Nevermore

Nevermore

Miranda had gone from his rooms by the time Snape awoke the next morning. He felt extraordinarily relaxed, sipping his tea and reading his morning post, and revelled in the peaceful solitude. The sun was out, and he could hear birds singing in the forest through his open windows; he was fully prepared to enjoy what promised to be a beautiful weekend.

Wanting to be alone for a little while longer, he called a house-elf to bring breakfast to his sitting room and, after eating, took his time showering and shaving. He had thought it would be difficult to wash the stain of Miranda from his skin, but instead he felt refreshed; he was free of her now, and it delighted him. He dressed carefully in a white shirt and black trousers and did not mind when he looked at himself in the mirror and noticed the greying hair at his temples. For the first time in a long while, he felt neither old nor weary; there was a buoyancy in his chest that morning that nothing could tarnish.

His first order of business that day was to visit Neville in the greenhouses. As he walked across the grounds, he luxuriated in the play of the sunlight over his body and paid no attention to the stares of the students lounging around the lawn, who all gaped in astonishment at the sight of their Defence professor venturing into the spring morning wearing a colour other than black. He found Neville in Greenhouse Two, potting ferns in his shirtsleeves and humming happily to himself.

'Good morning, Severus,' he said, wiping dirt off his cheek with the back of his wrist. 'What brings you down here?'

'I need some flowers, if that is possible.'

Tearing his gaze from the plants in his hand, Neville narrowed his eyes at Snape in a calculating fashion and asked, 'What for?'

'Cheeky,' Snape said breezily. 'They're not for you, if that's what you're wondering. I know you stole that rosebush from Draco – what colour was it? Pink?'

Neville blushed at the taunts, unaccustomed to banter from Snape. 'White.'

'I'll have some of those, then, if you please.'

'You can't. That bush isn't blooming yet,' Neville said defensively.

'Liar.'

Neville's shoulders drooped. 'Fine.' He led the way to the other end of the greenhouse and unlocked the back door, which opened onto one of the exterior fenced-in gardens. The row of rose bushes was in full blossom, a swath of rainbow colours that Snape found unexpectedly beautiful.

'This is the one,' said Neville, pointing at one of the bushes and passing Snape a pair of shears. 'Be gentle with it.'

'Why did you want this so badly?' Snape asked curiously as he snipped off a handful of the long-stemmed blooms.

'I'm going to graft a piece of it with the yellow and see if I can make a green flower.'

'What for?'

'Ha!' Neville laughed. 'Not for you, if that's what you're wondering,' he echoed, grinning. 'Now piss off – I've got other things to do than flirt with you all morning.'

'Right,' Snape agreed, following him back into the greenhouse. 'See you at dinner?'

'Of course,' said Neville, returning to his ferns. 'You do know Draco is cooking tonight?'

'Trust me, I wouldn't miss that disaster for the world.' Snape was still smiling when he emerged onto the lawns, giving the students another reason to stare at him in bewilderment.

***

The dinner Draco served them at Malfoy Manor that night was delicious, if uncomplicated. Snape was not normally a fan of pizza, but he knew that Draco's skills in the kitchen were not yet sophisticated enough to attempt proper meals. The house-elves had written down a recipe for Draco to consult – 'Just like making a potion, really,' Draco had commented – and the result was an entirely edible margherita, albeit with a slightly spongy crust.

As the night drew to a close, Snape found himself growing anxious. He had wanted to talk to Hermione, but as the four of them drank and gossiped their way towards midnight, no opportunity of having words with her alone had presented itself. When Draco and Neville announced their intention of heading to bed, Hermione followed, and Snape trudged up to his usual room alone. The sight of the roses, standing in a vase on his bedside table, seemed to mock him.

He passed into the bathroom and washed his face in cold water, trying to still the hopeful beating of his heart, but there was nothing to be done for it. He stared at himself in the mirror, glaring at his own narrow face and black eyes. He was not a coward; he would not allow this night, this perfect, warm, friendship-filled night, to go to waste. Determinedly, he swept back into the bedroom, snatched up the roses, and walked quietly down the hallway and up the stairs to the next floor. For a moment, he stood silently outside the door of the bedroom Hermione usually slept in, listening for sounds. Hearing nothing, he knocked lightly.

When Hermione opened the door, Snape looked at her speechlessly for a long time. She had never appeared more beautiful to him: her wild hair, free of constraint, tumbled over her shoulders in reckless curls; her body, covered by a lacy camisole and a pair of night shorts, was young and tender and glowed warmly in the firelight. Her dark eyes, gazing at him with sweet welcome, left him breathless. Suddenly, he realised why the Enhancement Charm had never changed her: in his eyes, she was already perfect.

'Hermione,' he said softly, presenting the roses. 'I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry.'

'You didn't wake me,' she whispered. She took the roses and lifted them up, inhaling the subtle scent, never taking her eyes from his face.

Instinctively, he reached for her hand, loving the feel of her thin, callused fingers. He kissed them gently and said, 'I hope you sleep well. Good night.'

He would have left; instead, her fingers tightened around his, and she pulled him into the room, closing the door behind him. She laid the roses reverently on the night table; when she came back to where he was standing, she snaked her arms around his neck and rose onto her toes to kiss him. Her lips were hot and soft, and her hands burned where they twined through the hair on the back of his head. This was what he had wanted for such a long time now; sighing with satisfaction, he pulled her body tighter against his and kissed her back, demanding entrance to her mouth, teasing her tongue with his own.

She pulled him toward the bed, climbing backwards onto it without breaking the kiss and unfastening the buttons of his white shirt. He groaned when her hands finally made contact with his skin, sliding over the muscles of his chest and shoulders as she stripped the garment from his body. Her lips drifted over his jaw and down his neck, leaving a burning trail wherever they touched until she reached the place where his collarbones met and flicked her tongue across the sensitive hollow.

His blood boiling now, he slipped his hands under her camisole and pulled it upward, past her breasts and over her head, and pushed her gently onto her back on the bed. Kneeling over her, he kissed her cheeks and her eyelids while his fingers played along the bones of her ribcage and caressed the sides of her breasts. Hermione turned her head and found his lips again, driving her tongue between them with passionate force, splaying her hands across his back and forcing him downward to lie next to her.

Snape met her insistent kisses and teased her warm skin with his hands, cupping her breasts and circling his fingers round her nipples before pinching them lightly and smiling when her gasp of pleasure escaped into his mouth. Bending his head, he closed his lips over one nipple and then the other, sucking and laving with his tongue until he felt her writhing beneath him. When he rose up to kiss her again, he saw a note of panic in her eyes.

'Don't stop, not this time,' she whispered.

He smiled, remembering their encounter on her sofa, and breathed into her ear, 'I have no intention of stopping.'

The sound of his voice and the feel of his hot breath made her shiver; eagerly, she pushed her hands beneath the waistband of his trousers and locked her knee over his hips, pulling his lower body closer to her and straining against him. He hooked his fingers into her shorts and slid them down her legs, revealing white satin knickers; with an impatient snarl, he slid those down too and stared with undisguised longing at her naked form.

'You are so beautiful,' he said, caressing her thigh and the curve of her bottom, dragging her knee further around his waist.

'Touch me,' she begged, and he moved his hand between her legs, trailing his fingers slowly through her moist heat, wanting to prolong this moment of anticipation. He explored her folds gently, mimicking the movement of his lips as he kissed her softly until at last he deepened the kiss and, at the same time, slid one finger inside her softness. She gasped and arched against him, moaning quietly as his finger glided in and out and his thumb stroked her sensitive clitoris in slow circles.

Her hands fluttered around his belt buckle; breathing heavily, he felt her unfasten his trousers and release his cock. Her fingers closed around the hard, smooth flesh, and he moaned into her mouth, pushing another finger inside of her and rocking against the soft skin of her hips. Dimly, through the amazing sensation of her hand stroking up and down his length, he became aware that she was starting to tighten around his fingers. Slowing the movements of his hand, he shifted position until he was kneeling between her legs and bent down to kiss her hips, running his lips down and nibbling on the inside of her thigh. Gently, he pushed her legs further apart and closed his eyes in bliss, inhaling the scent of her arousal.

'Severus,' she moaned, opening herself to him. He loved this part of a woman's body, the tender, pink skin reminding him of the roses he had brought her. Her outer lips were like petals surrounding the source of her pleasure and the font of her sweet nectar. He kissed her there, reverently at first, then more greedily, caressing her centre with his tongue, all the time continuing to move his fingers inside of her. He licked in broad strokes up and down her folds, finally focussing the attention of his mouth on her clitoris, which he teased and sucked until she quaked around him, crying out his name desperately.

He leaned back, giving her a moment to recover, and stripped off his remaining clothes. Lying down beside her, he twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her toward him for another kiss, revelling in her breathless panting. She moved her lips languidly against him, half-smiling in the post-orgasmic glow. Her hand returned to his cock, sliding up and down slowly, then more insistently as she pressed her hips against him and twisted her tongue around his urgently. She was ready now; he moved on top of her and settled his pelvis between her thighs, pushing gently at her entrance until she wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips to meet him. Then he sank into her, his cock sliding inch by inch until he was fully sheathed in her hot core.

She tightened her muscles around him, and he groaned, raising up and thrusting into her again. He luxuriated for a moment in the feel of her entire body surrounding him, welcoming him; then he buried his face in her neck and began to drive into her with abandon, growing harder and harder as she matched his movements with passionate enthusiasm. He managed to hold onto his control until she tightened around him again, trembling violently as she climaxed; he joined her ecstatically, moaning 'Oh, God, Hermione,' and gave himself over to the power of his release.

Afterward, they slept, the only sounds in the room their slow, rhythmic breathing and the soft crackling of the fire.

***

Snape awoke when the first glimmer of dawn was lighting up the purple sky. He was curled around Hermione's naked body, his arms and legs entangled with hers. His gaze drifted down, along her pale back and soft bottom; involuntarily, his hand followed, running over her smooth skin to cup the back of her knee. She moaned and wriggled against him, pressing her arse against his erection. Fastening his lips on the curve of her neck, tasting the salty flavour of her flesh, he lifted her leg and slid into her warmth, rocking forward to fill her as deeply as he could. Hermione cried out softly and dragged his hand between her legs to tease her clitoris as he plunged in and out of her body. Her little moans and gasps grew louder and spurred him to thrust harder and faster. His explosion of bliss was accompanied by Hermione's throaty cry of pleasure and left him limp with contentment.

They lay awake together as the sun came up, kissing softly and gazing into one another's eyes until a beep from the bedside table alerted them that it was almost time for breakfast. It was the first morning of the Easter holidays.

***

Reluctantly, Snape returned to his room and showered. Dressing hastily – in black again – he hurried downstairs to the dining room and found Draco and Neville already there, waiting to Floo back to Hogwarts for the morning meal. Snape tried to look nonchalant, but it seemed as if the young men neither knew nor cared where he had spent the night. They chatted briefly about the weather; if the day continued fine, Draco suggested, they should set up a game of croquet that afternoon. Neville agreed enthusiastically, leaving Snape, a scion of the working-class North, to laugh at the two aristocratic purebloods and their ideas about how sunny days should be passed. When Hermione finally entered the dining room, looking remarkably fresh and well rested, they all stepped through the fireplace into Draco's office at Hogwarts and hurried down the main stairwell toward the Great Hall.

The students had all departed on the train the previous afternoon; the high table alone was set for the meal. Snape made his way onto the dais behind Hermione and Draco. Only after he had taken his seat and unfolded his napkin in his lap did he look up and notice that there was an extra person at breakfast that morning. Across the table from him, sitting next to Miranda and looking very tanned and cheerful, was a slender, dark-haired man who could only be Miranda's husband, Antonio Silva.