Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 131968 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
A/N: It is important to note, as a great many of you have been blown away in one direction or another by the various behaviors of Severus and Hermione, that both suffer from post-traumatic stresses of the war. These repressed traumas and stresses encourage this radical and inappropriate behavior on both of their behalves. Like all war, it is detrimental not only to the body, but to their psyche and their souls. That said, I do love the support that you’ve each put out there for Hermione and Severus respectively. The theories that have sprung up regarding this story are fascinating and I’m having as much an enjoyment over reading them as you seem to be over reading the story itself! Fair warning, encountered in this next chapter is another person of intimated intimacy, but I assure you it is absolutely necessary. We will find ourselves meandering back to the workshop briefly, but don't expect full products until the chapter after this. I doubt we’ve seen the last of Nigel either. Please enjoy and leave a review.

                The heat was sweltering. Compounded by the stickiness of the air’s humidity Hermione was immediately beginning to regret her decision. But she had had little choice. When she’d found herself standing out in front of the house at Spinner’s End with a closed door before her she had panicked. There had been a fleeting moment where she had considered pounding on the door with the intent to cause a fuss until he let her back in. Then she thought of hopping the fence into the backyard and letting herself in through the sliding glass door with the intent of slipping unnoticed into her room. But the more she thought about such things, the angrier she became. And the angrier she became the more determined she was to do exactly as he had instructed her to and spoil herself silly on another man.
                She had ignored his comment about finding a woman. There had never been another woman who had so much as turned Hermione’s head, let alone piqued her interests in a sexual fashion. She had never found herself even remotely drawn to individuals of the same gender. The same could not be said for Severus. But she tried not to dwell on it. She tried very much to think about the things he had said to her and whether he was saying them because they were true or because he was trying to push her away. Had she gotten under his skin and was making him feel things? Or was he truly a devious swot who was simply using her as a means to an ends and he wanted her to be fully aware? Was she having feelings for him? Or merely imprinting upon him because he’d awakened her sexually? All of those thoughts swirled around in her head as she stood in a narrow foyer of a damp and sticky house, gazing up into the gloom of the place with nervous uncertainty.
                It had only taken an owl to find the place, and a moment to get her bearings and apparate there, though she’d wished for all the world that her letter had gone unanswered. She hadn’t fathomed that he would actually respond and so promptly at that. Yet there she stood, heat closing in on her skin threatening to permanently meld her clothing with her flesh. A frightening looking man with a bushy black beard and matching eyebrows had opened the door. His eyes were red and bleary, his hair was long and stringy. He’d been half naked and the pungent odor of patchouli mixed with sweat wafted off of him in repugnant waves. Hermione should have turned away, made up some excuse to say it had been the wrong house, and disapparated on the spot.
                But when she’d stated who she was there to see, the man— who called himself Axel— disappeared up the stairs with news of her arrival. She was certain the frightening fellow had been a muggle, everything about the house seemed to smack of non-magical essence, which did not put her at ease in the least. It had not been what she had been expecting when her response owl returned with a rashly scribbled Yes! Here is the address! 15-107 Rue El Besili, Tunis. She hadn’t really put thought into the fact that he would remember his offer, let alone leap at the chance to make good on it.
                “Hermione?” the voice called to her from the top of the stairs. She glanced upward. Hidden behind a furry beard that seemed to consume his face and grow straight back into his hair as if they were all one red tangle, was the warm smile and glimmering blue eyes of Charlie Weasley. “Is that you? Blimey,” he said putting his hands on the banister as he took the stairs two at a time until he was down on the floor of the foyer. “You’re really here,” he said with a beaming grin.
                She blushed, feeling uneasy. Much like Axel, Charlie only wore a pair of trousers that had been cutoff at the knee, though she supposed with the heat and humidity she could hardly blame them. “Erm, yes, I am.” She smiled. Though she could no more rationalize in her mind what exactly she was doing there than she could believe that she had actually gone through with going. “Hello,” she said, again feeling her cheeks fill with blush from sounding quite so stupid.
                “Well, hello!” he said. Without warning he wrapped her into one of his patented bear hugs. Some things never changed. Crushed in his embrace, she patted her arms around his back and tried not to inhale. He smelled much like Axel had, thick with sweat and patchouli and as if a good bath would be in order. She couldn’t imagine what Molly would have to say if she saw her son in his current state. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said pulling back from embracing her, looking her up and down. “Gotten thinner, I think, not that you were ever hefty,” he shrugged. “Are you eating enough these days?”
                Hermione nodded her head. She pursed her lips to apologize, ready to tell him it had been a mistake and that she’d changed her mind when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Come on up, I’ll get you settled in so we can get you what you need,” he grinned and then guided her up the stairs. Lost in a daze she found her feet moving with his guidance up the stairs and around the landing. There were beaded curtains everywhere, including over the doorway that he nudged her through. “’S not much, but it’s quiet,” he said. “Axel’s done for the evening,” he laughed. She watched as Charlie fooled with a plug draping down over the doorframe. Little twinkling lights blinked into existence across the room giving it a purplish glow.
                “Are you two the only ones that live here?” she asked, her brow knitting in concern.
                “Nah, Axel doesn’t live here,” he said with a laugh. “He visits with Vedrana mostly, but she’s working tonight and he stopped by for a breath of air before she gets home, but that’ll be hours from now. There’s another bloke named Novix that lives here and he brings some mates round from time to time but he’s not in tonight either.” Charlie nodded to the plush rug covered in two squishy pillows big enough to be chairs. “Have a seat,” he gestured. “Can I get you anything? A toke? A hookah? Some wine?”
                Hermione felt her stomach tighten. “Erm— no, thank you,” she said and moved to settle down into the pillow chair. It was lumpy but not entirely unpleasant. She had difficulty wrapping her head around a place where two blokes and a lady lived together in harmony with people coming and going as Charlie had just described. But judging from the looks of Axel and the smell that seemed to permeate through the house, she imagined they were not typical people, and were probably more laid back in their lifestyle than Hermione had ever been about anything.
                “Suit yourself,” he said with a smile and then flopped down onto the pillow beside her. “You look good. I mean, you always looked good, but you look gorgeous,” he said.
                “Thanks,” she shrugged her shoulders and tried not to blush. The room smelled strongly of smoke and she bit her lower lip. The moment she did she stopped half expecting Charlie to reach out and pluck it from between her teeth. A shiver crawled up her spine when she realized she’d been anticipating the gesture because Severus had done it so often.
                “So…what made you want to see me?” he asked.
                Hermione sighed. She had been afraid he was going to ask her that question. When she’d first split from Ron, every member of the Weasley clan had wanted to do their part to help. Percy had offered to give Ron a talking to and Ginny had offered to give him a good hexing. Molly and Arthur had both offered up the Burrow and Molly had insisted on cooking food for Hermione for nearly the first month. It had been the fullest her icebox had ever been. George had sent her silly little novelty cards for the first few days to cheer her up, and Bill had sent along an invitation to come to Shell Cottage with his wife and kids for a brief getaway, though she suspected he was using the invitation as a convenient excuse to get a free babysitter. Charlie, however, had been different. Charlie had taken her quietly aside one of the nights she’d stayed at The Burrow, as he’d been in residence at the time, and had told her that if she ever needed a night of unattached sex just to clear her head to let him know. She’d slapped his face that night but apologized the next morning when she’d realized he hadn’t been coming onto her so much as he had been offering her a rebound of sorts.
                But she’d never made good on his offer. She hadn’t even thought about it until Severus had thrown her out of Spinner’s End for the night. She still didn’t understand what that was meant to accomplish other than putting physical distance between them, but she’d been shoved out with specific instructions. It was difficult to deny that she was angry enough to be foolish and act on them, which was exactly how she had ended up at a sketchy house in Tunis. She had never been one to ignore an instructional opportunity and she had convinced herself that Severus was trying to teach her something by casting her out. Though what it was he was trying to teach her, she hadn’t quite decided.
                Hermione raked her eyes over his figure, slowly appraising the wizard that was stretched out before her. While Charlie had told her that she hadn’t changed, he certainly had. If it hadn’t been for the twinkling blue eyes, she wouldn’t have recognized him. His full beard was something of a facial jungle, crawling down his chin and back over his ears. His hair was long and wild down his back, longer than even Bill had ever dared to grow his hair. His figure, though still much like Ron’s in the sense that he was shorter and stouter than most of the Weasley men, was incredibly muscular. She had never seen him without a shirt on before and couldn’t help as she stared at his arms, noting the way they bulged with muscle. His skin bore marks, some faded some fresh, most of which looked like burns and she imagined they were from his days spent working with dragons.
                “I mean— you don’t have to tell me if you’d just rather get to—”
                “No, no! I mean…” she sighed. “It’s alright, I’m sorry. I was just thinking,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m glad that you’re still— that the offer is still— oh…goodness,” she muttered, blushing furiously.
                Charlie chuckled. “You do drink, don’t you? I’m getting you wine,” he said and hopped up onto his feet.
                “No, really, Charlie, it’s fine— I don’t want to be blasted for this,” she said and crossed her arms around her chest.
                He laughed. “One glass isn’t going to get you blasted, Hermione. Not even with as strong as their wine is here,” he said. She watched his frame disappear through the beaded curtains and she heard his footfalls bouncing down the stairs. She had a moment to consider diving out the window and apparating back to Spinners End, or really anywhere that wasn’t the sauna of a cesspit he was calling his home. But before she could gather up her courage to do so, he’d returned with a glass of dark purplish liquid. “It’s not too sweet, mind you, but it should help calm you down,” he said and handed it to her.
                Hermione sniffed the glass and wrinkled her nose. It smelled as if the grapes had gone rotten. She took a sip and choked it back, thankful that she hadn’t taken a hefty swallow. It was disgusting. Setting the glass beside her she tried her best to look at ease so that he would not insist on getting her something stronger. “Do you like it here?” she asked.
                “It’s quiet,” he said, easing back down into the pillow. “Gives me a chance to take in the unexamined life. Off the beaten path, you know, that rubbish.”
                “Right.”
                “And what about you? You didn’t say much in your note.” He rolled a bit of paper between his fingers and began puffing away on some sort of homemade cigarette which smelled rank.
                “Yeah…” she shook her head. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I just…” she rolled her hand in a gesture to indicate him. “I needed… well I need…and if you’re sure—”
                Charlie grinned. “You’ve come along at the perfect time, Hermione.” He confessed and then leaned up on his knees. After a moment he stood. “Come on, there’s a bed through here,” he said and took her hand. Hermione was up on her feet and dipping through a set of beaded curtains at the back of the room in which they sat. The back room was smaller and smelled musty but there was very clearly a bed in its corner. It was simple and reminded her of Severus’ bed. “There you go,” he said and put both hands on her shoulders. “You want a rub down first? Or maybe some more wine?”
                “No,” she whispered and closed her eyes. Could she really go through with it? She owed Severus nothing. He’d made it quite clear that she was nothing more than a housemate by harshly pointing out the fact that she did not know what she wished them to be. It was still quite unsettling. She felt Charlie’s hands on her shoulders, slowly rubbing their way up and down her back. She winced but bit her lip to keep her protestations quiet. Her body still ached from the sinful attack that Severus had laid to her neck and back with his lips that morning in the shower. “Charlie, I—”
                He eased his hands up off her back and slowly spun her around. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, ‘Mione,” he said and nuzzled his nose against the top of her head. “I’m happy to do whatever…maybe you just want a good lick?” he offered. Her face colored furiously and he chuckled. “Or whatever,” he said with a shrug and nudged her toward the bed. “Have a sit maybe? Let me rub your feet?”
                Hermione exhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She slowly lowered herself onto the bed and listened as he sank down onto his knees, pulling one foot up into his hands. Charlie’s hands were large. They reminded her of Severus’ hands, only rougher. While Severus had hands that had worked with caustic potion ingredients for longer than she had been alive, his fingers were spindly and slender. Charlie’s fingers felt thick, a bit like sausages, and were scarred from his years working with dragons in Romania. She kept her eyes closed and in doing so could almost imagine that it was Severus knelt before her rubbing the sole of her foot. That image made her stomach turn. Hadn’t he sent her away so that she would experience someone other than him? Her eyes flew open and she gazed at Charlie, who was intently rubbing her foot and staring at her leg, the way it poked out from beneath the lace trim of her nightgown.
                She knew she had looked a fright when she’d arrived at the house door and the way Axel had looked her over had confirmed her suspicions that she must have been crazy. But when Severus had put her out of the house he’d not given her a moment to change. She hadn’t even been able to gather her wand. Looking back, she felt foolish for traveling such a distance without it and realized with dawning trepidation that it was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d ever done. But her focus was pulled out of her thoughts as Charlie’s hands began to work around her ankle, moving slowly but steadily up to her calf. All in all the massage was not entirely unpleasant but it was nothing like the way Severus had massaged her the night he had prepared her for her first lesson in fellatio.
                “There you go…” Charlie whispered. His voice was so different from Severus’ rich baritone that always seemed to burble with mysterious intention. She closed her eyes once more, trying not to notice the way Charlie’s hands crept higher up her leg, massaging her just beneath her knee. It did feel nice, but she wasn’t sure that meant she desired him, at least not the way she desired Severus. But wasn’t that her problem? Not really knowing what she wanted? Hermione leaned back on her elbows and shifted her legs just a bit causing Charlie to still his motions completely. She gasped when she felt the coarse hairs of his bushy beard brush against the inside of her calf. “You alright?” he asked.
                “Fine, Charlie…I’m fine,” she said and then lowered her back onto the bed. She felt his kiss; his warm wet lips pressed against her skin just above her knee against her inner thigh. His lips were soft but a different kind of soft as they caressed her flesh, trailing kisses slowly up her inner thigh. His rough hand pushed her nightgown up, letting it gather up near her belly and she felt herself trembling. Was she really so easily turned on by the simplest of intimate touches? Or was she thinking about Severus and her body was responding in kind. This is not Severus, he threw you out of the house. That mantra did nothing to quell her anxiety as she felt Charlie’s kisses rise higher still until his full soft lips pressing against the thin cotton fabric of her knickers just against her sex.
                Hermione whimpered as his tongue traced the length of her slit through her knickers. When had she parted her legs to let him so easily reach her? She could feel her body warming to his touches as his hand pushed her nightgown up further still, exposing her breasts to the sticky air of his room. Her nipples were stiff, her chest rising and falling rapidly and she felt strangely betrayed by her body’s arousal. Perhaps Severus had been right and she was simply boy-crazy wanting whatever man would give her pleasure. She would not open her eyes as she felt his fingers easing up to the elastic of her knickers, slowly pulling them down around her thighs, over her knees, and then off her feet. “You’re bare…” he said, his voice husky.
                It was not Severus’ voice. Hermione tossed her head to the side, opening her eyes to stare at the little window that led out of his room. She gasped, the feeling of his slick tongue against her folds sending a tremble through her legs. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, even though she found her hips arching toward his mouth as he pressed kisses against her entrance, the coarse wires of his beard scratching at her thighs. The window reflected the darkness of the night, no stars, no street lights, only blackness, which reminded her of Severus. Her body jerked as she felt him slide a finger and then a second into her core, the squelching sound of his pumping motion filling the tiny room. Her body wanted sex and didn’t seem to care who provided it. She wanted to be revolted, she wanted to be disgusted, but all she felt was empty.
                She didn’t feel the need to moan or the desperation to cry out as she had done when Severus had manhandled her that morning. And although Charlie was quite thorough with his application of oral sex, as she’d nearly climaxed, she hadn’t felt compelled to pant his name or obscenities. When he drew his body over her she closed her eyes and raked her nails down his back. Their kiss was deep, his beard rough against her face. She’d kept her nightgown on, it had only been pulled up above her breasts and this hid the morning’s bruises from his sight. When he pushed himself into her, she closed her eyes, trying to just feel the sensation rather than let her mind wander away. He did not feel like Severus.
                Charlie was not lacking for length, though a bit on the slender side, and seemed to have exceptional control over the way he fucked. His hips were hard at times, banging against her, but soft too, sliding into her with practiced ease. It was pleasant, but not the unholy sinful phenomena that she had experienced with Severus. His fingers had pressed between them and manipulated her clit, causing her to whimper until she felt herself trembling, her walls clenching down on him. Hermione felt a small orgasm shoot through her, the simple rush of unattached pleasure doing little to thrill her despite the warming sensation that accompanied it.
                When he eased his body back from her she was polite and smiled, surprised that he kissed her, and then slipped behind her in the bed. “I know…I know it’s a small bed…” he panted, a bit out of breath from the never-ending bout of sex he’d just completed. “But if you…if you like…you can…you can stay the night…” he kissed the back of her neck.
                “Sure,” she said, though she wished to leave. Hermione laid there with Charlie pressed against her back, feeling empty and slightly soiled. Within moments he was snoring and his arm was draped haphazardly over her body. “Fuck,” she muttered and found herself pinching the bridge of her nose. She had not wanted to stay and what had possessed her to do so was beyond her comprehension, so she settled for staring at the wall and listening to Charlie snore. It had been sex, mindless and meaningless sex that had filled her physically. It had even brought her to an orgasm, albeit small, and allowed her body that release. But it had felt hollow. She wondered if when Severus slept with her it too felt hollow or if he felt things for her and felt empty with others. She wondered if he even felt at all.
                Hermione couldn’t recall when exactly she’d drifted off, but when a bright orange light crept under her eyelids she bolted up in the bed and for a moment forgot herself completely. The surroundings were foreign and she panicked, reaching for her wand which wasn’t there. But after a moment of searching frantically around the room the night’s previous activities came into her mind. Severus throwing her out, her apparating to Tunis, and the rather bland and hollow sex with Charlie Weasley. Certain that her sudden thrashing had woken him she all but flipped over herself only to find an empty mattress and a hastily scribbled note on the pillow.
                ‘Mione— Hope that was what you needed. Left out for the markets. Be back around noon if you need a second go. ~C
                Hermione scanned the room for a time piece and then stumbled up to her feet and back into the room with the pillows. It was half 11. With an urgency she righted her nightgown, wishing for all the world that she was more proficient in wandless magic, and dashed from the house. As soon as she was on the street she disapparated, not giving a flying fart in space who saw her vanish. When she landed just in front of the house at Spinner’s End, she dashed to the front door and tried the handle, surprised that it was open. A heavy knot ruptured in her stomach and she felt as if she might be sick.
                Caution padded her steps as she made her way down the corridor and into her bedroom. She needed a shower. Ducking into the bathroom she was somewhat relieved that there was no sign of Severus anywhere in the house. If he was in his bedroom, the door was closed and he was either sleeping or dead. She wasn’t so sure that the latter of those two options was a bad thing. Once inside the bathroom, with her wand firmly in her hand, she peeled the nightgown from her body and set the garment on fire. A long hot shower later, wherein she could not seem to do enough scrubbing of her hair and body to alleviate the reminiscent scent of the previous night’s encounter, Hermione was dressed and standing out in the street of Spinner’s End.
                She hadn’t wanted to be idling in the house if he returned home or emerged from his bedroom. Though she’d gone and done as he’d suggested she wasn’t entirely sure that it had been the best thing to do. And she certainly was not prepared to talk about it. She was no more certain about what she wanted, other than to never set foot in that dreadful house in Tunis again, and was certainly no better off for the experience. Or perhaps she was because it had showed her that she didn’t want another man, at least not Charlie Weasley, though her body had seemed to disagree. It ate away at her mind, particularly when she took to comparing her own bodily responses to her encounter with Charlie to that of his bodily responses with her. Was his body simply responding because, like her, his mind and body were of two separate convictions, where his mind continued to deny her but his body refused to deny her? Hadn’t she had the same experience with Charlie? It made her head hurt.
                When she found herself outside the Potter’s door, she was hesitant before knocking, pleased that Ginny was the one who had answered. “Where’s Harry?” she asked.
                “Out with the kids and Teddy, I think, is everything alright?” she asked, ushering Hermione into the kitchen.
                “Good,” she said and took the seat that was offered to her. “I need to talk to you.”
                Ginny frowned. “Have you had a row with your beaux?” she asked.
                Hermione’s eyes flew wide open and she gazed at Ginny in shock. “What?”
                “Sorry,” she shrugged her shoulders. “We just figured since you’d stopped coming round and mum said you’d stopped crashing at The Burrow that you must have found a bloke,” she said with a shrug. “Otherwise you would have invited us round for tea at your new place…”
                “Oh, Ginny!” she crossed her arms over her chest, though she could hardly be mad.
                “What?” she brought the kettle to the table. That was one thing that Hermione always appreciated about Ginny Potter’s house, there was always a steaming kettle ready to wash away the world’s troubles in tea. The silence prompted Ginny into an impromptu confession. “When you all but vanished from society Harry put the trace on you— don’t give me that look— he just wanted to track your whereabouts and make sure you were alright…” Ginny poured Hermione a cup of tea.
                “I could have him sacked for that, you know.” Hermione brooded into her tea. “Why on earth would he—”
                “Oh, honestly, Hermione. He was only concerned. First you split with Ron, then you left the Ministry, and then your flat…he was worried you were going to go off and…” Ginny hesitated. “Well, and you can’t tell him I told you this— but he was really worried you were going to hurt yourself.”
                Hermione frowned into her teacup. “He’s been tracing me ever since?”
                “Oh, no!” she said with a flush of relief. “Only for a while, making sure you were alright. When mum floo’d a week or so back and said you’d found a place, he took the trace right off.”
                “I see,” she said and then sighed. “Oh, Gin, I’m sorry I shouldn’t be cross. He meant well.”
                Ginny smiled. “Biscuits? I’ve got some scones from the shop if you’d like, then you can tell me about this row you’ve had with your beaux.”
                Hermione begrudgingly accepted a tray of biscuits, though her preference with tea had always been savories. Little sausage roles and mini meat pies or finger sandwiches trumped tarts, biscuits, and scones any day of the week in her opinion. But she was famished and tucked into the tin of shortbread fingers with gusto. Ginny, who seemed to prefer the bourbon creams, sipped quietly on her tea waiting for Hermione to speak.
                “He’s not my beaux, let’s put that out there first,” she said. Hermione could not imagine calling Severus anything of the sort, much less telling him that she’d been referring to him as such. She tried to wrap her head around it, he was certainly not boyfriend material and that wasn’t what she wanted anyhow. Or was it? She hadn’t been pleased with Ron when they’d been together, but she knew that had very little to do with what was currently happening between her and Severus. “He’s my housemate.”
                “Oh dear, you’ve had a falling out then?” Ginny asked. She dunked a bourbon cream into her tea.
                “Not exactly…” she could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks. She could feel something rising in the back of her throat. And then it just came out. A tumultuous stream of words flowing inexplicably and without pause explaining far more than she had intended to. “We work together— George actually hired us on, and I know you know about the position because you turned up in response to the ad— but he hired me and this other wizard on, and after a few nights work we realized we were both in similar financial situations— although he had a house— and so we ended up living together, which was a problem because there were these moments where we’d encounter one another in his home and there was this tension and then we were sleeping together outside of the job and last night he put me out because he thinks I objectify him and only want him for sex but that isn’t the case or at least I thought it wasn’t only now I’m not sure because he might be bisexual and has this ridiculous little boy that comes round the house, which he only says is for lessons— because he’s a sex instructor outside of being a sex product tester— and he seems to want me at least for sex because he swears he doesn’t cuddle but last night he was in my bed, until he put me out of it, telling me to go and have sex with someone else and I ended up going to Tunis and sleeping with Charlie and now I don’t know what to do!” Hermione gasped.
                Ginny stared blankly at Hermione for several minutes. “I’m going to need to put another kettle on,” she said and rose slowly from her seat. Once the kettle was back on the stove and Ginny was seated again, she nodded at Hermione. “Alright, I think I followed that train-wreck stream of conscious, except for the bit about going to Tunis and sleeping with Charlie, because that didn’t make any sense whatever, but I’m going to ignore it for the moment.”
                “Sorry, I—”
                “Shh!” Ginny shushed. “Just, give me a second.” She swallowed from her tea. “Now you and this bloke like each other?”
                Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”
                Ginny laughed. “That’s stupid, of course you know. Either you like him and he likes you, or you like him and he doesn’t like you, or you don’t like him and he does like you, or you both don’t like each other. It’s really simple.”
                Hermione frowned. When Ginny spelled it out it did seem deceptively simple. But there was never anything simple about Severus Snape. Not their living situation, not their working situation, not the rows they’d had, or the boy Nigel, there was nothing uncomplicated about the whole mess. She sighed. “I think I like him,” she started.
                “No, either you like him or you don’t. There’s no bloody thinking involved, Hermione. Yes or no?”
                “But I don’t—”
                “Yes. Or no?” Ginny stared at her.
                Hermione bowed her head. “Yes. Alright, yes. I like him.”
                “And you don’t know how he feels about you? He must like you somewhat if you’ve slept with him outside of work.”
                “I would think so…only he makes it complicated when he tries to explain that bit,” she confessed.
                “Of course he does, he’s a man. And if he’s got a bloke on the side—”
                “He does not have a bloke on the side!” she snapped.
                “Easy, Hermione,” Ginny cautioned. “Don’t get defensive. You said there was a boy that comes round…so you must think something of this boy or you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
                There was a tremendous sigh on Hermione’s behalf. She hadn’t been able to stop obsessing over Nigel since the night she’d met him at Twizted Knickerz. It hadn’t helped her situation at all when she’d found him trussed up in bondage in Severus’ room the night before. The way the ridiculous little twit doted on Severus with great affection made her bristle. But she realized in that moment that it only irked her because she knew she would not be allowed to dote on him in the same fashion without it being ridiculed, rebuked, and reprimanded. “Yes, there’s a boy…and literally a boy,” she stressed. “He told me that he was legal age but he wouldn’t tell me how old. He looks far too young for someone S—” Hermione nearly slipped. “For someone so promiscuous.”
                Ginny snorted. “Promiscuity doesn’t have an age, Hermione.” She chuckled into her tea and popped two more bourbon creams into her mouth. “So he has a bloke on the side. If you two don’t have an actual relationship— you know, outside of what you do at work— and you’re just having sex for the hell of it inside the house, then why does it bother you if he has a bloke on the side?”
                It was an exasperating question that she’d been grappling with since her initial encounter with the blonde boy. Hermione knew in her heart of hearts that she was not an overly jealous person, but seeing Severus with Nigel boiled her blood into some unrecognizable phantom of the deadly sin of envy. “I’m jealous,” she said after a moment’s consideration.
                “Because you want him the way he has this bloke?” Ginny asked. Hermione nodded. “But you said he’s bisexual, right?”
                Hermione groaned. “He is— well, no. I mean, I don’t know. He doesn’t identify with labels. He’s slept with witches and wizards— and I think this boy is a muggle— but my point is, he’s mixed up— no, that doesn’t sound right. I don’t mean he doesn’t know what he wants— well, he doesn’t because he’s like Jekyll and Hyde when it comes to wanting me, but I’m trying to say that he doesn’t seem to have a preference. Does that make sense? Like he seems to want to sleep with whatever, boys, girls, doesn’t matter to him.”
                Ginny shook her head. “Well you certainly don’t encounter that every day.” She frowned as she reached into the package of bourbon creams and drew out the last one. “I swear Harry’s been into these…” she muttered.
                “Not at all that I’ve just watched you eat a good dozen of them in the last five minutes?” Hermione chuckled.
                “Hush, when you and your beaux get pregnant you come and talk to me about what all you do and don’t eat.”
                Hermione blanched. “We will not be getting pregnant. He is not the fathering type,” she swallowed the remnants of her teacup. “And I am certainly not the mothering sort either.”
                Ginny stood from the chair and crossed the kitchen into the pantry. She returned a moment later with a sleeve of Jaffa Cakes, cracking into them as if she hadn’t just polished off an entire half package of the bourbon creams. “So he’s into whatever, and he has a bloke on the side and you fancy him and you two had a row. Was it about you fancying him?”
                “Sort of. He said that I didn’t know what I want and put me out for the night.”
                “Well that wasn’t very nice of him,” Ginny said.
                “I know. And he told me to go sleep with someone else until I could figure out what I did want from him!” Hermione snatched a Jaffa Cake and stuffed it into her mouth.
                “Did he really say that?” Ginny gasped.
                “Well…” Hermione chewed the rest of the Jaffa Cake before answering. “Not in so many words, but he did tell me to go and find someone else to be with for the night, and made it very clear that he meant sexually.”
                “Right. So that’s how you ended up in Tunis. What is Charlie doing there now anyway?” Ginny asked.
                Hermione shuddered trying not to think about the dreadful house and its repugnant smell. “I honestly couldn’t say, Gin. But his…” she blushed. “His…well…you know, when Ron and I split…”
                “Oh! Oh, right. I hexed him hard for that,” she paused a moment. “And then you went and made good on it, didn’t you,” she said with a sigh and roll of her eyes. “And that just further confused you? Please do not tell me you’ve started feeling something for my brother, he’s never been interested in settling down and would sooner give you The Flinge before he gives you a ring.”
                Hermione shuddered. The Flinge was a putrid sexual-magical transmitted infection, which she hadn’t even considered when she’d decided to bed down with Charlie the night before. She’d only heard stories from her days at Hogwarts and remembered a paragraph about it in the tome that Severus had given her. She was overcome with a desire to cleanse herself again. There had been no signs or symptoms and she prayed for the next 24 hours there would not be.
                “No, Gin, I’m not feeling things for Charlie. In fact, I think it did make me realize that I do feel things for S—” again she nearly slipped. “For someone that I never thought I’d feel things for…my housemate.”
                Ginny sighed with relief. “Good. So go and tell your housemate that. And then kick him in the shin for tossing you out to Charlie.”
                Hermione couldn’t help herself as she chuckled. “He didn’t toss me out to Charlie, I’m pretty sure it was my preference as to who I went to, if I went to anyone at all.” She paused thoughtfully. “Though he was a generous lover, and rather skilled—”
                “Nope.” Said Ginny. “I do not want to know. I do not need to know. I will not know. Stop right there because I will hex every last hair off your head if you utter one more word about how my brother is in bed.”
                Again Hermione found herself laughing, albeit sheepishly. “Actually, my housemate might approve. He fusses about my hair every chance he gets. It’s too messy, it gets in his way, he finds it everywhere…” she sighed. “But that’s not important.”
                “Of course it is,” she said. “I mean, I lopped mine off right after Hogwarts, but really that was because it was such a handful to take care of, even with magic. And with kids— Merlin! I never would have managed. You ever see a witch with kids with long hair, Hermione?” she laughed. “Come to think of it, you ever see a married witch with long hair?” she smirked.
                Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t be crude, Gin,” she said. “Hair aside, I won’t talk about Charlie, though he could stand a haircut, it’s halfway down his back and he looks like a wild man from Borneo with that beard.”
                Ginny scrunched up her nose. “He’s grown a beard in again? Ugh.”
                “Ugh indeed. It was unpleasant just about everywhere, especially when he went—” the murderous glare from across the table pulled Hermione into immediate silence. “Sorry,” she muttered.
                “Right. Well, look, Hermione, if you fancy him for more than just sex, your housemate not Charlie, then tell him. Maybe that’s all he needs to hear to give up that side bloke, or what have you.” Ginny paused to sip her tea and Hermione heard the front door open. “Or maybe it isn’t, I don’t know, but you won’t know until you tell him, that’s for certain.”
                “Mummy!” came the cry from the front of the house.
                “And my respite of a quiet house has ended,” Ginny sighed dramatically. “Are you staying for supper?” she asked.
                “I can’t, work at five tonight. We had last night off so George wants to make up for lost time,” she said and stood from the kitchen table.
                “Ah well, next time. And maybe once you work things out with your beaux you can bring him round for tea?”
                Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny. It was shocking how similar she sounded to Molly. Hermione hugged Ginny and gave a quick hello hug and kiss to Harry on her way out. There was only a bit of time before she was due at the workshop and she did not wish to travel back to Spinner’s End. Airing out her mind with Ginny had helped put clarity into the situation. It did follow logically that she fancied Severus, even if he thought she knew nothing about it. And she was jealous of Nigel. Telling him all of those things, however, was going to be a different story, one that was bound to be messy and unfortunate. But that would have to wait at the very least until after their evening’s work with George.
                When Hermione arrived in the Joke Shop, George was ushering the last few customers of the day to the door. “Head on up, we’ve got the first little while to ourselves,” he hollered to her. “Severus is going to be late.”
                That simple statement soured Hermione’s stomach as she dragged her feet up the stairs to the second story and then further still to the halfway landing that led into the workshop. Why was he going to be late? She doubted very much that he would have given a reason, though she intended to ask George when he joined her. Hermione’s mind immediately jumped to a worst case scenario wherein he and Nigel were having some fantastical romp, which would be guised as a lesson, and he had to finish with the silly little swot before coming into work. She tried desperately to push that notion from her mind.
                “Right, so I’ve got something you can test without him, hopefully he won’t be too long,” said George, closing the door to the workshop. “He didn’t say how long he would be, mind you, just that he was going to be running behind schedule. I imagine if he meant to be a real long time he would have noted, or sent a second owl by now.” Hermione nodded numbly as she began to undress, slipping into her robe. It seemed strange to be in the workshop without Severus. She tried not to dwell on his whereabouts.
                She was donned in her robe and standing by the work table, which was once again a table when George came up beside her. “And I think Snape will be pleased. I’ve ordered a proper bed. Though it won’t get here until tomorrow. So that way we have the table and the bed and when we get back up into my flat for the rest of the bath stuff in a few days, we’ll have all the testing surfaces we need.” He was grinning as he spoke and then set a small container down on the table.
                “What is that?” she asked. Hermione leaned closer to inspect the product. It looked like a pill case or a small jewelry container, which never boded well for whatever was inside.
                “Nifty Nipples,” he said. George had wandered back to the ledger and Hermione often wondered why he didn’t simply enchant the ledger to hover and follow him as he milled about the workshop. “Nifty Nipples will spruce up your evening with novelty shapes and colors for a special surprise for that special someone.”
                Hermione frowned. “Like that cream from day one?”
                “Not exactly,” he said. “This is more for visual aesthetic, and we won’t need anyone to lick you and see if you taste different.” George nodded at the package. “Fred’s notes only indicate Glimmer Gold-Star and Lavender Love-Heart.”
                When Hermione peeled open the lip of the container four small objects that looked like the sugared crunchy bits from the morning cereals she was never allowed to eat as a child were resting inside. Two were shaped like hearts in a faintly purple hue and the other two were distinctly gold and shaped like stars. Plucking up one of the stars she noted the way it squished in her hand, almost like a stress ball. “And do I just place them on my…” she gestured over the front of her robe.
                George was reading the ledger. “Says squeeze between thumb and finger until flat and dab on.” He shrugged. “So— do that.”
                “Right.” Hermione pressed the little squishy charm between her thumb and finger and felt it crunch. It reminded her of an air-puffed biscuit. There was no scent only a splattered golden star stuck to the pad of her index finger. With a shrug she drew aside the lapels of her robe, letting them dangle open, and dabbed her finger against the center of her nipple. The shimmery gold star transferred itself from skin to skin and she felt her nipple grow taut. “It tightens on contact,” she said, realizing she sounded a bit like Severus in her clinical observation. “And it— oh!” she cried, looking down at her chest. Her right nipple was indeed stiff and indeed a shiny gold, but the normally rounded pebble had puckered into a sharpened five-pointed star.
                “Blimey,” George said. He snatched up his quill and began scratching away in the ledger. “Can you do the other one, the second star, that’s a nifty trick.”
                Repeating the process, Hermione stood with her chest exposed, both nipples gleaming and glinting in the light of the workshop shaped like identical gold stars. She touched her newly-shaped nipples. They were taut and firm. She gave them a squeeze and rubbed her thighs together. “I think it makes them just a bit more sensitive,” she confessed with a blush.
                “Good…good…” said George.
                Hermione bit her lower lip and gazed down her chest, wishing for a moment that she had a mirror. “They are strangely novel,” she said with the faintest of smiles crossing her lips. “Do you think they hold their shape when being— well…” despite her forward behavior with Severus at the house on Spinner’s End, she found herself full of prudency and the inability to articulate her thoughts on the matter without first blushing like a virgin. “If they were being stimulated orally?”
                George paused the scratching in his ledger, looked up, and frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
                “Something that should only take a moment to sort out, Mr. Weasley.” Severus’ voice surprised Hermione, her head whirling to the workshop door. He was striding over to the hook, draping his traveling cloak on the hook next to her clothes. In moments he was donned in his workshop robe and standing beside her, scrutinizing her breasts. Surely they couldn’t have been at work all but a few moments? It occurred to Hermione as he continued to gaze at her chest that he was rarely prompt, always at least a moment or two early and naturally just a few minutes’ tardiness would have prompted an owl.
                Her breath caught in her throat when he squeezed her breast without warning and then lowered his head to flick his tongue at her star-shaped nipple. It was much like the very first time he’d touched her in the workshop, unexpected but pleasant. His tongue was warm, tracing the stiffened five-point shape of her nipple and she closed her eyes, not trusting herself in that moment. He was thorough; he was always thorough. And he was nothing like Charlie. His lips were gentler somehow, even though she knew they possessed the ability to be rough, even though she knew they were responsible for every mark on her body. Her eyes flew open at the thought that when she would disrobe all of the bite marks and bruises would be visible. She’d been so shaken by the encounter with Charlie Weasley in Tunis that she’d completely disregarded the notion of a glamour.
                Severus pulled his lips back from her nipple and nodded at George. “The color and shape seem to hold firmly, the stiffness already quite full from the application.”
                “Great,” he said. “Um, there’s a spray bottle of the cleanser we’ve been using on the shelf,” he added and turned his head back into the pages of the ledger.
                Hermione waited for him to hand her the bottle, surprised when he sprayed the cloth himself and eased it over first her left and then her right nipple. She was cautious in her attempt to catch his eye, but he was intent on ignoring her, or so it seemed. This was frustrating. But she also wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to keep herself composed if he let his eyes delve deeply into hers as he so often did. He would find a world of turmoil there, as he always did, only this time she wouldn’t be able to keep it all from tumbling out of her mouth. Resigned to the fact that it was going to be an impossible night, she redoubled her efforts to focus and cleared her throat to address George. “The heart ones then?”
                “Yes, please,” he said, not looking up from his notes.
                Repeating the process she had with the stars, Hermione found her nipples transformed into little purple hearts. They did not appear as taut or as sensitive as the stars had made her feel, but she shrugged it off and allowed Severus to ply his tongue and lips first to her left and then her right nipple. “These do not hold their shape,” he noted to George. Hermione looked down. He was right, already her left nipple had begun to flatten against her chest, hardly stiff despite his actions and the perfectly pinched heart shape was more of a purple oval.
                “Not like the stars did.”
                “Right,” said George. “Severus, come take a look at this formula. There must be something about the way the lavender coloration has been incorporated that’s impacting the shaping charm,” he waved Severus over, leaving Hermione to cleanse her own breasts with the spray and cloth. She watched quietly as they talked in muted whispers, debating the notions of the formula and whether or not picking a different color would make a difference in the retention of the charm’s shaped enchantment. While Hermione had been a more than proficient student during her days at Hogwarts, even receiving an ‘O’ on her O.W.L.S. in charms, it had not been offered or required to take as a N.E.W.T.S. level class, and her experience with advanced-state charms, such as the one George and Severus were currently discussing, was minimal.
                A moment later their conversation had ceased and Hermione found both men to be staring at her. “What?” she asked.
                “Didn’t you hear me, Hermione?” George asked.
                She shook her head. Had she been lost in her own thoughts again? Had her mind been wandering away on notions of Severus and what had made him late, so much so that she’d tuned George out? She sighed and moved to join them at the little table by the ledger. She did not look at Severus, afraid that he would search her eyes and slip into her mind. She was still rather cross about the fact that he’d been probing her mind and she fully intended to address that when they returned home that evening. The pit of her stomach lurched suddenly as it dawned on her that after whatever conversation it was they were no doubt going to have that perhaps she would be in need of another place to stay. She would not be going back to Tunis, of that she was certain. Though she supposed after the discussion she’d had with Ginny that afternoon that going back to the Potter residence wasn’t completely out of the question should he decide that she need to find lodgings elsewhere.
                “Miss Granger?” it was Severus’ voice that slipped into her conscious. Startled, Hermione turned her eyes to him, blushing as she realized that her mind had done it again. “Are you feeling well?” he asked.
                “Fine,” she said. Hermione bit her lower lip and then casually added. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
                Before she could note Severus’ reaction to her comment or allow for him to retort, George was interrupting them both. “So the Joke Convention is confirmed!” he grinned. “A few weeks from now, like I said— Thursday arrival with late Sunday departure, and they’ve got the rooms all squared away. We’ve got three shots at presentation too. They’re an hour long demo session— one on Friday evening, and a big slot during the hot-spot late Saturday afternoon and a late morning one on Sunday. They’re prime times.” He was brimming with excitement as he explained the news.
                Hermione felt her head spinning. She must have looked as if she were going to fall over because a firm and steady hand braced her shoulder. She didn’t need to look back to know it was Severus. She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose then slowly exhaling through her mouth. Breathing in that manner was the only thing that helped the dizziness ebb from her head. When she opened her eyes, George was staring at her, looking a bit concerned.
                “Hermione, are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look well.”
                “I’m fine, George,” she said. “Just haven’t eaten much today,” she sighed. “At least the room stopped spinning, anyway. Now get on with what you were talking about.”
                “You said you had itineraries, Mr. Weasley? Perhaps you would take this moment to retrieve them and give Ms. Granger a moment to compose herself and eat something.” Severus nodded to George.
                “I’m fine, Severus,” Hermione rolled her eyes but swayed as she turned to face him. Blushing, she looked to him sheepishly before saying, “Maybe I’ll just sit a moment.”
                George frowned and looked from Hermione to Severus. He seemed to take his cue from Severus and departed the workshop without another word. A wave of Severus’ hand brought the stool over and he eased Hermione down onto it, keeping his hand on her shoulder. She was frustrated with herself but too dizzy to chastise herself. She felt his hand shift as he moved around to stand in front of her, searching her face with those stalwart, albeit concerned, dark eyes.
                “I said I’m fine…” she swayed slightly as she spoke.
                “What else have you eaten today besides shortbread fingers, Miss Granger?” he asked.
                Hermione felt her face flush. He was reading her mind again and it was infuriating. “None of your—”
                His finger paused her lips. “This is not the time or place for an attitude,” he admonished. “And before you start barking about the invasion of your mind, I noticed the crumbs on your jumper on the hook,” he nodded toward the door to the workshop.
                She would have blushed and fetched a scathing remark to throw at him had her head still not felt as if it were swimming through the air. It was incredibly warm despite the fact that she was only in her robe and Hermione felt sick to her stomach. At first she’d thought that it was merely hearing more about the joke convention that had sent her into a physiological tailspin. She worried that she was having a mild panic attack of sorts, but there was no gasping for breath or tightening in her chest. Hermione closed her eyes, hoping that the spinning would stop, only it seemed to disorient her further. Trembling fingers reached out to clutch his hand, and she shivered as a cold chill swept through her. “Something’s wrong,” she chattered, her teeth clicking suddenly as if a great frost had seized her body.
                Severus pulled her too her feet in one fluid motion from the stool; she was swept up into his arms. “I’ll need to run a diagnostic, but you’re exhibiting symptoms of Flinge,” he muttered. Hermione sobbed outright, her head falling against his chest. She felt the back of his hand against her brow and then felt his fingers smoothing back her hair. Her logical mind would have wondered how he was holding her aloft and stroking her head at the same time, but all she could think of in that moment was how cold she was.
                “Blimey— is she okay? Hermione? Are you alright?” it was George’s voice, drawing closer to her. But she did not wish to open her eyes.
                “She’s taken ill, Mr. Weasley,” said Severus. “Nothing too serious.”
                “Should we take her home? Maybe she should rest here— or up in my flat?” he offered.
                Severus shook his head. “I’ll escort her out, Mr. Weasley. I’ve basic medical training enough to ascertain whether it is serious,” he added.
                “Right,” George sounded slightly lost. “Well— well, alright, I guess. Scrap tonight then.”
                “Indeed,” he said. Without stopping to gather their clothes, Severus swept—with her cradled in his arms— through the workshop and down the stairs. “Hold very still,” he said to her and began to mutter. It was some sort of cloaking charm, Hermione recognized that much, but she’d begun to sweat and was feeling far too hot to pay any proper attention to whatever he was doing. She imagined he was protecting them from sight as they were still clad only in their workshop robes, but she didn’t get the chance to find out.
                The sickening pull of apparition tugged ferociously at her stomach and she curled into his arms all the more until she felt herself retch against his shoulder when his feet landed on the ground. There was another whisper of a spell, no doubt to clear the bile from his shoulder, but Hermione was too swept up in the chills that had returned and the dizziness that was plaguing her body. The clash of a door was followed by the dimness of light and then she felt herself being eased out of his arms. Hermione whimpered, clutching at him.
                “I’m right here,” he said sliding her arms down away from him. “Flinge has never killed a witch or wizard,” He muttered and then he was gone. Hermione’s eyes were closed or maybe they were open and she had gone blind. She couldn’t tell. But then she felt him, his large warm hands, easing her robe off her body, and guiding her head back down onto the— where had he laid her? It did not feel like her bed, or even his bed. Blinking rapidly she shifted her head from side to side. “You’re on the couch, Miss Granger. Just lie still,” he said.
                Severus was knelt on the floor at her side, three small cauldrons beside him. One was empty, the other filled with a thick purple liquid and the third seemed to hold only little bits of rags. Hermione blinked at the cauldrons and then at him. “What— what’s happening?” she asked, her voice pinched with fright. Her whole body felt unwell, worse than any flu or cold she could ever recall.
                “You’ve contracted Flinge,” he said. “No doubt from that idiot Weasley in that cesspit in Tunis.” When her eyes grew wide he shook his head. “We will talk about that later,” he said and then paused, touching his hand gently to her cheek. “I promise.” This did not ease Hermione’s mind in the least as a terrible spasm seized her body. She shook violently on the couch and felt as if she were suffocating. Two strong hands pressed firmly down on her shoulders and she whimpered. “Try to stay calm,” he said.
                There was something in his voice that found her mind and eased it. She couldn’t explain it, though her body continued to quake, first with little spasms of nerve and then with chill. And then she was sweating once more. Her knowledge of the illness was limited. She had never had cause to experience it nor had she reason to thoroughly research it, but Severus seemed to know what he was doing. She was grateful for him in that moment. Her mind was too scattered, too busy trying to fight off the rolling waves of hot and cold to try and figure out how he’d known that she’d gone to Charlie. But he had promised they would discuss it later.
                “I’m c-c-cold,” she shivered.
                “And in a moment you’ll be boiling,” he said and held his wand out over her body. Slow sweeping motions over her figure had the tip of his wand glowing purple. “Flinge,” he sighed and then shook his head. “It isn’t going to be pleasant, and we have to address it now,” he said with haste. Whatever that meant had Hermione terrified but she nodded her head just the same. Despite all he’d said, despite the way he’d thrown her out the night before and told her that she knew nothing of him and had no reason to trust him, she did. She trusted him in that moment. Whatever the sexual-magical infection was doing to her, she trusted him to sort it out. “I need you to spread your legs,” he said and began to pull her thighs apart.
                Hermione did not resist him, though she felt as if a wave of unrelenting cold was sweeping through her. “C-c-can’t I have a b-b-blanket?” she shivered.
                “Just lie still, Miss Granger,” He said, keeping one hand pressed on her hip to keep her down on the couch.
                “S-s-so cold, S-S-Severus,” she continued to shiver. Hermione’s eyes watched him as best she could as he drew a rag from the first cauldron, dipped it into the purple liquid and then brought it between her legs. He was pressing inside of her with the rag and she whimpered. A tightness knotted in her abdomen and she pressed her thighs together, squeezing his wrist between her legs.
                “Does it hurt?” he asked. Severus looked up at her, meeting her gaze.
                “What are you doing?” she whimpered. Hermione could feel beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. She was inexplicably hot. “Gods it’s hot in here,” she panted, fanning herself with both hands. “Take my clothes off.”
                “They are off, Miss. Granger,” he said and pulled his hand back from between her legs. Severus dropped the rag into the empty cauldron and picked up another rag. Again he dipped it into the purple solution and repeated the process. It felt like hours, or maybe it was only minutes, Hermione couldn’t be sure. He would stop every few moments and press the back of his hand to her forehead. And he ran his wand over her several times more. The cauldron that had been empty was now filled with sodden rags and the purple solution was gone by the time he had stopped. Her body was drenched in sweat but she was no longer melting or freezing.
                He was silent as he eased her up from the sofa. She felt weak; her arms hung limply at her side as he brought her up to her feet. Hermione was scooped up into his arms and before she could properly follow what was happening, she found herself in the bathroom. He placed her into the shower and leaned her gently against the wall, never fully letting go of her. It was a surreal experience, as if she were watching what was happening to her from outside of her body. While he was fiddling with the faucet, she noticed for the first time that he was wearing clothes. She hadn’t recalled when he would have left her side long enough to change out of his workshop robe, but he was dressed, trousers and a shirt, both black.
                There was water, but only a trickle. This was not the delicious pressure that she had grown accustomed to from the shower at Spinner’s End. Hermione closed her eyes and all but lost hold of her consciousness. She was slipping in and out of reality. There was darkness and then she was in the shower, being held upright with his firm, warm hands washing over her. There was soap and water and then darkness again. The whole ordeal was quite exhausting. It was like blinking in slow motion with a delayed reaction. If he spoke, she heard nothing. She couldn’t even properly hear the sound of the water running, but she didn’t seem to mind as her head lulled forward and once more she found herself in darkness.
                Hermione woke, though she wasn’t sure what had woken her. The room was not completely dark, though the overhead light was off. She frowned and then realized she was in her bed in her room at Spinner’s End. She was tucked under her duvet and as she sat up she realized that she was wearing clothes. They were clothes that were not her own. A soft cotton shirt that was so worn-in it was the most comfortable thing she’d ever felt. A pair of flannel pajama bottoms were tucked up around her waist and were rumpled at her ankles. She suspected they were pants that were too long for her. She felt her face fill with heat as she realized that he must have dressed her in his own clothes after the ordeal in the shower. It was then that she felt his eyes on her.
                Sitting in the corner of her room at her desk chair, facing the bed, was Severus. His eyes were still, his arms crossed over his chest. If his eyes hadn’t been open, she might have mistook him for sleeping. Hermione felt a knot tighten in her stomach, though it was nothing like the discomfort she had felt earlier. A wave of embarrassment swept through her as the memories of the previous 24 hours flooded into her mind. There were only fragments of things from her time in the workshop through to where she found herself presently, in her bed in his pajamas, but everything before that was crystalline. The conversation with Ginny, the shortbread fingers, waking up in Tunis and fleeing the scene before Charlie could return, the night with Charlie that she regretted. All of those things were fluid in her mind, though she wished her night with Charlie was not.
                Hermione wanted to speak. A part of her needed to thank him, though she was dreadfully embarrassed. Flinge was not something she had a working familiarity of and had it not been for him, she had no idea what would have happened to her. Another part of her wanted to throttle him. If it hadn’t been for him she never would have ended up with Charlie in the first place. Though she supposed she couldn’t exactly blame him for her carelessness. She had jumped into bed with Charlie without any sort of protection outside of her monthly pregnancy potion, and it served her right. She hung her head, feeling dirty in that moment, not wishing for him to see her eyes.
                There was a rustle of fabric as Severus rose from the chair in the corner and stepped toward the bed. “How do you feel?” he asked. Hermione had expected that he was going to hover over her, or perhaps move to the door. It shocked her quite soundly when he moved beside her and sat down on the edge of the bed. He did not touch her, but sat rather close, and Hermione had difficulty swallowing.
                “Fine,” she said. “Well, not fine. Tired,” she admitted. “Embarrassed,” she added. “But I’m not cold, or hot. And I don’t feel dizzy.”
                “Good,” he said and then slowly rose from her bed.
                “Are you—” but she stopped herself. Hermione honestly had no idea what she was thinking.
                Severus raised an eyebrow up on his forehead. “Am I…” he held her gaze. “Am I what? Miss Granger?”
                She shook her head quickly. “Nothing.”
                “No doubt you remember my promise that we would speak,” he said with a hint of exasperation. She only nodded. Her silence seemed to surprise them both. It was a long moment before he addressed her again. “You need food,” And without another word, he swept from her room. Hermione closed her eyes and then wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. She inhaled deeply. The scent of him, though muted, was woven into the shirt and it was comforting. It held the tears that she felt welling up in the corners of her eyes at bay and after a few more deep breaths, she felt alright, if still a bit tired.
Severus returned rather quickly, a bowl balanced in one hand and a mug in the other. He made short work of placing things on her nightstand before taking up his post at her desk chair, though not before pulling it close to the edge of the bed. Hermione tried not to frown that he had not joined her on the mattress. The contents of the bowl looked watery, but she could feel the heat rising from its surface as she picked up the spoon. “Don’t expect much,” he said. “It’s packaged mix with heated water.”
                Hermione nodded. She refused to smile as she sipped the first spoonful. It wasn’t dreadful, though it was certainly nothing to owl Molly Weasley about. But she was too pleased with the fact that he’d went through the trouble of making her soup— even if it was just packaged mix with heated water— to really notice that it tasted bland. At least it was hot. The herbal concoction in the mug was bitter, but it felt soothing against the back of her throat. Choosing not to question it, she drank it slowly, alternating between it and the watery packaged soup.
                When she’d finished the entire bowl of soup and most of the mug, she placed them both back on her nightstand and folded her hands into her lap. It was a strange gesture, but she didn’t know what else to do with them, afraid that if she kept her hands unoccupied that she might start speaking out of turn. There were dozens of questions racing about inside her head, the one jockeying to the front being how exactly he had known that she’d contracted Flinge from Charlie, but she would wait. It wasn’t a game in that moment. Hermione wanted to ask her questions but didn’t wish to start a row or have him out before she’d received all of her answers.
                His eyes searched hers for a good long while, and she tried not to waver under his scrutiny. Only it wasn’t scrutiny, not even an observation, but more of a gaze that was unyielding. She couldn’t understand to what end, as he too seemed to have questions, or at the very least statements he wished to make, but remained as was his fashion, quiet. Hermione worried that perhaps he would not speak at all. Drawing in a slow and steadying breath, she bowed her head for a moment as if in silent prayer, and then lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you,” she offered.
                Severus met her gaze and held it. He nodded his head. There was silence between them, and it made her uncomfortable, but she was hesitant to fill it with her endless stream of questions that were all but bursting to fly out of her mouth. He seemed to sense this, or at the very least sense that she was about to speak because he leaned forward in the desk chair, bringing his hands together with his elbows resting on his knees. “You are through the worst of it,” he started. “There may be a lingering bit of discomfort upon your next bout of intercourse or a bit of unexpected magical combustion.” The puzzling look on her face gave him cause to elaborate further.
                “Flinge is an infection that works like a parasite. Imagine a common virus infecting a host cell, and in the host cell’s attempt to defend against the invasion the wires get crossed. Because of the inherent magic in a witch’s body— particularly one that is sexually awakened to her full menses as you are— your body attempts a scare-tactic on the virus to convince the invaders that it is an unsuitable host.” Severus laced his fingers together. “If the body fails to repel the invading infection, or is left untreated, the parasite leeches away magic from your body. The effects can be mild to detrimental. Rare cases have resulted in the complete loss of magical ability.”
                “Did I lose any of my magic?” she asked, her voice fraught with concern.
                Severus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s difficult to say, but given the way your body responded I would cautiously say no, or if you did it is minor and recoverable.”
                “Do people not often respond that way?” Hermione wished that her voice was not quaking so much.
                He shook his head. “Because you are a younger witch, your magic is still developing, so even if you did lose some ability, you would most likely regenerate it. That said, because you are a younger witch whose sexual awakening and full menses has occurred, your body was in a sense more prepared for it.”
                Hermione nodded her head. It made sense. The words he spoke, the way he spoke them, and she was even retaining bits of what he was saying. But her mind was focused mainly on how foolish she had been, and how she had acted with no regard to the consequences. A part of her was furious with herself, and another part was furious with him. But as she thought about being furious with him, she realized it was only misdirected anger and disappointment in her emotional instability that was making him her target. He had pushed her out and in her haste to prove to him or perhaps to herself that she knew what she wanted, she’d jumped blindly into bed with the first wizard that had crossed her mind.
                “Are you certain you are feeling better?” he asked.
                She noted the concern in his voice and she wondered if she were sweating or if she’d gone pale. Hermione wiggled her toes under the duvet, feeling the material of his pajama pants. She nodded her head. “Yes. I’m alright. Just tired.”
                Severus frowned. “Then you should rest.” Without further words he rose from the chair.
                Hermione sighed. “I did want to ask—” she hesitated, noting how her words stopped him. “Er, maybe I should just rest.”
                He turned to face her, his eyes quizzically searching her face. “If you are too tired for conversation, perhaps you are not as well as I thought.”
                Hermione didn’t mean to laugh and the sound that escaped her lips was half of a chuckle met with a scoff. “It’s not that,” she admitted a bit sheepishly. “I just don’t want to start a row,” she confessed. “While I’m not too tired for conversation, I know I’m far too tired to be arguing and shouting with you.”
                She watched his black eyebrow quirk up onto his forehead. “And you assume that such would happen from whatever it is you intend to ask me?”
                She nodded her head. “You knew about Charlie…” Hermione could feel her cheeks filling with blush, half in anger and half in embarrassment. “And I suspect that whatever it is you have to say on how you knew about him isn’t going to sit well with me.”
                “Indeed.” Severus crossed his arms over his chest. He continued to stare at her.
                She didn’t know what to make of him. He had brought her back from the workshop the moment he realized there was something seriously wrong with her. And although her recollection of what he’d done for her was fuzzy and fragmented, she’d surmised that it had at the very least involved bathing her by hand and changing her into fresh clothes. It could all be written off as a simple kindness, as he had told her when assisting her with her menstrual pains. Or it could be justified as what any human being with a moral conscious would do. She couldn’t help but feel as if he’d done it for other reasons, though she wasn’t about to interrogate him over his motivations.
                “Severus,” she started with caution. “Even if we don’t end up speaking on it tonight, I do need to be perfectly clear that I do not want you poking around in my mind. It’s unethical, among other things, and I’m not—”
                “Stop just there.” He said. His words halted hers and Hermione was surprised that she had fallen silent. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. Since they’d been engaging in their work with George whenever he raised a hand, or pressed his finger to her lips, or told her to be quiet, she had obeyed. There was something about the way he demanded her to be quiet, even without raising his voice, that made her follow the command unquestionably. When she remained quiet for a moment and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, as she had not been able to look directly at him when she’d started, he continued. “I don’t go poking about in your mind.”
                “But you—”
                “Hermione,” he said sternly.
                It startled her once more into silence. It was only the third time he’d dared to use her name. She could no more explain his intentional disuse of her given name than she could understand it. His off-handed quip about not using it to drive her mad may have held truth to it, but she doubted it was the sole reason he continued to use her surname. Whatever his reasons, they’d been shoved aside for the moment, and his use of her given name had forced her undivided, albeit surprised, attention silently to him.
                “You are a book,” he said after a long silence. “You are easy to read, and I am a master of observation. It’s a matter of logic and observation. Nothing more.”
                Hermione thought this over for a moment. His argument made sense. He had said he’d observed the shortbread crumbs on her jumper, and combined with her dizziness, naturally it would have prompted such a question as to what else she had eaten. And she supposed even if he hadn’t seen the repressed memory of being raped, logically given the way she was desperate to forget it and his own experience with repressing memories he would have known it was still there. The only way to truly remove a memory from the mind was through obliteration, and although she’d considered it from time to time, it was far too risky a practice to dabble with. She frowned after a moment’s further consideration. “That still doesn’t explain how you knew about Charlie.”
                Severus sighed. Hermione watched him carefully as he moved back around the bed to where she was sitting upright. He was deliberate in how he perched himself on the edge of the mattress. She noted that he was close enough that he could touch her with ease if he chose to, but also just far enough back that it would have to be an intentional gesture to do so. “I followed you.” He said simply.
                “What?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.
                There was a seriousness that crossed his voice that Hermione had yet to hear in their conversations. “I put you out of this house knowing that you would fight,” he said. Hermione’s eyes were glued to his as he spoke, unable to look away, unable to do anything but hang on his every word. “You are stubborn and you are forever pushing your boundaries. It was more than a safely calculated bet that within moments you were going to storm back into the house demanding to rehash the conversation or at the very least blow-up in my face, the result of which would have no doubt been a second round of vigorously violent sex.”
                Hearing the words fall from his mouth was a bit like watching an explosion in slow motion. The exact moment of impact was witnessed and felt seconds before it happened. It struck through her and sank into the pit of her stomach with a heavy thud. But all she could do was listen further to his words, her mind racing to divine meaning from them as he explained his intentions from the previous night.
                “I watched you from the window. I had never expected you would stand there so stricken with your zeal deflated so thoroughly that you would actually follow through on my instructions.” He sighed. “But I was not going to chase out into the street after you and insist you come back inside. Stubborn distance will always be chosen over blatant hypocrisy.” Again he paused and Hermione found her heart racing. It was impossible to believe what she was hearing. “I waited, and you foolishly— though thankfully— dropped that little scrap of paper.”
                “You followed me.” She repeated. Hermione could not believe what she was hearing.
                “You are not a parrot,” he said. “And before you start asking— I was a spy for more years than you have been alive. I am very good at not being noticed or detected when I do not wish to be.”
                She was numb. Numbed by shock and surprise and frustration. She didn’t know what to say. Her mind may have been jumbled but her lips were blasting before she could control them, though her voice was surprisingly calm. “That still doesn’t explain how you knew it was Charlie— he didn’t sign his name on the note.”
                Severus rolled his eyes. “I saw him leave the next morning.”
                If she had been numb before she was blindsided now. Not only had he followed her to Tunis, but he’d waited for her. Hidden like a spy on a reconnaissance mission, Severus had waited for her on the filthy streets of Tunis while she had been intimate with Charlie Weasley in his foul-smelling house. She felt her throat tighten. “But— but— why?”
                It was the first time he had not held her gaze while responding. “I pushed you out and you did not fight back,” he said with the smallest of shrugs. Had she not been watching him she would have missed the gesture entirely. “I hadn’t given you your wand because I had not anticipated that you would do anything other than fight your way back through the front door. When you disapparated…” She watched him swallow, the subtle hint of his Adam’s apple bobbing tightly in his throat as he did. “It was not my intention to have harm come to you. No witch or wizard should ever apparate anywhere, especially not such a distance, without their wand.”
                For a moment Hermione felt the urge to shout at him, but she checked it. It wouldn’t change anything. “You waited all night?” she asked, knowing full well the answer was yes if he had seen Charlie take off the next morning. She was surprised when he did not admonish her.
                “When you did not emerge from that hovel of a pit Weasley’s calling home, I garnered what I could about the place before determining whether or not I would need to intercede.” He said.
                “Because you felt guilty?”
                Severus raised his eyes to hers. It was a challenge more than anything else, but his words continued to astound her. “To a degree I felt responsible for your misguided actions. If you were foolish enough to act on my words that was one thing. Tossing you out without your wand was hardly fair.”
                Hermione closed her eyes. “I’m sorry— I— Severus— how could you—”
                “I do not expect you to be accepting of my actions. I am not apologizing for them. I am answering your question.”
                She opened her eyes and stared at him. There was a rawness to his voice that reminded her very much of the statement he’d made about Nigel being eager the first night they’d encountered him in the sex shop. It was a truly uncharted and vulnerable side of him, a confession that had come from the heart and she wasn’t sure whether to embrace it or be frightened by it. Was that his way of saying he did care? Or simply of assuaging his own guilt? He hadn’t really meant for her to go and fuck another man, he’d only been pushing her buttons. That infuriated her. But it was also strangely endearing. She couldn’t juxtapose the two notions in her head and was seized by sudden wave of emotions that made perfect sense and no sense to her all at the same time.
                “When you emerged from that pit and disapparated…” Severus nodded.
                “You followed me to Ginny’s?” she asked.
                He shook his head. “Certainly not. Only back to Spinner’s End.”
                It was the most forthcoming he had been with information since she’d settled into the house with him, if the few weeks that she’d been there could be called settled. Hermione didn’t know what to make of it. He’d thrown her out— a foolish head game throttled into action by his stubborn pride— and he’d followed her to Tunis— a distorted show of protectiveness— the thoughts were jumbling in her head and she wanted to scream at him until her throat was raw and hug him at the same time. When her mind failed to reconcile her jumbled emotions, she found herself falling back on what she knew best, further questions. “Why didn’t I show signs immediately?”
                He was quick to answer and she noted that he looked just the slightest bit relieved that she’d stopped asking about his behavior. Though she was far from done with that line of questioning. “Flinge isn’t always immediate, it can lie dormant for a day or two, sometimes longer. I suspect with your heightened state of emotional turmoil your body was already hypersensitive and thus acclimated to the invasion that much sooner, bringing on the symptoms when you could take no more mental anguish.”
                “George and the joke convention,” she said idly. There was so much she still lacked in regards to her own sexuality and the way emotions and magic tied into it all. She was so frustrated with the whole experience but could hardly lay all of her frustrations on him. He was an enormous part of it, but she was responsible for her own feelings, even if they were twisted every which way because of him. Hermione shook her head slowly. “I don’t know any more now than when I left the house,” she admitted. The confession came from the back of her mind, derailing the conversation away from the infection she’d picked up and back to the train wreck that had resulted from their little head game.
                “The intention was not for you to solidify your desires, Miss Granger.” He said.
                She groaned. “Please. Will you please just— is that too much to ask?” she asked.
                When he did not meet her eyes, she swallowed hard. “It is not so simple. Much like everything I’ve told you from the beginning,” he paused, and then swallowed. “Hermione.”
                Hermione tried to wrap her head around his words. Did using her given name cause him pain somehow? Did it trouble him and remind him of a time long ago that he’d tried to forget? Surely calling her by her surname would be more reminiscent of their time spent as pupil and professor at Hogwarts than addressing her by her given name. He had never once addressed her as anything other than Miss Granger during her time in school. While at first she’d thought it had solely been to screw with her, and push the limitations of her patience, she was beginning to wonder if there was something deeper to it than his little games, than their little games.
                She frowned when he stood from the bed. “You need rest,” he said. He’d said it before and for a moment she was seized with panic. What if she’d been sleeping and imagined the entire conversation? Though her dreams were far less vivid these days, when she did sleep, it had not stopped her from dreaming in live and living color of her interactions with Severus. The look of panic caught his attention and he sighed. “You will be the death of me,” he muttered and then sat back down. “What? I won’t promise it won’t cause a row, but out with it. Don’t make that face.”
                Hermione tilted her head to the side. “What face?”
                Severus shook his head. “Ask your damn question.”
                She sighed. Hermione wasn’t even sure that she had questions worth hearing the answers. He’d been plain enough in his explanations. “Are you— are you always honest with me?”
                Severus raised an eyebrow at her. “What would make you think I am not?”
                Hermione bit her lower lip. “Don’t do that, Severus. Don’t deflect answering my question with another question. I don’t have the strength for that game right now.” When he said nothing she closed her eyes. “You said you put me out to push my buttons, or something like that, did you really mean that? That this is all just a game where you push my buttons—”
                “You are no innocent there. And you are certainly not a victim,” he said sternly.
                Hermione opened her eyes and stared at him. Words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He was a decent lay. But he wasn’t you. And even without Flinge— or before it or whatever— it felt dirty. Not in a good way, Severus. And I don’t know that it’s such a good thing for me to feel that way considering you don’t seem to share these feelings.”
                Severus stayed quiet. He did not look away from her. Hermione leaned forward. It was an effort and she felt fatigue slithering through her body, reminding her that she’d gone through an ordeal. But she put her hand atop his knee, waiting for him to push it back or tell her she was too bold for her own good. She held her hand there, wondering if he could feel her confusion radiating off of her in waves, traveling through her palm and into him. It didn’t seem to matter. If it did, he didn’t react or respond, but he hadn’t pushed her away.
                “I do want sex,” she confessed. “Or my body does. I don’t know.” She bowed her head. “I thought forcing myself to be with someone else would show me that I was only attracted to you? But within minutes my body was responding to him.” She hastily added, “But it wasn’t the same. I felt conscious. That’s not to say I don’t feel conscious when we’re— when it’s you I’m with. I don’t know how to explain it, Severus. I kept comparing him to you. In my mind, that is, and my mind was wandering. I came— I think, but it wasn’t like what I feel when I’m doing it with you.”
                Still he said nothing. Her gibbering confession had done nothing but confirm her insecurities about how and what he felt for her. Hermione closed her eyes. What had she expected? A heartfelt confession from him that despite their games and all that had happened he too was having deeply unsettling feelings that he could not articulate? Her mind was a mess. It had been for as long as she could remember, and entangling herself with Severus Snape had only made it worse. She opened her eyes when she felt his slender fingers slide over her hand and slip between her digits. He squeezed her hand and she shook her head with a mirthful exhale.
                “I know I’m not what you want,” she said. Her voice had grown timid, but she forced herself to look him in the eye. “Or at least not what you would prefer.”
                “You would do well not to presume you know me so well,” he said. He did not release her hand. “Do not think that because I do not go about gibbering stupid sentiments aloud, or that because I interact differently with others that you have me all figured out in that overworked mind of yours.”
                Hermione tried not to blush but she could feel her cheeks warming red. “I wouldn’t have to have you all figured out in this overworked mind of mine if you’d simply speak yours.” She muttered.
                “Not everyone’s fashion of expression is conversation, Hermione.” Again he had hesitated before adding her given name.
                She bit her bottom lip but there was no finger to pluck it away from her teeth and after a moment she released it of her own accord. She didn’t know what to say to him. She’d hardly been able to articulate her own feelings, largely because she was uncertain of them. There was attraction, definitely physical, but there was an interest beyond the pure sexuality of the man. But he was complicated. Complex was a word used to describe lesser men. Severus was a Rubik’s Cube and all of the stickers had been taken off somewhere along the line before being haphazardly slapped back on, making him impossible to solve for even the smartest mind.
                “You don’t express anything,” she said but then shook her head. “Not with me. And I can’t tell if it’s because you have no interest or because you are uncertain of how you do feel about me.” She was surprised when he posed her a question.
                “And you are comparing this to?” he asked, a single black eyebrow drifting upward on his forehead.
                Hermione bowed her head and sighed. “Do you love him?” she asked, unable to meet his eyes as she asked.
                “I don’t love anyone.” Said Severus.
                These words forced her eyes to his. Her mind raced. Did he truly believe himself unworthy of love? Was he so scarred from his life in Voldemort’s service and Dumbledore’s plots that a lifetime of self-loathing in regards to his own love life had formulated? He had not denied himself the pleasures of the flesh. She ached for his heart in that moment. Hermione tugged her fingers from where they rested in his, gently sliding her hand up his left forearm. It moved her body forward until she was up from the headboard, on her knees, crouched beside him, and half leaned over his lap with her palm now resting over his sleeve. He flinched when she covered his mark with her palm, even though it was hidden by his sleeve and no doubt by a glamour.
                “What do you do when someone loves you and you don’t love them?” she asked. Her words were barely a whisper and she waited. Waited for the rejection, waited for him to pull her hand away, waiting for any number of things. Hermione would have sat there waiting for him to answer her until the morning’s light graced her bedroom had he not leaned his head forward. His forehead brushed her shoulder and she drew in a sharp breath.
                “You do not love me, Hermione.” He said, his voice even more of a whisper than hers had been.
                “Don’t presume you know me so well,” she said, wrapping her fingers tightly around his forearm. “Maybe I don’t love you because I’m too young or stupid to know what love is? I don’t know, but I do know that I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be with you— not just sexually, but also sexually— I want to get to know you— I trust you. I feel safe with you.”
                It could have been hours in silence, his forehead rested ever so gently against the side of her shoulder, her hand firm around his forearm. Their breathing was the only sound that filled the room. She longed to hug him. She longed to pull him into her arms and never let him go, or to curl up into his lap and rest in his embrace. But they stayed still, neither speaking until sometime later when he lifted his head. Severus searched her eyes and brushed two trembling fingers down her cheek. Hermione swore that his eyes were wet, though there was little else to prove that he perhaps had been crying the most silent of tears in those moments.
                “Two damaged people do not one whole person make,” he said.
                Hermione searched his eyes, feeling her own tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She refused to cry in front of him in that moment, she’d done too much of that already. Slowly, she nodded her head. “I still—” His finger pressed against her lip and she stopped her words.
                “You cannot have any sort of sexual intercourse for 24 hours,” he said.
                Her eyes were puzzled and she was thrown off-kilter by his comment. It had come from nowhere. A sourness blossomed in her stomach as she realized it was his way of ending their moment and effectively their discussion on feelings. She had no solid answers, but was beginning to believe more and more he was rejecting her. Hermione nodded her head numbly, blinking as tears slipped down her cheeks.
                Severus sighed. He swiped his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. His hands cupped her face. “You cannot cry every time you think you’ve been rejected,” he said. “It’s childish.”
                “But you—”
                “Rest, Hermione, for my sake if not your own,” he said. “Your mind may never shut down but your body needs to recover.” When he stood from the bed she turned away. “I’m getting you a draught, stop pouting.”
                Hermione felt confused. When he returned with a simple stoppered bottle she took it and hesitated only a moment before downing its contents. There was no sense in arguing with him, he would only insist she drink it anyhow, possibly threaten to force it down her throat, even if he had no intentions of following through on the threat. She could feel the draught’s effects immediately and her eyes grew heavy. She yawned and shook her head. Blinking sleepy eyes she tried to keep them open as she felt his arms draw around her, pulling her back to her pillow, and fussing with the blankets to tuck her in. Hermione shook her head once more, but her words were lost as the sleeping potion claimed her.
                Her sleep had been a dreamless one and when her eyes blinked open she felt rested, more so than she had in any recent recollection. A good night’s sleep had been a precious commodity not often afforded to her. When she had been homeless, there was nary a night where sleep found her so easily, and before that time when her world built around her job and Ron were crumbling, she often worked through the night to forget her troubles, choosing pepper-up potions and coffee to keep from turning to other vices. Awaking from a calmed sleep was strange and yet wonderful and Hermione felt at ease with her body and her mind, even if it was just for that first moment of waking.
                The pillow was warm and stuck to her cheek, rising slowly up and down. Hermione’s eyes shifted. She was not laying on her pillow. Her face rested against heated skin. The last thing she had recalled before succumbing to the effects of the potion was trying to tell him off for driving her mad. He had been putting her into bed. She had not remembered him crawling into bed with her, and certainly not without his shirt. Terrified to raise her head for fear that she would wake him, Hermione stayed still. She’d come to rest atop his bare chest somehow, part of her body curled up against his side with his arm draped around her. His fingers were curled around her arm as if he’d held her all through the night.
                This was startling and simultaneously comforting. Sleeping atop Severus Snape, who was at the very least half naked, in her bed. The notion was impossible to comprehend. He did not cuddle, or so he’d told her before. He had rejected her, hadn’t he? Her mind was a whirling dervish once more. The pale pallor of his skin did look lovely, the smattering of dark curls that covered his chest looked inviting. Her hand was resting just across his ribs and she gently began to trace her fingertips through his chest hair, unable to help herself.
                Waking to find herself in bed with the man was one thing. Waking to find herself sleeping atop him with him holding her as if it was their routine— a routine of lovers— was quite another. She eased her fingers around, relishing in the soft scratchiness of his chest hair. It was something she had never been able to do with Ron or Viktor. Ron had lacked the appropriate furriness and Viktor had been too ticklish. Hermione traced little patterns, first a star, then a heart, and after a few moments her idle stroking were tracing figures of ancient runes in his chest hair. Her mind was overclocked even while enjoying the simplest of pleasures.
                “Are you awake or merely twitching in your sleep?” his voice was slow.
                Hermione tilted her head up to get a better glimpse of his face. His eyes were closed. “What are you doing here?” she asked, though she didn’t lift her head from his chest.
                “I was sleeping,” he said.
                “Without your shirt?”
                She’d expected a sigh, or at the very least that he would open his eyes. “I never wear a shirt to sleep except for the shirt that you are currently wearing, and even then I prefer to do without.”
                “You slept here all night?” she asked, confused that she had woke in his arms. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact quite the opposite. But he’d rejected her when she’d confessed her feelings to him. It made no sense for him to have slept not only in her bed, but protectively cradling her to his body.
                “And part of the morning,” he muttered.
                There was something about Severus Snape in the morning that made her both frustrated and giddy. He seemed forthcoming with his answers, not hesitating as he usually did. She found this to be brilliant. But he seemed far less reserved with his sarcasm and his cheek, and that was annoying. She was having an emotional crisis trying to figure out why he’d done as he had and he was serving up early morning witcrackers. “I don’t understand.”
                There was a heavy sigh. He opened his eyes, staring down his chest at her. “Hermione, either lay here and be quiet, or get up and go take a shower. I don’t care which, but I will not have you chattering on. I’ve only just woken up and haven’t built the constitution required to deal with your incessant over-analytical nonsense.”
                “I’m sorry— but you— why are you in my bed?” she asked.
                “Are you displeased with it?” his voice was stern, his gaze unyielding.
                “No,” she said.
                “Then please,” he sighed once more, giving the side of her a squeeze with his arm. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”
                “Is that how you talk to all your bedfellows or only the females?” The voice drew both their attentions to the doorway of Hermione’s bedroom. She all but bolted up from his chest, but his arm kept her down against him. “You’ve kept me waiting half an hour.” The blonde boy narrowed his eyes in disgust at Hermione before looking back to Severus.
                She was taken aback. How in the world had the boy gotten into the house? She supposed that when he’d come for lessons the first time, or any number of times wherein he’d been to Spinner’s End, that he knew where the door was. Hermione had never recalled the door being locked. She wondered if it were warded magically, and Severus had enchanted it to recognize Nigel. Or perhaps the boy was simply a sneaky lock-pick. Perhaps he’d hopped the fence and let himself in through the glass door by the little patio. However he’d come to be in the house seemed irrelevant as he stood there with his hands on his hips glaring between she and Severus. It took a great deal of restraint for her not to act on her impulses, one of which was to throttle pillows at him until he disappeared from her sight.
                Severus, who had not moved except to keep Hermione down atop him, looked at Nigel and held his gaze. “I had forgotten you’d requested a meeting this morning,” he said.
                “Coffee and a walk round the shops is a meeting now is it?” the boy huffed.
                Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nigel there is no reason to be petulant,” he muttered. This reprimand, though far milder than anything Hermione had ever heard when he had taken to chiding her, seemed to silence the boy if only for a moment. But it was a moment that was long enough for Severus to shift up in the bed, pulling himself up to sitting. This dislodged Hermione from his chest, though she noted that he did not take his arm off her. “She was ill.”
                “She looks really ill, Sevvy.” He snapped.
                “You are not my boyfriend, Nigel.” Said Severus with a harsher tone than Hermione thought was really necessary until it was turned on her. “And she is not my girlfriend. I am not in a relationship with either of you and will not have you two bristling every time you stumble upon an encounter with the other, or I shall put you both out, is that understood?”
                Nigel pouted but nodded his head. Hermione shook her head and pulled back from under his arm. “I’m going to shower,” she muttered.
                Severus grabbed her wrist as she stood from the bed and captured her gaze with a piercing stare. “Hermione,” he said as if warning her.
                “No, you made yourself perfectly clear. You’re not in a relationship with either of us. And you’re absolutely right. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said and snatched her hand back from him. She wasn’t fuming, she wasn’t crying, but she would not lie in her bed against him with the boy standing in the doorway. He’d been convoluted at his best trying to explain why she’d woken to find herself sleeping atop him, but it appeared it was nothing more than something he had felt like doing in the moment. And if he didn’t want a relationship then she wasn’t going to give him one. Resolved that their interactions would remain strictly in the workshop, Hermione pushed passed Nigel without apologizing for bumping him in the process, and slammed the bathroom door shut.
                “She’s a right morning sniper, isn’t she?” Nigel asked, a smirk in his voice.
                “Shut up, Nigel.” Severus said with a glare.
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Weasley's Wizard Wheezes