t being as horrible toward her as he had been in the beginning. Actually, for Severus Snape, he is being down right nice, mostly. She resolved to try making this relationship work, too.

She didn’t see either of the shadowed figures that followed her through the garden toward the gate.

He wouldn’t get to her first. The other man was much closer to her – too close in fact. He recognized the man as Dragen, Dolohov’s cousin. Severus quickly Disapparated, coming out on the path directly next to Hermione. She had apparently turned the moment she’d heard the crack of his Disapparation, drawn her wand, and fired a spell at the place where Severus had been. Dragen now had his wand out, taking aim, and she turned, flicking her wrist to stun her attacker with a quick defensive response.

But Severus’ protective instincts took hold, and he immediately grasped Hermione around the waist, pulling her to him as the sickly lime-colored jet of light of the attacker’s curse whizzed by him, and he fired a Stunning Hex as well. She protested in alarm, but he hissed at her to remain focused. Hermione quickly cast a Shield Charm, which now protected them both, just before Dragen fired another curse. The lime-green light hit her shield with a force that nearly broke through, and Severus fired another Stunning Hex at Dragen.

Dragen blocked Severus’ hex and quickly took aim again. “Avarda Kedav—” Dragen shouted as Severus turned, his arm snaking about Hermione’s waist, and cast his Sectumsempra, making Hermione loose her footing as her spell shot out into the bushes. He heard the man scream as he continued the turn and Apparated, taking Hermione with him.

Hermione stumbled the moment they arrived in his sitting room, and he gripped her tightly to help her stand. “Are you all right?” he asked, holding her against a bookshelf with one hand to steady her on her legs as he checked her body for any sign of the curse making contact. She was still alive, so the curse didn’t hit squarely, but it could have hit an appendage, effectively killing the limb.

She was shaking, white as a sheet, and unsteady on her feet, even with him holding her up. “No, no, I’m fine,” she said as he ran a hand down her leg.

“You can feel my hand?” he asked, finally assured that she was actually standing on her own.

“Yes, of course I can feel your hand,” she said, her voice still shaky.

He stood and checked her arms, holding her hands in his, relieved that she was unharmed. “No pain? You weren’t hit?”

She shook her head.

He grasped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “What were you doing wandering around that neighborhood alone? You could’ve been killed!” he snarled at her for being so careless and inattentive.

She looked up at him defiantly, her hands on her hips. “It’s a good neighborhood, Severus. Old wealthy families and that…”

“The Death Eaters know where Potter lives!” he exclaimed, cutting her off. “Even though they can’t see the house—they know where it is! You took Yaxley there, remember?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, then looked at the floor, abashed.

“Oh, good, so you remember,” he said, scowling at her thoughtlessness. He swept a hand through his hair. “Good Merlin, woman, don’t you ever think? I know you’re bloody intelligent, but you never use it unless you’re quoting something!” She was still looking down at the floor, and he wanted to grab her and shake her… and hold her in his arms.

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You think I’m intelligent?” she asked, astounded.

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” he hissed. “You damn well know you’re intelligent – you just don’t think!” His one arm fell to his side, although his hand was still clenched tightly, as he raised the other in a broad sweeping motion. “You do realize that there are still Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s supporters out there that haven’t been caught, right? Or did you think last night was just some random attack? One of them escaped! Mother of Merlin, you could have been killed just now!” He looked at the wall and back to her startled face.

“That would’ve solved this for you nicely, wouldn’t it?” she said, turning to face the fireplace.

Severus growled and turned in the opposite direction, wanting to slam his fists in the wall.

“Well, you don’t have to be so angry about it.”

He turned to look at her, still seething at her serious lack of judgment and her accusation.

She hugged herself and hung her head. “I’m fine. Thank you for being… by the way, why were you there?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“I went to Potter’s house to see you, and you weren’t there. So I… I knew you had gone for a walk, and I was concerned.” He kept his gaze on the confused crease between her eyebrows so he didn’t have to actually look into her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, but I could have handled him,” she said, a little angry at him for scaring her like he did.

“You didn’t even see him until it was too late,” Severus pointed out in his professor’s voice while raising his hand to point at the window.

She crossed her arms. “I heard him Apparate,” she snapped. “I almost hit him.”

Severus scowled at her, not believing what she’d just said. “That was me Disapparating to get to you first.”

Her eyes narrowed, “But I only heard one crack, then there was another and you arrived…”

“I was too far away. He was moving in on you so I Apparated…” He didn’t feel like rehashing the evening play-by-play. “Bloody, hell, woman, just take my word for it.”

“Fine, yes, I am an idiot, and I wasn’t being vigilant. I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me. I suppose I should go now,” she said with a sigh and lowered her head.

“No,” he said, his tone a bit more strained than he’d have liked.

“No?” she asked, looking up at him.

He moved forward and stood before her. He wanted to hold her, gently stroke her hair, but his hands reminded at his side. “Stay with me.”

Hermione turned her head. “I’m not ready for this, Severus.”

“Ready for what?” Severus wondered what the real reason was, why she shied away from him. “All I’m asking is that you stay with me for a while.” He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and a little fear. “What are you afraid I’ll do?”

She looked at him, the look of contemplative thought faded from her eyes to one of resolution. “Okay, I’ll stay a while longer.”

He wanted to ask how long, but refrained. He’d won a victory, a small one, but one he’d accept. The problem was he wasn’t tired. His adrenaline still coursed through him, making him feel like a live wire, and he wasn’t going to take her upstairs with him, only to lie awake in bed and feel her lying next to him. So, he walked over to the bookshelf and withdrew his copy of the book she’d been reading in the bookshop. “I believe you were interested in this one. It was my mother’s, and she gave it to me when I started Hogwarts. There are annotations and scribbling in the margins, a habit I picked up from her. Ignore them.”

“Thank you,” she said, handling the book with wide-eyed amazement as if he’d handed her a treasure.

He simply grunted an acknowledgement and picked up his own book before settling on the sofa. Hermione sat in front of him, kicked off her shoes and tucked one foot under her. The pose exposed nearly an half of her leg to his view, but he tried to ignore it. After a while, he got up to stoke the fire, adding another Ever-last log in the grate. Hermione stifled a yawn as she turned a page. They read in comfortable silence, which surprised him. He’d never been this relaxed with a woman before. Hermione tried suppressing another yawn. Severus looked up and smirked. “Getting sleepy?”

“Ah, no,” she said with a smile and returned to her book. A little while later she was yawning again.

“Hermione, if you’re sleepy, we can turn in.”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied.

This conversation repeated at least two more times before he stood up. “Well, I am.”

“Then I should go,” she said, laying her hand on the book as if loath to close it.

“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted, hoping he didn’t sound like a sap. He was tired. After the day he’d had, he just wanted her company. He turned to reshelf his book on the shelf next to her and reached out a hand to take hers.

Hermione turned her face away, blushing. “I’m not ready for this…”

“What are you afraid of? That I’ll force you? That is what you think, isn’t it?” He stood back, angry at the look in her eyes. “What do you think I am – a rapist? I’ve never raped anyone… fine.” He turned his head, crossed his arms and glared at the fire.

She didn’t leave.

But then, she didn’t move either.

He was torn. He really wanted her to stay, just to be here with him, but he knew that she still didn’t know what she wanted just by her hesitation and the way she was looking around the room and at him. He sighed and his shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want to.”

“I can’t stay. I didn’t bring anything with me. I don’t have my toothbrush, shampoo… a change of clothes.”

“I’ll make you some – or you can use mine. I’ll conjure you a toothbrush. I do have toothpaste. You can borrow a shirt.” They stared at each before she looked away.

She shifted, her gaze sweeping the room and back to him repeatedly, her gaze dropping to the floor each time their eyes met. He tried to tip her face up so he could kiss her, hoping to change her mind, but she wouldn’t look at him – not in the eye. She was obviously nervous. He decided to take the chance and try to convince her. “If you don’t want to, we won’t. I won’t beg – but I want you, but only if you want it too. I do want you to stay with me.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, seemingly to finally be deciding in his favor. “I don’t have to if I don’t want to?”

He dropped his hand. “Yes. Bloody hell, woman, I am not some rutting teenager! I can bloody well control myself,” he started to say with a snarl, then controlled his anger. “Yes, if you don’t… Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Sex is supposed to be consensual.”

She stood, walked over to the bookshelf and replaced the book. She stood staring at the shelf, then turned and walked back to him. “Harry will worry if I don’t show up.”

He sighed in exasperation. “You do know how to send messages through your Patronus, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I can.” Hermione smiled, turned and cast her Patronus, holding the silvery otter in front of her. ‘Harry, I’m fine. I am going to stay the night here at Severus’ tonight,’ she thought clearly, seeing the vibration of her words rippling in the Patronus. She flicked her wand, sending it on its way. She stared at the wall where the otter had vanished, then turned to face Severus.

He held out this hand, and she walked over to him, although she didn’t take the proffered hand. He shrugged and opened the door for her. She hesitated, and he turned and led the way to the bedroom.

Lucius Malfoy’s words echoed in Hermione’s mind as she followed him upstairs. Just like the day before, the evening had been one with both good times and bad, a few lows, but overall not all bad. Well, if she disregarded the attacks on her life, that is. Why they were after her and not Harry confused her, but she didn’t want to dwell on it tonight. She was too tired, and she’d only cry if she did. It was as if the war was still raging on for her, even though she wanted desperately to start living a normal life.

When she entered the room, the first thing she noticed was that the smell was gone.

Secondly, the bed hangings, covers, and drapes had obviously been thoroughly washed.

The next thing that caught her eye made her giggle. The mattress on the bed looked like he’d inflated it, and the pillows and down comforter looked as if he’d restuffed them with new down. Hermione sat on the bed and felt herself sink in a little, but the mattress underneath was much firmer than she’d expected.

“You said it was too flat and lumpy. I’m not sure how I did on the lumps, but it is fuller and softer,” he said softly, watching her reaction near the doorway.

She fell back, gazing up at the canopy as she tested the mattress. It felt like she was lying on a cloud. “It’s much better.”

“I’m used to firmer,” he admitted.

She sat up. “How firm?”

“I don’t know, firm.” He walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt and pajama bottoms, handing them over to her. The wardrobe had been changed somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on what was different about it. “I’ll change in the loo,” he said and disappeared quickly. She sat and waited for him to return.

Severus entered the room in a pair of pajamas. Hermione was momentarily taken aback by his bare chest. “I don’t sleep in much. I made you this,” he said, handing her a toothbrush, then turned to look out the door as if deciding whether to close it or not. “My toothpaste is on the counter with a bar of soap and a flannel. I can make you a brush, unless you use a comb?” He turned to look at her. “Maybe you could make your own. Do you know how?”

“No, I don’t know the spell,” she said, surprised again at his thoughtfulness.

“Effingo Inflecto. There is an old comb of mine, change that one. It’s on the counter. You make a circle over the comb while holding the image of what you want in your mind. You’ll have to maintain the spell until you achieve what you want,” he explained. “To modulate or alter the shape, add Inflectere Vocem, with your spell. Do you know how to layer spells?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod.

“If you want to bathe, the tub is larger than it looks. I don’t have that girly stuff, only shampoo,” he said with a flick of his hand.

Hermione smiled. “I only washed my hair every other day at school and less than that when we were camping. I can braid it and it will be fine,” she said, thinking that she could wash it the next morning at home before going to work. Severus nodded and Hermione excused herself for the loo.

Severus watched her go and turned to the wardrobe, thinking he might consider wearing a shirt to sleep in. After choosing an old T-shirt, he closed the doors and turned the bed down with a wave of his hand. He sat on the bed, got up, then sat again. She seemed to be taking an extraordinary long time with her bedtime preparations. Scoffing at himself, he remembered that he forgot to tell her that the faucets were backwards. She’d have to turn the cold knob for the hot water, which never really got that hot, and vice-versa.

Severus finally settled on the bed and started to read a book from his bedside table. When Hermione entered the room, he was glad he had something in his hands to cling to. She had shrunken the pajama bottoms to fit her and left the pajama shirt alone. The ‘V’ of the neckline was dipping down between her breasts, although the hem was well past her bum, but the overall effect was too sexy. She had braided her hair, and she looked adorable, although very much like a young girl with a woman’s body. As she climbed in beside him, Severus set the book on the table to turn his gaze away and extinguished the lights as Hermione laid her wand on the bedside table next to her.

He lay in the dark on his back, listening to her breathing, feeling the bed shift as she moved to get comfortable. She had the arm next to him lying across her torso, and he could sense her hip and leg lying on the bed only an inch away from his, the warmth of her body making his entire right side much hotter than his left. Even the mattress seemed to dip in her direction, urging him to scoot over and lie next to her, and his mind warred with the desire to hold her in his arms.

Only three weeks ago, he’d have tossed her from his bed after using her, but now he was afraid to touch her, least he scare her off. The irony didn’t escape his fully awake mind or his fully attuned body. His penis was stiff, thankfully not uncomfortably so, but annoying so in the fact that he didn’t dare touch himself, but he didn’t want to go wank off in the loo, either.

Hermione shifted onto her side, and the bed seemed to roll with her, as if to pull him in her direction. Now her back and bum were next to him, and her feet were almost touching his calf. He turned his head and looked at her back, realizing that all he had to do was roll on his side and he could wrap his arm around her.

He looked back up at the ceiling and started to recite the ingredients for the Dreamless Sleep Potion to try and relax, then started listing all the ingredients in his storeroom, by shelf. He finally fell asleep by the time he’d almost gotten to the third shelf from the bottom.

~ T B C ~>

Author’s notes:

I know, no lemons yet, but I did get them in bed!

I want to thank my betas, MadBrilliant and Kallonista, for giving this a read and helping me clean up all my mistakes. I really appreciate it very much.

Thank you also to Southern_Witch_69 for my beautiful banner. I really love it!