The Hunter

Disclaimer: JKR owns the rights to anything you recognize in this fic. I wish I did, but alas! Life is like a box of Bertie Bott's. Sometimes you get chocolate fudge, sometimes you get earwax.

Credit: Credit goes to my wonderful beta, Tevildo, for cleaning up my horrible punctuation and grammar. Any errors that remain after he is done with a chapter, are solely my own. Feel free to pelt me with cauldron cakes for these.

AN: I spoil you so – another chapter already? The subtle seduction starts, with faint whiffs of lemon in the offing. Enjoy, my lovelies.

A quirked eyebrow was the only sign of surprise that registered on his face at her presence. What was she doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be running about with Potter and Weasley, playing at being Aurors now that he, Severus Snape, had conveniently rid the world of most of the dark wizards? His hand tightened around the whisky tumbler and he eased further back into the shadows in the far corner of the staff room.

He snorted in disgust at the memories that flooded his mind; or rather the feelings that came with the memories. Whatever he had thought in that delusional moment of weakness, it wasn't true. He had merely been the closest person to her at that moment – she would have done it to anyone. She hadn't fallen asleep in his arms because she harboured some sort of secret infatuation with him and felt safe with him – she had been simply overwrought by the battle like the slip of a girl she was. Yes... that was all it was.

He gulped at the Old Ogden's in his tumbler, relishing the steady burn of the liquor. A relaxing warmth, by now familiar, settled in his chest. She was staring at him and he sneered out of habit, but she didn't flinch. Instead, a look of... pity... settled on her face.

PITY? He could feel himself shaking with barely controlled rage. How dare she pity him, like a bird with a broken wing? He had carefully avoided everyone's pity for years now. Not because he didn't deserve it, but because no one had any inkling of what he had lost. There wasn't enough pity in the world to salve his wounds, not any more. They had festered – his humanity had turned gangrenous, poisoning his soul. Pity was too little, too late. Pity couldn't change anything. Pity wasn't a just reward.

She was walking toward him now. She was seeking him out? What for? His suspicious Slytherin mind came to full alert. He nearly dropped his glass when she took his hand; only years of training stopped the shock from reaching his face.

"Professor, I am so glad to see you are well." She offered a tentative, almost shy smile.

He stared blankly down at her. Women did not approach him. Women did not inquire about his health nor express pleasure at his wellbeing. Nobody did. He studied her surreptitiously – her head was tilted to one side like a puppy, her pupils were slightly more dilated than the gloom demanded, her mouth was slightly open... dear Merlin... He nearly gasped when the tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip.

She was attracted to him? Could she be his... reward? He had to investigate this hunch further. He smoothly switched gears.

***

He had seemed so isolated. She wanted him to know that she understood the pain he felt – she, too, had lost people dear to her in the war. Her parents had been killed in a Death Eater raid... and she knew that Dumbledore had been like a father to the dark man. He had had no one to talk to about it; she would let him know that she was there for him if he needed to talk.

She didn't know why she had taken his hand – at the time, it seemed like a compassionate thing to do. He had stiffened at her touch, but hadn't moved away. She wanted to put him at ease, to let him know that he wasn't alone. She spoke first, smiling nervously when he just looked down at her impassively. A small bit of the old schoolgirl terror of the man crept back into her; her mouth went as dry as the Sahara.

She feared that she had gone too far until his thumb stroked lightly over her knuckles. "Professor Granger," he purred, his voice formal but his dark eyes suddenly smouldering. "I trust you are equally well?"

Hermione bit back a gasp. Although he hadn't moved, his stance had changed completely. Dark and guarded before, he was somehow more receptive, even seductively overwhelming now.

***

When her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, he knew he had hit the gold. Well, well... there was definite interest there. Conscious interest... perhaps not, but her body knew. If he could convince her body, her mind would follow. He would have to ease her into this. He suspected that the hunt would be challenging, even frustrating at times, but that the quarry was worth his patience. By the time he was done, she would be screaming his name.

Had he been a man prone to smiling, he would've been grinning ferally at her. As he was not, he just smirked.

***

He ignored her after that. Like a hunter sitting peacefully under a tree, letting the forest animals grow accustomed to his presence, he allowed her time to gauge him. He always made sure to sit in her direct line of sight at meals, careful to ignore her stealthy glances. Day by day she grew tamer, put at ease by his predictability. His apparent lack of interest in her both reassured her and piqued her interest in him.

Just as he had intended.

When she only spared him a few glances each mealtime, he started changing seating arrangements at every meal. She had seemed alarmed at first when he wasn't where she'd expected him to be, craning her neck to watch him as he spoke in quiet tones to Filius one meal and then conversed pleasantly with Rolanda the next.

After a few weeks of this, she had settled down again. It was time for the next step.

At the Halloween feast he saw, out of the corner of his eye, her pause uncertainly in her tracks. He was sitting right next to her usual seat, affecting an air of indifference and scowling at the rowdy children that all but ran riot in the Great Hall. He had to bite back a smile when he saw her mentally gathering herself and marching up to her seat, sitting down resolutely.

But, other than a murmured greeting, he ignored her.

She had seemed confused and distracted, merely pushing her food around on her plate. He on the other hand, ate well. Food had never tasted so good and he relished each bite as he watched her. He even helped himself to more, something he hadn't done since he was a student.

He sat next to her once a week at first... then twice... then three times... then on consecutive days... then not for a week. Finally he was sitting next to her at practically every meal. At first she was tense, but she gradually relaxed to his proximity. She didn't even twitch when he slid smoothly into the seat next to hers any more. She even graced him with a small smile and smaller talk during mealtimes, but he was careful not to give her too much attention, restricting himself to nods and short replies.

She had jumped when he lightly touched her wrist. "Would you be so kind as to pass the salt, Professor Granger?" He did not know how he had kept his voice so neutral – the touch, although just a momentary brush of skin against skin, had sent a jolt of excitement straight to his crotch. He was infinitely grateful for his robes; not only did they hide his nearly painful erection quite effectively, but they were also not nearly as confining as Muggle trousers. Poor bastards, having to deal with those torture devices.

He expanded his repertoire. Brushing his fingers casually against the back of her hand when they passed in crowded corridors; letting his breath tickle her ear as he leaned in to talk in a low voice over the din at mealtimes; letting his fingers alight gently on the small of her back when he waved her into a room ahead of him. Soon, she was unconsciously mimicking his actions – placing a hand on his arm when seeking his attention during meals; placing, rather than dropping, objects like quills into his graceful hands; resting a hand on his shoulder while she lowered herself into her seat.

Each night he relieved the unbearable pressure in his loins, thinking of her delectable body, groaning her name hoarsely as he climaxed. 'How much longer!' his body would scream at him as he lay panting. Patient... he had to be patient. She would come to him willingly. He was so close. Just a little while longer.

He took to 'accidentally' meeting her on her nightly patrols. They would stroll through the deserted corridors together, and she would murmur quiet conversation while he listened, not to what she was saying, but the soft sighs that escaped her lips whenever he brushed his hand across her skin.

On one such night, he found her standing by a window. The snow had introduced a crisp chill to the air, yet she stood there, her neck deliciously bare, her collar open far more than was prudent. The moonlight bathed its cool blue hue across her closed eyelids; her lashes attractive crescents upon her cheeks. Silent as a shadow, he slipped in behind her. His hand glided around her waist, never touching but close enough to feel the heat emanating from under her robes. She shuddered as he inhaled the scent of her hair and then lowered his head, his hot breath playing across the chilled skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She was trembling in anticipation, she was barely breathing.

Control. He had to exercise control. He bit his lip as he withdrew from her, eliciting a cry of dismay from those luscious lips. Before she could whirl around, the shadows had enfolded him like a familiar lover. The frustrated growl that she uttered made his erection twitch longingly. He stifled a groan. It was for the best, she was almost ready.

He had to be patient.

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