Three

This time will not be gentle. It will not be loving. It will not be needy Severus begging what is quickly becoming an insolently presumptuous Hermione to concede to his deplorable wants. It is high time I regained some of my own arrogance, some respect – from both her and myself. Not that I particularly appreciate the name, but I would rather be forever known as a surly, greasy, overgrown-bat than a lovesick puppy. It is time to take control before Miss Granger has me contorting to her every whim.

Yes. I shall storm up the hall and into her rooms, slam the door, tear her clothes off with absolutely no regard for that self-assured wench and take her up against the cold brick wall. No niceties. No feeling. I will fuck her until she begs for mercy and then fuck her some more. Or perhaps I'll bend her over her bed and put her in her place, on her knees pleading for more. I can almost feel myself plunging into her hot core, with not even an inkling of anything softer than the want for pure self-gratification. Yet, as my mind continues to wander along entertaining this little daydream, it is no longer Hermione in my thoughts – but the face of any number of the Dark Lord's sluts, there by their own free will, for the most part, to keep his minions happy and pliable. They are faceless, nameless and power-hungry, and I would sooner become celibate before I descended into bed with any of them again. Most would as soon kill you as pleasure you, if they thought there would be any chance of gaining even the slightest inkling of influence from either act and I am not exactly the Dark Lord's most favoured servant.

The point being, that I am once again wimping out. Pathetic. And there is a word I use on myself too frequently of late.

I am not going. I will not give in to her; I will not give in to me. I am stronger than that. She will soon enough see me again for the repulsive individual that I am and run screaming anyway, so why not save her the torment and just quit while I am ahead. If I do not go running to her like a sappy twit and instead leave her hanging I will certainly have regained my bastard status. She will tell all her whinging friends what a complete and utter cunt I am, who will willingly agree, but forever look at her like she is a leper for even having considered the idea of being with me, let alone preceding to allow me to take advantage of her, and then I will be hunted down by said Boy Wonder and his faithful sidekick Half-Wit and be stuck with them making my life an eternal misery. I have just got rid of them; I don't want to go through that again.

Besides, I want her.

Severus, just go to her but do not let her get her hands on your balls this time. Well, at least not metaphorically.

Fine. I am more than capable of that. I am going to be late though, that should put her off her guard. Or have her coming down here to the room I keep at Grimmauld Place. Actually, that is infinitely preferable – she can come to me.

The minutes, then hours tick by so slowly I am almost convinced someone has conjured a time-slowing charm upon my rooms. Now it is almost one. One entire hour past my meeting time with Hermione. There has been no sign of her whatsoever. Arrogant twat! How dare she sit up there waiting for me?!

I walk with the quiet gait of a man who is truly angry, glide up the stairs and find myself standing before Hermione's bedroom door. At least, I am fairly sure this is her room. Not wanting to disturb the rest of the house, I tap sharply and softly on her door and wait. And wait. Nothing. I try once more, still no reply.

Merlin. What if something has happened to her? When was the last time I saw her? Five hours ago? Six? Perhaps the Dark Lord has found out about us. Severus' little Mudblood lover. Oh, now that would go down a treat. Merlin, Hermione! Though they are there, clear as day, I will not allow myself to dwell on the things he would do to her, and then pass her on to his 'faithful servants' to indulge themselves as they desire. The mere illusion of those thoughts makes me sick to my very being.

I push open her door and glance around the dimly lit room – there are several candles burning in glass holders, sending a warm glow off the walls, illuminating the room enough for me to be perfectly sure Hermione is not there. However, on the floor is a pile of her clothes, the clothes she was wearing when she smiled at me earlier on my way back into Grimmauld Place. The clothes she wore when I sneered back at her. Hermione!

Merlin. Right, you are a reasonable, somewhat sensible man, Severus, calm down, stop acting like a panicked old biddy...like Molly Weasley...and think rationally. Hermione is fine. She's gone for a walk. At one in the morning. In the dark, doomed streets of London. Yes, that is the way to calm your self down. Twit!

Arms snake their way around my waist. Soft lips press against my neck. A purely feminine body is pressed against my back. Gods, that feels amazing. Bitch.

Peeling her fingers roughly from their soft hold on me, I spin around to confront her.

"And where do you think you've been?" I sneer at her, my anger fermenting dangerously close to the surface.

She all but laughs at me. "Try looking at the evidence, Severus."

Smarmy tart. Though, of course, she is correct. Damp hair, dressing gown....damp skin...lots of it. Damn it all to Hades and back! How can I possibly be angry with her with all that delightful flesh to devour?

"It is one in the morning. One hour past the time I instructed you to be here. What gives you the right to wander off and shower when I specifically informed you midnight!"

I know I am being a complete and utter ridiculous bastard. It is what I excel at, why not use it?

Because, Severus, you dolt, there is a perfectly willing woman standing before you, scantily clad in the loosest robe imaginable and looking so thoroughly alluring any better man would have forsaken his ego long ago and taken what he rightly deserved.

"Well," she says with the voice of someone talking to a two year old in the throes of a tantrum, "having spent three-quarters of an hour talking Harry and Ron out of staying here to protect me from your darling self, I was late getting ready, and I assumed you would prefer me not stinking like I hadn't bathed in days. However, if you prefer the stench of someone who has spent the day sweating like a troll while training in Dark Arts defence, then by all means, next time I shan't bother!"

Leave it alone. So she is ridiculing you? So what? She is also very, very attractive when she is in a rage.

Not-so-idiotic Severus wins. I lift her chin roughly, and devour her with all my pent up rage and desire. My mouth crushes hers, my tongues ravishes her own. Her damp hair tangles around my fingers, and I use my grip to indulge myself in a deeper, more devastating, exploration of her sweet mouth.

Having thoroughly assaulted her mouth, I move my endeavours south to her neck. I nip at her soft, moist skin, leaving my mark upon her. She is mine now. The noises that evanesce from her throat are both pleasured and pained, but so long as they are massed on the side of bliss I am not going to cease. Hermione wants this – she needs it. I need it. This is not one of those aforementioned harlots of the Dark Lord's. This is a woman who desires me for me, not for what I can do for her. Merlin only knows why, but that is currently beside the point.

I allow one hand to slide from her hair, move down her robed back, crushing her against me in the process. My palm slides over the arch of her lower back, the soft curve of her backside, down to mid-thigh where it triumphantly reaches the edge of the towelling and meets silky soft flesh. Hermione gasps at the contact and my arousal leaps of its own accord.

Slowly I slide my fingers up her inner thigh, my palm brushing over the back of her leg. Hermione moans. It is an utterly amazing sound. I reach her folds to find her slick, and not from her shower. I did this to her. I made her so aroused she is grinding herself against my fingers in desperate desire for more contact. This utterly amazes me.

I can restrain myself no longer, and I see no need to. She is definitely ready, and if there was any doubt in my mind, her whimpered, "Severus, please!", evaporates that concern completely. She protests as I remove my hands from her, but it is only for a moment as I unbutton my pants and liberate myself from what has become a very uncomfortable confine. My hands return to curvature of her backside, hoisting her from the ground, and in three swift steps I have her pinned against the cool wood of her bedroom door. With a soft grunt, I delve inside her then still, revelling in her warmth as she moans ardently against my shoulder, her breath tickling my skin and driving me on.

I plunge into her, setting a frantic pace, crushing her against the door. Her fingernails dig into my back and I am sure there will be marks there tomorrow. She has claimed me as hers. Juggling my grip on her a little, I manage to free on hand. As oblivion approaches I slide my fingers inside the loose opening at the top of her robes, circling her breast, grasping her nipple. Hermione gasps, tosses her head back and convulses around me. It is the most beautiful thing to watch – this woman, whom I tentatively admit I am obsessed with, her eyes closed with a look of utter peace and passion on her features. She sighs my name once more. I am gone. Somehow, I keep a hold on her, though admittedly my legs are shaking like the onset of the Cruciatus Curse, only in an infinitely more pleasurable way. Trust me on this one, I know.

With a mighty effort, I carry Hermione over to her bed as she murmurs incoherently wonderful things against my neck, and gently place her on the covers.

And now, I want to run. This is all too overwhelming for a man who prides himself on having no emotion, no feelings and certainly no concern for a bushy-haired know-it-all. Hermione is watching me with soft eyes.

"Severus?" she whispers.

"What?" I practically snap at her, angry with myself for loving her. Angry with her for accepting me.

"Stay."

She extends one fine hand to me, grasps my wrist and tugs me gently down by her side.

I suppose I could stay here just for a while.