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Potions, Plans, and Second Chances	By : strawberryf1re Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 14246 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (characters, settings, etc.) ŠJ.K. Rowling. No profits are made from this work.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Rating: M – inappropriate for readers under the age of 16; contains scenes of explicit sexuality and violence.

Disclaimer: Characters and settings ©J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: Okay, you guys, I am so sorry this has taken so long to finally post. I have been absolutely swamped with coursework this semester and I have little time to breathe, let alone do anything for enjoyment. For those of you who are frustrated I updated my other fic and neglected this one: I have about 10 – 15 chapters written for Matters of the Heart. I haven't been working on it; I just have the chapters written out from when I was writing non-stop over the summer. This fic, unfortunately, I don't have so much readily available. When I upload these chapters, I want them to be perfect – I don't want to be second-guessing my choices in the storyline. So it takes a lot longer to finish a chapter. And I'm sorry! Forgive me!

Author's Note 2: For purposes of this chapter, any sexual encounters occur between individuals who are of the age of consent.

Potions, Plans, and Second Chances

K. Marie

Chapter 6

Hermione did not honestly expect her patient to answer her quiet knock, but when she cracked open the door and she heard ragged breaths and muffled sobs, her heart leapt into her throat. She hadn't meant to, but when the door closed behind her it nearly slammed, her anxiety inspiring strength in her actions she had not intended.

She hurried around the curtain, her wand wielded and ready to intervene; as Severus was revealed to her, her hand slowly dropped to her side, the wand nearly slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor.

Snape was lying still in his bed but his chest was heaving with raspy breaths, tears coursing down his sallow cheeks. His forehead glittered in the dim light of the early morning, a thin film of sweat coating his face. Taking a cautious step forward, Hermione tucked her wand behind her ear. Quiet cries escaped the otherwise motionless man, his panting breaths expanding his emaciated chest and exaggerating the thin ribs that pressed through the pallid flesh.

As he escaped his paralytic sleep, his body began to flail violently as the throes of his nightmare washed over him. Hermione pressed her hand firmly against his shoulder, and his eyes opened suddenly, widened in his panic. His strong hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, his dark eyes skittering over his surroundings before coming to settle on her.

"Sev," Hermione said, calmly. "You were having a nightmare."

He visibly relaxed, a calming sigh spreading over his entire body. He relinquished her wrist, his hand coming to hover in the air between them for a long moment. His eyes moved from her to the walls surrounding him, and he brought his trembling hand to his face, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Ms. Granger," he growled, his voice still heavy with sleep.

His fingers roamed the bed, fisting a handful of blanket into his hands as though confirming he was actually among the waking. His dark eyes flickered over Hermione's countenance and as she furrowed her brow, leaning in close to him, she smoothed her hand over his damp forehead, brushing his hair from his face.

Her voice was tender as her worried amber eyes searched his face. "Is everything all right? Can I get you anything?" Her soft fingertips smoothed over the shadowed skin beneath his eyes, brushing away the tears that lingered there.

His jagged gasps finally slowed to even, sustainable breaths; as he looked at Hermione, his hand lifted from the bed just slightly as though he sought to reach to her. When she glanced at his fingers, he seemed to reconsider his behavior, lowering the limb to the bed once more and curling the edge of the blanket.

"I am… fine," he growled. With a jerk of his head, he recoiled from her touch; with a small sigh, Hermione turned away from him.

"I don't suppose you're the type that likes to discuss your dreams," Hermione mused, pulling gloves over her hands.

He was silent for a moment and Hermione could feel the heat of his gaze on her neck. As soon as she turned towards him, his oily voice crawled along her skin, sending a shiver through her bones.

"I would loathe disappointing your expectations, Ms. Granger."

With a small smile, Hermione rolled her eyes. Her hands delicately loosened the modesty ribbon securing his patient robe. She fingered the unhealing wounds, a wrinkle pressing into her forehead; quiet grunts escaped the man as she pressed against the sore injuries. Drawing her lip into her teeth, she chewed it pensively, her fingers roaming against the edges of the gaping wound.

"I am going to attempt something," Hermione began, flickering her eyes to his face. "If you consent."

Lifting an eyebrow, Severus peered at her over the newspaper he acquired from the bedside table. After a quiet moment, Hermione realized he was not going to respond to her; his ebony eyes, boring into her gaze, conveyed all the conversation he was willing to express.

"I'm going to apply the healing tonic once more to the wounds and apply stitches," Hermione explained. "I am hesitant to use the ingested healing potion, because its use is so limited and I am restricted to how many doses I can administer… it is very much a desperate measure, and I want to exhaust all other options first."

"If it is what you believe to be necessary, Ms. Granger," Snape said, his oily voice resonating through her. "I will – despite my better instinct – trust your expertise." His statement was hardly acerbic; she detected a flash of warmth flicker through his fathomless eyes.

She reflected his kind – yet absent – smile, her lips parting in a small grin. She turned from him, her hands rummaging quickly through the medicine cabinet to retrieve the small ampoule. She left his chest exposed to the cool breeze drafting through the window, his nipples tightening to hardened peaks as it brushed against his warm flesh. As she turned back, her face was erubescent; her amber eyes scanned his features, from his dark, half-lidded eyes, to the bare, pale skin covering his frail chest, to the sinewy muscles that tied themselves to the bones of his arms. Despite his fragility, his debility, there was something undeniably strong lurking beneath his sallow skin – something Hermione was drawn to. Even though she knew she shouldn't be.

She swept to his bedside, conjuring the familiar dropper and the utensils required to apply the stitches – something she would never resort to magic for, as it was not a traditional wizarding treatment – and she leaned over him. His inky hands immediately relinquished the newspaper, instead curling his digits around the edge of the mattress. The first droplet of the potion hissed as soon as it contacted his damaged flesh; she heard Severus' teeth grind and a low, guttural groan escape his throat.

She hurried her application of the potion, the grasp of his fingers tightening on the mattress until his skin was nearly translucent. She knew as soon as the sibilance silenced his pain would subside, but every second he was forced to endure it was equally as agonizing – though emotionally, of course – for her.

Her next task, though, was equally as uncomfortable, and she suspected Snape realized it as well. As soon as she threaded her surgical needle and leaned onto the bed for support – the potion she had applied had a myriad of effects, one of which being sterilization of the surrounding tissue – she steadied her hand above the severest of wounds and cast her patient a forewarning glance.

"Unfortunately," Hermione began, softly, her voice laced with apology. "I cannot administer an anesthetic because of its adverse reaction with the healing tonic."

"I am aware, Ms. Granger," Severus hissed, his dark eyes lingering on her face for a moment as she perched above him.

"I am sorry, Sev," she whispered, an unusual watering brimming her eyes. "I hate to cause you so much pain."

"I did not suspect you were a sadist, Ms. Granger," he replied, softly. There was an appealing intonation haunting his voice that Hermione did not know how to interpret. "Though you would be more interesting."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Hermione mirrored it, despite her flushing cheeks. She returned her attention to the laceration beneath her, her smile quickly fading as she recalled her task at hand. A prickle of sweat coalesced between her shoulder blades, a single drop rolling down the length of her spine. She felt Snape's hand brush against her thigh as he tightened his grip around the edge of the mattress, and a tiny fluttering erupted in her lower stomach that she could not explain… nor ignore.

"Take a deep breath," Hermione instructed firmly, positioning the needle.

As soon as Snape obeyed, she pressed the bevel into his flesh, lacing the suture through the lip of the wound. The man beneath her cursed, his entire body tensing as the needle punctured his flesh, drawing together the edges of the wound. In comparison to the healing potion she had to administer, she knew the stitches paled; but it was not a comfortable procedure, and his hissed profanities and muscle tension was certainly warranted.

With every puncture of her needle, a tiny droplet of blood squeezed onto the surface of his pallid flesh. She drew together the lips of the wounds, the sutures serving a purpose not so unlike that of a zipper. His quiet curses rang through her ears, each gentle stab tearing at her own heart just slightly until she felt as though there was nothing left of her.

What seemed like an eternity later, Hermione had finally finished sealing together his wounds. With a wave of her wand and a whispered "Tergeo," she cleansed the puncture sites of oozing blood. Wishing to avoid the very likely reality of disrupting the new sutures, she did not want to resort to manual cleansing; magic was much more appropriate. Looking up to her patient, his face was twisted into an agonized grimace; she extended her hand to his face, gently stroking the rough skin of his cheek.

"I'm going to administer another analgesic," Hermione offered. "And then I'll be on my way."

With a quiet groan, Snape nodded slowly. Hermione gestured for him to pull his gown over his chest, and slowly, he did as directed. Turning to the medicine cabinet, Hermione retrieved a few small vials, mixing them into the ever-present goblet. She offered it to the saturnine man, his callused fingertips brushing against hers as he accepted it from her. She watched him as he swallowed it, returning the goblet to her waiting hands.

"I'll be back in a little while, Sev," Hermione said softly. "I don't wish to bother you anymore."

"I want to go to the park again," he interjected, calmly; as she studied his features, though, something burned in his eyes – something she didn't recognize.

Breathing in a deep sigh, she considered him for a moment from the foot of the bed. She chewed her lip pensively, her hand rising to the back of her neck; the soft pads of her hands were cool compared to the heat radiating from her neck, the nervousness elicited by manually stitching the man before her having drawn sweat through her pores.

"Surely you are not the only competent Healer the hospital has staffed on the weekend, Ms. Granger," Snape added, coolly, when it seemed she was going to deny his request.

"That may be true, Sev, but—"

"You were the one who claimed foolish wand-waving has its merits, Ms. Granger."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Hermione rested her hands against her hips. "I can see you are quite passionate about this."

"If you were confined—"

"Of course," Hermione said, warmly. "Allow me to get the wheelchair."

Severus could not explain his sudden desire for Hermione's company. As the stinging in his wounds subsided and the Healer turned to vacate his room, it was as though his lips formed the words of their own accord. When she did not reject him – though her hesitancy in doing so was quite apparent – he felt himself breathe a relieved sigh.

As she returned to his room with the wheelchair, there was a certain glow that surrounded her he could not explain; it was as though she knew he was desperate for her company. She brandished her wand, quiet words singing the incantations for the charms he knew would ensure the possibility of the time spent outside. The feeling of weightlessness that carried him gracefully to the chair was almost like freedom, and for a fleeting moment, Severus did not feel so maddened by his dependence on her.

"If you weren't so mysterious, a trip outdoors would not be such an event," Hermione said softly.

"As though the additional effort is exhaustive," Severus growled in response.

Bringing her wand to the top of his skull, Hermione tapped his head gently; a warm trickling sensation traveled the length of his spine and Severus knew he was fading from view. Turning her wand on herself, Hermione whispered the same incantation, and they safely were on their way.

Once they wheedled their way through the busy entrance hall of the hospital, Severus breathed in the fresh air, drinking in the sense of freedom that accompanied it. They did not idle on the sidewalk for long; Hermione seemed to understand Severus' desire to visit the park once again. She followed the wheelchair as it led the path to the familiar bench, as though he experienced a memory there he wished to relive.

As the wheelchair seemed to park itself beside the bench, Hermione stood above him, her face betraying her curiosity. She seemed intrigued that they would return there, but after a moment of simply studying the man below her, she joined his side, lowering onto the bench beside him.

The park was much busier that morning than the day previous, which was far from surprising. As his dark eyes scanned the landscape before him, bodies spread out over the grass enjoying the pleasant summer air. The wind bristled the leaves in the trees, brushing tenderly against his face and feeling luxurious on his skin. It carried with it the scent of flora, freshly mowed grass and pond water; Hermione's scent mingled in amongst the aroma of nature, and Severus drank it in.

His eyes flickered open and Severus turned his attention to the woman beside him. She wasn't looking at him; instead, her gaze was fixated in the distance, though Severus doubted she was really seeing anything at all. Her bottom lip was swollen and raw from where she chewed it, but strangely, Severus found the habit endearing. A few stray tendrils of hair dangled around her face, the mass secured at the nape of her neck. An impulse coursed through him to reach to her face, tucking the hair behind her ear – as she had done to him countless times before.

"You seem to be in… higher spirits than this morning, Ms. Granger," Severus said, softly.

She nodded brusquely, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing on the injured tissue. A drop of blood oozed from the sore and as though she suddenly noticed the self-inflicted wound, she brought her fingers to her lip. Her eyes flickered to her crimson fingertips and she dragged her tongue across the pink petal of her bottom lip.

"I compartmentalize," Hermione admitted finally, turning to look at him. "It does no good to dwell."

"That is quite wise of you, Ms. Granger," Severus replied.

Lowering her gaze to her lap, Hermione picked at her fingernails. She sniffled quietly, as though attempting to stifle the onset of tears. Despite his better instinct, Severus extended his hand to her, his strong, callused hand coming to rest on top of hers. Her gaze lifted from her lap and a small smile tugged at her mouth.

"You must do what will make you happiest, Ms. Granger," Severus whispered. "You cannot live your life for others."

She nodded, as though she agreed, her chin quivering just slightly as she studied his features, her amber eyes flickering over his face. Her eyes were shiny, as though it would only be a moment before they were brimming with tears; tearing her gaze from his face, she looked out across the park.

"I can't allow my personal life to infect my work." With a small sigh, she shifted her legs. "It has… I've allowed it to go too far already."

Severus abandoned her face to look out across the park. Her soft hand came to his forearm, and the warmth of her flesh seeming to melt his skin in a pleasant way. He returned his gaze to her to find her studying him with glossy eyes.

"I'm sorry I have confided in you all of this," Hermione said quietly, smoothing her fingertips over his forearm delicately.

"It is not as though you must worry whether your secret is safe," Severus mused, a small smirk crossing his lips. "I am supposed to be dead. Your secret could not be safer."

Returning his hand to his lap, Severus turned his gaze from her face to the view before them. Above them, the sky was graying with clouds; golden rays of the sun crept through the cracks, but the warmth from the sunlight was fading fast. An angry breeze swept through the trees above them, the leaves bristling violently against the sudden gust. The park visitors began rising from their blankets and collecting their belongings, preparing to depart for the incoming storm.

"You know how you've mentioned… our connection, Sev?" Hermione asked, turning her gaze to him. It was a rhetorical question, he knew, and she continued without his answer. "It's as though I feel it. As though there is a part of me that recognizes that connection, as though it was a tangible thing."

Severus knew quite well of what she spoke. He had begun wondering on several occasions himself whether his desire for her company was more than just desperation. He said nothing, and simply nodded his response.

"I… I feel foolish, you know," Hermione said, softly. "I am supposed to be professional but with you…" She lowered her gaze to her lap. "With you, it's different. It istangible, our connection. It's changed everything."

Again, as though of its own accord, Severus' hand reached for her. Strong, rough fingers tangled within hers and his dark eyes passed over her face; her cheeks were rosy though he doubted it had anything to do with the cool wind whipping between them. He squeezed gently, clearing his throat gruffly before beginning to speak.

"Indeed, Ms. Granger," Severus growled. "I believe there is… I believe there is more to it than we are aware."

The silence that settled between them was comforting, as though a certain understanding was finally reached. Severus knew Hermione's mind must have been whirling – he had shown her a sign of empathy, and surely she was convinced he was not capable of such an emotion – and in her silence, she bristled; her body seemed to stiffen as she sat beside him, her gaze averted, her arms tensed.

Severus pulled a trembling hand through his hair, combing his fingers through its length. The Healer beside him released a soft sigh; just from her disposition it was clear she wished to ask him something, and yet she seemed hesitant to begin. Silence was not befitting her in that moment; her fingers kept fumbling with a fistful of fabric, her leg bouncing as though through it coursed an energy of its own.

"For Merlin's sake, Ms. Granger," Severus growled. "If there is something you would like to say, out with it. I can no longer sit here anticipating your spontaneous combustion."

Hermione didn't seem to expect his sudden outburst and as she turned to him, her amber eyes were widened in her surprise. Something flickered over her countenance he couldn't quite interpret, its presence too fleeting.

"Harry told me," she began cautiously, averting her eyes from his face to her wringing hands. "Your Patronus is a doe. The same as—"

"His mother's," Severus interjected, and despite the sibilant tone she was most likely expecting, he was calm.

His subtle gesture indeed opened the floodgates. The smallest of smirks tugged at his cheeks and he lowered his gaze to his hands for a moment, his black eyes surveying the callused pads of his palms. He displayed to her an act of compassion; she must have believed it was the sign she had been searching for.

"I just… I was wondering…"

Turning his gaze to her, Severus allowed her to witness the small smile that parted his lips. Her desperation to understand him filled the man with a strange feeling, a warm feeling. She was genuinely interested in knowing him, despite his callous dismissal and acerbic disposition. Despite the range of emotions he no doubt inspired within her. Despite his declaration that he neither needed nor desired to trust her, she persisted. There was something quite different about the woman seated beside him, and while, as her professor, he often suspected it, she was only just beginning to prove him right.

For a moment, Severus considered indulging her curiosity and granting her the favor of learning something about him. It was an innocent question – he knew she simply wished to know the memory for which he conjured his Patronus – and it was far from imperative to his secret. It would cause no harm, and her thirst for knowledge would be momentarily sated. Tracing his long forefinger along the edge of the arm of the chair, he allowed his gaze to flicker over the pond of the park.

"A herd of deer inhabited a small forest near the village where we grew up," he began, softly. "One of the deer – a doe – grew to trust us. Often times we visited the forest simply to feed her."

"Do you think that's… that's why Lily's—"

"Unfortunately, Ms. Granger, by the time we had learned to summon Patronuses, she was no longer speaking to me," Severus interrupted, an acidic tone finally infecting his voice. "I haven't the slightest what memory she recalled; I suspect it is more likely it has something to do with her husband."

"'Prongs,'" she added, softly. "I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't me—"

"Of course you didn't, Ms. Granger. You are still the mistress of that feline, yes? What is the saying again?"

"Curiosity—"

"Killed the cat," Severus finished, his dark gaze flickering from the pond's surface to her pretty face. "Indeed."

Silence fell between them for only a moment before Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Cocking an eyebrow, Severus turned just slightly toward her; her eyes were focused beyond them on the graying sky.

"Is it – is it still a doe?"

"Of course."

Her gaze fell to her lap and a shuddering breath heaved her chest. Strangely enough, Severus thought he sensed disappointment in her, but before she could meet his gaze he swept his own across the water of the pond.

Severus was not expecting the soft hand that covered his as it rested on the arm of the chair. Her fingertips brushed over his skeletal digits, tracing the sharp edge of his bony knuckles. Hermione's gaze didn't meet his as she smoothed her fingertips across the flesh of his hand, and he knew – he could practically palpate it on her wrist – her heart was racing; he needed not to perform Legilimency on her to understand she had no idea what drove her behavior.

And Severus did not understand why her behavior did not bother him. For a silent moment, he simply watched her expressionless face; her amber eyes were glossy as she looked out over the greenery of the park. The wind whipped through the air, lifting her hair from the nape of her neck and twisting the tendrils that hung loose around her face. His eyes flickered to the ever-present silver chain shuddered against the rapid pulse of her throat.

The next thought to cross his mind seemed impossible and irrational, and yet his hand began to move of its own accord. While hers still smoothed over his right hand, his left hand reached across his body; Hermione's eyes darted to him, and with bated breath – her lips were parted but her chest was still – she watched as his fingers brushed delicately against the smooth flesh of her throat. He hooked his finger around the fine chain, at first meeting some resistance as the pendant that lurked beneath her robe no doubt battled its way between her breasts. The strangest, most forbidden ache began to throb in his groin as the image of her naked form fleetingly flashed through his mind.

A tiny gasp escaped her as the pendant finally broke free of its confines and slipped from beneath the fabric. His eyes lowered to the charm in his palm but he knew her gaze lingered on his face; the pendant was indeed a Healer insignia, a bone crossed with a wand set against a familiar hideous lime-green colored crest. In that moment, he dared not to look at her; his own heart raced and he knew very well that he may have violated his boundaries – and yet he didn't care.

As though it was necessary to explain himself – and he knew it was, in a way, and yet he wished she yearned for the physical contact as much as he – he cleared his throat. "I was curious; I have yet to see you without this charm."

She swallowed hard, her eyes abandoning his face to linger on the pendant that rested in his hand. The chain still rattled against the frantic beat of her heart, and as Severus raised his gaze to meet hers, the endearing freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose clearly visible in his proximity, he thought he felt her lean in closer to him. Her soft breath brushed against his face and for a moment, he desired nothing more than to succumb to the feelings she inspired within him…

A loud roll of thunder interrupted their silent moment and Severus recoiled his hand, the pendant dropping to her breast. Hermione's body tensed, her hand relinquishing his rather suddenly; with a start, she stood from the bench.

"I think it's time we return to the hospital before we're caught in the rain," she said softly.

Just as they crossed the threshold of the hospital, the sky broke open into a heavy rain. Thunder clapped violently through the sky, lightning dancing across the darkness. Hermione followed Severus' wheelchair to the elevator where they boarded; the curious eyes of several passersby lingered on the empty – yet active – lift before the door closed and they began to rise.

A few moments later brought them to the isolation ward. The brass grille opened, delivering them onto the threshold and together they returned to his private room. Hermione's stomach did not cease in its violent churning and she thought for certain if she had to remain in his presence any longer she would be sick; what concerned her more was that it was not the intimate moment on the bench that nauseated her – in fact, she wasn't nauseous at all. She could not explain the feelings stirring within her.

Every moment she spent with him, the realization became clearer to her; she longed to be more than just his Healer. She knew he had lacked any interaction in the past several years – perhaps here and there a calm encounter, but most were threats to his life – and she suspected she knew just how lonesome he had been. She wanted to be his friend, his confidante; someone he could trust to care for him and restore him to health when his secret mission threatened his vitality.

To just be his Healer – to enter his life for the short time he would be in the hospital – it was not enough for Hermione. She wanted more. She wanted Severus to want more.

As they entered his room, the invisibility charm faded. With her wand, she levitated Severus once more to his bed, moving to his bedside and gently covering his legs with the warm blankets. Immediately, she donned a pair of gloves, her fingers searching the many wounds of his abdomen. The borders were warm and glowing golden, the dark-colored stitches sealing them closed. One laceration, however, seemed determined to resist her attempts to close it; even as he laid still, the edges pulled mercilessly at the sutures, the entire site glowing an angry red with inflammation.

Still, there was something else to be done. As she leveled her wand over his heart, she turned her wrist in a very deliberate motion; the muscle began to beat erratically, its pace ever increasing until Severus seemed to suffer the throes of panic. He brought his hand to chest, his long fingers clawing at the flesh concealing his organs from view.

"Remain calm, Severus. This is very fleeting," Hermione whispered, tucking her wand into her pocket and smoothing her hand across his forehead. "I needed to allow your heart eighteen hours of rest before I cast the healing charm that should begin healing the injuries."

"You should have warned me, Ms. Granger," Snape hissed, his hand finally coming to relax on his chest.

As her hand smoothed over his features, brushing away the droplets of sweat that freckled his face, she couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped her. It seemed he, too, could appreciate the humor she found in his reaction; a small smirk crossed his lips, but he quickly masked it in a sneer.

A playful smile danced about her lips but she said nothing; a small part of her enjoyed mystifying him, as she suspected he enjoyed much the same. She turned from him to the medicine cabinet, seeking the small ampoule she knew he had come to abhor vehemently. With it, she also acquired a thin gauze bandage which she placed beside him on his bed. He watched her closely, his fingers curling around the edge of the mattress; she knew, no matter how many times he received an application, the pain he experienced never lessened. Perhaps the only saving grace was that she only had to apply it to one of his injuries, and so at the very least, the pain would be of briefer duration than previously.

Drawing the solution into the conjured dropper, Hermione cast an apologetic glance at Severus. As the potion dripped into his wound, foaming around the puncture sites of the sutures, Snape's fingers clawed at the mattress' edge; his growled profanities and the sibilant sigh of the potion seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. Before the pain subsided, Hermione smoothed the bandage over the laceration, securing it on either side with a thin piece of tape.

Removing her gloves, Hermione delicately secured his robes around his neck once more. She hadn't noticed in the past, but a vein was throbbing at his temple – she assumed it was due to the sudden increase in his blood pressure as his body underwent the burst of agony. The corners of his mouth twitched as he clenched his jaw, his lips pulled tight against his yellowed teeth. As the pain faded away, the tension in his jaw slackened, the sickening sound of grinding teeth slowly quieting.

"I am hoping that very soon I won't have to make you suffer through another application of that, Sev," Hermione said softly, stroking her fingers against his temple and brushing his hair from his face.

"I can assure you, Ms. Granger," he growled, turning his dark gaze onto her. "Your hope pales in comparison."

Her lips parted in a genuine smile and she smoothed the back of her hand over the sallow curve of his cheek. The rough growth of his beard scratched against her soft flesh and she was surprised when Snape leaned into her caress. He seemed to regret it almost instantly, however, and recoiled from her, a grimace twisting his features. Turning his gaze from her face, he reached absently for the newspaper that rested atop the stack of journals.

Despite his silent dismissal, Hermione lowered herself into the chair beside him. Her eyes searched what features were visible to her above the newspaper in his hands; she could see the subtle saccade of his eyes as he read from the pages, a disinterested haze glossing them over. Slowly, his gaze flickered to her, though it was slight and barely noticeable. She allowed a smile to part her lips as she met his stare, the fathomless depths of his ebony eyes holding something warm for her.

"Don't you have work to attend, Ms. Granger?" There was a feigned coldness in his voice, so transparent she wondered why he had even bothered forcing it.

"No," Hermione replied. "It is surprisingly slow for a Saturday. I thought I would sit and talk with you."

Lowering the newspaper to his lap, the pages rustled in the swift movement. He folded his hands atop the paper, lowering his chin just slightly as though he was peering at her above a pair of glasses. The mannerism reminded her strongly of Professor Dumbledore, and briefly, she wondered if there were any other habits he had adapted from his old mentor.

"Is there any point in resisting?" Severus queried, his eyebrow arching as he peered at her.

With an ever-broadening smile, Hermione shook her head; the curls that framed her face twirled around her. "No."

With a long-suffering roll of his eyes, which she suspected was more theatrical than sincere, Snape folded the newspaper and replaced it on top of the journals. "Very well. I do not pretend to know what it is you expect to gain from this, but I will entertain your whims for the time-being."

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling accommodating," Hermione replied, a harmless sarcasm leaking into her voice. "Though, as it turns out, you are rather incapacitated. What choice do you have but to act as an attentive audience?"

He could not mask the smile that parted his lips as she turned his own logic upon him. As though rejoicing in her small victory, she leaned into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. A moment of silence passed as she simply studied him, her amber eyes searching his face hungrily. She knew he had granted her a rare opportunity and she fully intended on making the most of it. Fleetingly, she was appreciative that the intimate moment in the park was not infecting their – could it be called a relationship? Curling her fingers around the pendant he exposed, she dropped it beneath the neckline of her robes.

"Is there anything you are willing to tell me about yourself?" she finally asked, leaning forward.

"Certainly."

"Like what?"

"Surely, Ms. Granger, you did not honestly expect me to divulge every insignificant piece of trivia to you?" Severus replied, coolly.

Chewing her lip, Hermione steadily considered him. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she stared at him, the lackadaisical – yet complacent – expression plastered to his distinguished features nearly frustrating. She rested her elbows against her knees as she leaned forward, steepling her fingers before her face as she studied him.

"Tell me about the scar on your chest," Hermione dared. She directed her finger towards the right side of his chest. "There."

"Very well," Severus began.

As though for dramatic effect, Severus began to shift against his mattress. He eased himself a little higher in the bed, the pillows that surrounded him forming a protective nest around his body. He brushed his fingers against his cheek, pushing the hair back away from his face; the blanket covering his legs rose higher to conceal his robed stomach from her view. Suddenly, the violent sky outside seemed almost eerily appropriate as he began to speak of a violent tale.

The rolling thunder echoed through the open window and with a quick flick, Hermione's wand directed the window to close. The flashes of lightning that briefly illuminated the room beyond what was offered by the candles casted strange shadows across Severus' face. His dark eyes were fixed on her, and after a melodramatic pause – which yielded from Hermione the response he sought; she leaned forward, nearly resting on his bed – he began speaking.

"Albus requested I seek out a fairly dangerous Death Eater who had escaped imprisonment following Voldemort's fall. He had… developed a certain vendetta against Harry Potter and was searching for the boy," Severus explained slowly. "It did not take very long for me to find him. Albus directed that I bring him to the Ministry for arrest; he, however, did not take too kindly to the idea."

Hermione's hands had reached for the edge of the bed, her fingers curling around the sheets. Her eyes were wide as she listened to him speak. Severus seemed to enjoy his intent audience, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he paused.

"By the end of it, he had sunk a fairly large blade into my chest," Severus said, rather calmly.

"I hardly believe you just plainly sought him out," Hermione scoffed. "There is much more to it than that; there must be."

"I was instructed not to kill him," Severus added, simply. With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he turned his attention to his lap where rested the journal he had abandoned. "I, of course, had the advantage; Legilimency guides one well in a duel where only one participant is playing to death."

Severus paused, flicking open the magazine in his lap, the rustle of pages drowned by the loud clap of thunder outside. Hermione's gaze flickered to the white illumination cast through the window by a burst of lightning, the flickering light casting awkward shadows across her face.

"How did you get stabbed, then? If you knew his every move?"

"It is… quite difficult to explain what it is to perform Legilimency. If you can imagine your head on the busiest of days; I imagine your thoughts are hardly tangible to yourself," Severus whispered, turning the page of the journal. "Imagine, for a moment, if someone was attempting to access your thoughts from elsewhere. They will only manage brief glimpses of the chaos milling about within your skull."

"And the chaos only worsens when you're dueling to the death," Hermione said, softly.

Severus nodded. "Indeed. It is best to keep a calm mind when you are dueling – unless your opponent is a Legilimens, of course." His lip curled in a slight sneer, peering at Hermione from the corner of his eye. "I highly doubt his mind was whirling with intention. It is much more likely he was panicked."

"And so when he stabbed you—"

"It was unexpected, indeed," Severus interrupted. "The injury was quite severe."

"Yes, it was. A punctured lung," Hermione replied.

Snape nodded slowly. "I was hospitalized for a week – my students were quite pleased with the cancelled lessons, as I'm sure you can imagine." There was a sarcastic iciness in his voice, and Hermione couldn't suppress her quiet laugh. "The wound, by no means, was healed by then. I simply refused to remain bed-ridden any longer."

"But… if Professor Dumbledore assigned you to hunt the Death Eaters that posed a risk to Harry… how did you explain that to Voldemort, when he returned?" Hermione asked, straightening just slightly as she studied him.

"I explained to the Dark Lord that I knew he must be the one to dispose of the boy," Severus replied. "If anyone else were to do it, it would have made him look quite pathetic. Nearly killed by a child with no magical ability, while one of his followers was able to kill the boy as a child or older." With a small, satisfied smile, Snape released a gruff chuckle. "It is… it is rather amusing to manipulate a wizard's thirst for power."

"I'm certain he appreciated your thoughtful gesture, though," Hermione mused, a small laugh easing out of her.

"Especially," Severus agreed.

A quiet knock sounded from the door. As Hermione rose from the chair, Severus lifted the journal into his hands. She closed her hand onto his upper thigh, a small squeeze conveying all that she wanted to tell him in that moment; as Severus peered at her over the edge of his magazine, something within his eyes glowed. With a small smile, Hermione twirled around, her robes billowing daintily around her feet, finally settling into precise folds. Her movement breezed a pleasant cloud of her scent towards Severus, and as she abandoned him for the door, he drank in the smell of her shampoo and perfume.

Gently easing open the creaky door, Hermione released a soft, surprised gasp when she realized who stood on the other side. Looking sheepish, his ears burning as red as his hair, was Ron; his gaze was fixated on the floor as he awaited her answer and as soon as she appeared, he lifted his face to stare at her.

Swallowing hard, Hermione blinked at him in astonishment. At first, she simply could not believe he was standing there; he never visited her while she was working. A few moments of quiet surprise ticked away and he shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare. A surge of emotions washed over her from anger as she recalled the night previous to remorse for the decision she had already made.

The quiet rustle of paper behind her brought her to her senses. She gingerly stepped outside the room, closing the door quietly behind her. For a moment longer, she studied the man before her; he made an awkward gesture towards her, as though to show her some form of affection, but then seemed to think better of it and simply shifted uncomfortably in his place.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice gritty with irritation. "I'm with a patient."

Lowering his gaze to the floor, Ron finally settled on a motion: he reached for Hermione's hand. His fingers gently twisted the ring around her left finger, his blue eyes searching the small stone as it glittered prettily in the soft light of the hallway.

"I know," he said, finally, his voice quiet. "The nurse downstairs told me you were here… He must be nice; I heard you laughing."

A twinge of annoyance struck her and she bristled. Pulling her hand away from his grasp, she rested her fists against her hips, her amber eyes glowing with anger. It required all of her restraint to keep still; her temper was flaring and, even as a twenty-four-year-old witch, her temper still evoked the primitive magic that caused her hair to crackle. The surge of magic that flowed through her inspired a certain restlessness, and she longed to pace.

"He's certainly pleasant," Hermione growled, willing away the feeling of electricity tingling in her toes. "He appreciates what I'm doing for him."

She couldn't help the subconscious swerve of her hips that dominated her stance in that moment; vaguely, she thought of an indignant Lavender Brown. Folding her arms across her chest, she held Ron in an icy glare; his ears glowed violently as he turned his gaze from her to the wall, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head nervously.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked, her voice cold. "I am very busy."

Stepping towards her, he rested his hand on her hip. The hand that had anxiously rubbed his head came around to touch her face gently, and he leaned in to kiss her. Hermione's hands came to his chest, forcing him back away from her, her face twisted into an even angrier expression.

"What do you think you're doing, Ronald? I am at work!"

He stumbled backwards a step, his blue eyes glazed incredulously. He brought his hands to his head, combing his fingers through his flaming red hair.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, okay?" Ron sighed. "I had no reason to be mad at you last night."

A dubious smile crossed Hermione's face and she shook her head suspiciously. A chilling laugh erupted from her, and as she stared at him, she couldn't believe the anger that swelled within her. Ron's long, freckled face was twisted into a depressed mask; suddenly, she felt no sympathy for him.

Turning coldly, Hermione intended to abandon him in the hallway; she knew if she was forced to remain with him in the corridor any longer, she may say something she would later regret. His hand came to rest on her wrist, his fingers tightening around her forearm. She paused before twisting the doorknob, casting him a disdainful glare.

"Let go of me, Ronald," Hermione hissed.

"No," he replied. "I want you to talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you," Hermione snapped, coldly.

As she began to push open the door to Severus' room, Ron suddenly stepped forward, his chest broadened in his indignity. His arms were tense at his sides, his hands trembling violently; his eyes were shiny and red.

"Do you even love me anymore, Hermione? Do you?"

Hermione knew Severus must have heard the question; he also knew the answer. Hermione released a quiet sigh, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the solid door. Ron's ragged breaths over her shoulder only heightened her anxiety; her heart was fluttering erratically in her chest, so quickly she thought for certain she would faint.

Without turning to look at him, her voice was small as she spoke. "Ron, this isn't the place—"

"It's as much a place as any, 'Mione!" his voice cracked on his words. "Answer the question, Hermione!"

Slowly, Hermione brought her hands together before her, her fingers gently grasping the band around her left ring finger. Tears began soaking her cheeks, her eyes burning as she attempted to stifle her sobs. With a certain amount of force and disregard for the consequences, Hermione wrenched the ring off her finger; the band scraped the skin on her knuckle, drawing blood from the shallow wound.

Her fingers tightly wrapped around the engagement ring that rested in her palm. She drew in a steady breath, her chest rising with the effort to soothe herself; the tears that tracked silently down her cheeks dripped from her chin and landed upon her breast. Her eyes flickered open, her wet, swollen eyes holding Ron's own tearful gaze. She extended her hand to him, turning her hand over and dropping the ring into his palm.

"No, Ron," Hermione said softly. "I don't love you anymore. I'm sorry."

A quiet sob escaped her and Hermione disappeared behind the door to her patient's room. She quietly turned the lock, resting her shivering body against the sturdy surface. Her trembling hands smoothed over the cool surface, her eyes shut tight against the tears that poured over her face. She had no idea if Ron lingered outside the room but she didn't care; she couldn't silence her cries anymore. Sliding to the floor, she curled into a ball, pressing her face into the crook of her knees.

The faint whisper of fabric drew back the privacy curtain; Hermione suspected Snape utilized his wandless magic to open the room. She wrapped her arms around the nest she made with her knees, concealing her face from him as she cried quietly into her knees. Her entire body trembled as she sobbed, her fingers gripping tightly the fabric of her robes.

"Ms. Granger," Severus said, softly.

She did not respond to his quiet entreaty. Futilely, she attempted to bury her face deeper into the nest of her knees, her arms coming around her face tightly to grasp violently at the backs of her arms. Beyond her own raspy gasps and muffled sobs, the creaky groan of the bed could be heard as Severus adjusted his weight. She knew it must be awkward for him – she recalled the moment on the park bench and the uncomfortable gleam of his eyes – but there was nothing for it.

He did not press again for a long while, his dark eyes searching her crumpled form in the corner. She had not expected such a confrontation to occur while she was at work; it was the most irrational course of action, leaving her mourning the end of her first relationship while she was supposed to be caring for the ill.

"Ms. Granger," he repeated, his voice laced with an unusual inflection of sympathy.

Wiping roughly at her face, Hermione looked up at him. There was a strange sorrow haunting his face as he studied her; he looked as though he was ready to rise from the bed to come to her side, but knew better than to do so. Slowly, Hermione rose from her place on the ground, shaking her head morosely. There was a cynical smirk playing about her lips, though it was far from a sincere smile; the coldness of her eyes was alarming.

"That was not how I wished for that to happen," Hermione admitted, crossing the room to his bedside.

"It is better that it happened," Snape growled.

Lowering herself into the chair beside him, Hermione's wet eyes searched his face. They were still brimming with tears, her chin quivering as she tried to quell her sobs. She dragged her tongue over the sore on her lip as though reminding herself she shouldn't exacerbate it, and she pulled her gaze from his face.

"I'm sorry, Sev. I must seem like the most unprofessional Healer. I don't… I don't make a habit of dragging my patients into my personal life," Hermione sighed.

Hermione was surprised when Severus' hand reached to her, his cool fingers brushing against her chin and lifting her face to look at him. There was an impossible warmth burning in his dark eyes; an urge, not so unlike that surged through her on the bench, pleaded with her to lean forward and press her lips to his.

Steadily, she held his gaze. His dark eyes were flickering over her features as though he would never see her again, searching every landmark and burning it into his memory. His thumb came to her cheek, stroking the smooth skin gently; her eyes flickered closed as she savored the feeling of his touch, a soft sigh escaping her as she listened to his even, calm breathing.

"I have told you, Ms. Granger," he growled, pulling his hand from her face. "We share an intimacy few others have experienced."

When Hermione abandoned his room that afternoon, Severus was left with an erratic flurry of emotions. The scent of her body, the feeling of her skin beneath his fingers – Severus hadn't any grasp on what it was that possessed him when he stroked her face. The woman had just left the man she was to marry, and he was reaching out to her as though he were coming in for the rebound.

Staring blankly at the white sheets that covered his legs, Severus fisted a handful of fabric in frustration. There rioted a tension below his navel that he knew should not exist, especially when in response to his knowledge that she was no longer engaged to Weasley. Combing his fingers through his hair, Severus leaned into the nest of pillows beneath him. A part of him so desperately hoped she would remain in the hospital overnight – her presence throughout the morning and afternoon was very pleasant, and every moment she was away from him, he felt a strange sadness.

She had been his only company in the past – four? five? – days and she had confided in him. She had shown him true compassion and a genuine curiosity; she wished to learn about him. In a moment of weakness, a moment of loneliness, he agreed to divulge to her an irrelevant event of his history; she knew not to pry into the identity of the man that had wounded him, and simply reveled in the vague information he provided her.

As he thought on her, he began to suspect that his body reacted to more than her feminine sexuality. As he thought on her, he began to wonder if it was not just his body reacting to her in a primitive nature, but his heart.

Swallowing hard, Severus shook his head brusquely, as though to shed from it the irrational thoughts that lingered; dark hair twirled about him lightly as he moved. A heavy sigh swelled in his chest and he thought he could still detect the faint aroma that her body emitted. A burst of lightning danced through the sky, illuminating the room in a haunting way. The rolling thunder did not take long to follow.

As Hermione lowered herself into the chair behind her desk, she breathed a small sigh. She suspected Ron wouldn't have even returned to the apartment before heading to the Burrow. She felt barely any concern for the possibility he would have remained at her home; he knew when his presence was not welcome, and she certainly wanted nothing to do with him for the time-being.

She couldn't keep her thoughts from lingering on Severus. His touch had been so gentle, so kind; it was such a stark difference than what she had been accustomed to when it came to Professor Snape. His eyes held something safe there for her, something warm; the only way she knew how to explain the look in his eyes was to relate it to the way Ron used to look at her. Strangely, she felt safe with Severus.

Combing her fingers through her hair, Hermione collected the mass of curls and secured it at the nape of her neck. She knew she could not spend the rest of her afternoon in seclusion, despite how much she may have desired it. A patient file rested on the surface of her desk and as she eyed it, she did her best to suppress the tumultuous emotions she was feeling in that moment. Her patients needed her – and even if she only had one other patient to care for that afternoon, she would be damned if she did not give that individual her fully undivided attention.

Flicking open the folder, Hermione quickly scanned its contents. With a small smile – Fate certainly had an interesting way of lightening one's mood – she rose from her desk, tucking the folder beneath her arm. She rounded her desk and breathed in a steady breath before pulling open the door.

Crossing the hallway, she quietly knocked on the door to the patient's room. A gruff grunt sounded from within the room and as Hermione pulled open the door, the busily shuffling feet pressed the bodies of nurses into the privacy curtain that surrounded the bed. Quiet whispers – nearly silent to Hermione standing in the doorway – hissed at each other, the wizard in the bed grumbling angrily as they fussed over him.

"Good afternoon," Hermione called. Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she crossed the room, slipping into the privacy of the curtain. "I'm Hermione Granger. I will be your Healer today."

When Hermione returned to her apartment that evening, Ron was nowhere to be found. A dull sense of remorse ached somewhere within her; shaking her head slowly, Hermione breathed a soft sigh. She knew he would make an appearance in the very near future – the apartment remained as she had left it that morning, and she knew Ron would come seeking his belongings before long.

It was an odd feeling, Hermione mused, as she lowered herself onto the empty couch and stared at the blank television screen. She had expected that upon returning to her apartment, it would seem empty without Ron's presence; hollow, lifeless, in a way. Crookshanks leapt gracefully to her lap, clawing the fabric of her robes as he kneaded a place in her lap for him to rest. Bringing her hand to his head, she stroked his orange fur affectionately.

Her apartment felt no different than it had the night previous. The dull rumble of Crookshanks' purring rolled against Hermione's fingertips as she scratched at his throat, his soft fur feeling wonderful beneath her fingers. Absently, she brought her knuckle to her lips, sucking on the sore scrape she earned from her rough handling of the engagement ring.

It also seemed strange that her thoughts predominately lingered on the man whom was under her care. The feeling of his touch against her skin, the soothing way her body responded as he spoke. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the couch. For a moment, she considered allowing the thoughts to linger without desperately trying to understand them; the aching in her nether regions as she thought on him urged her to completely disregard any ethical guidelines or laws that governed her interactions with patients. Drawing her lip into her teeth, she chewed it tenderly. She knew she could never—he would never—what on Earth was she thinking?

Rising from the couch – and disheveling a rather content feline in the process – Hermione quietly padded to her bedroom. The familiar scent swept over her; a melancholy emotion surged through her as she breathed in the lingering smell of Ron. As her eyes passed over the bed, still unmade from when Ron vacated it that morning, sadness swelled in her chest. Climbing across the bed, she curled into the place that Ron's body always warmed and drank in the scent that lifted from his pillow.

Sitting quietly on Lily's bed, Severus entire body was shivering. Lily's hands enveloped his; she, too, was trembling. Gently, she brought one of her tremulous hands to her face, tucking stray pieces of hair behind his ears. The gentle touch of her soft and delicate fingers against his face sent a shiver coursing through his spine.

"Lily… are you… are you sure you want to do this?" Severus breathed, his hands trembling violently.

He couldn't look at her in that moment; he did not want to see the doubt that flickered in her eyes. He knew she had to be uncertain; how could she not be? And yet, her warm body was leaning into his, her lips brushing against his face.

"Severus," she whispered, her breath teasing his ear. "I never want to look back on my first time and feel regret. I… I would never, not with you."

The sleeve of her heavy sweater scratched against his neck as her arm slid over his shoulder and curling around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Shakily, he pressed his hands onto her hips, longing to pull her close but fearing what would happen if he did. Her soft lips sought his, gentle kisses dancing all across his face.

She used her weight to drag him to the bed with her, her arms laced around his neck, tightening her grasp on him and drawing his body impossibly close to hers. Severus felt panic rise in his chest as she pressed against the hardening length in his corduroys; when her thigh pressed against him, she paused, drawing back from him to gaze into his eyes.

"Don't you… don't you want to?" Lily asked, gently.

His mind was flooded with irrational thought. The only tangible thought registering in his mind was the feeling of her body pressed against his; there was a strange tugging in his lower body, a craving that he couldn't explain.

"Yes, Lily," Severus gasped. "Of course I want to. I just—"

"Kiss me, Severus," she pleaded. "Kiss me."

When she pressed her lips roughly to his mouth, Severus could not restrain himself any longer. The taste of her permeated throughout his entire body, inspiring a rush of emotions to come flooding into him. The erection that lurked against her shuddered as her tongue pushed at his closed lips; he parted them, allowing her access into him. Her mouth tasted like nothing else he had ever experienced: a mixture of mint-flavored chewing gum and a sweet taste he had never known before. She tasted like Lily.

As though he knew what he was doing, his tongue began hungrily caressing hers, searching the cavern of her mouth as though he would never visit that place again. Her hands came to the buttons of his flannel shirt, fumbling with them nervously, as she met his hungry caresses with force. Severus' hand smoothed over the dip of her small waist down to her hips, grasping the firm flesh of her buttocks, his other hand gently caressing the back of her neck.

A soft moan escaped her as she exposed Severus' thin, pale chest. Desperately, her hands began forcing the article from his shoulders, sliding the sleeves down his arms and over his hands. His shirt dropped to the floor beside the bed with a quiet whisper. Soft hands explored his chest, fingers fumbling nervously with the hardened peaks of his nipples, sliding down his stomach to the soft, faint trail of dark hair that led from his navel to his underwear.

Severus grasped at the hem of her sweater; Lily parted from him only long enough that he could lift the heavy garment over her head. Her pretty face was flushed with passion; tiny droplets of sweat freckled her chest and cheeks and as Severus stared at the girl above him, he didn't believe for a second there was another girl or woman in the world that was as beautiful. Gently, he combed his fingers through her thick, red hair; she leaned down to him, her soft hands smoothing over his bare chest and she kissed him deeply.

As though with instinct, his lips parted to grant her access. She dragged her nails gently down his chest, leading a pink trail along the soft hair that lead to his underwear. Her hand brushed against his hardness through the fabric of his clothing; Severus gasped as her fingers followed the outline of his erection. The feeling of her touch against his most sensitive part—

Unfastening her own jeans, Lily reached for Severus' hand, guiding his fingers beneath the elastic of her knickers. She giggled nervously as he trembled against her, and as he smoothed his hand through the soft curls that lurked just above her most sensitive parts, she released a raspy sigh. Between his fingers emerged the swollen nub of her clitoris, and gently – anxiously – he began to rub. She gasped, a quiet moan escaping her lips as her legs fell open. He couldn't believe the wetness that coated his fingers as he rubbed at her.

When she unfastened his pants, her hands shakily fumbling with his graying underwear, Severus paused in his frantic fingering. Her small hand wrapped loosely around his shaft; Severus gasped in pleasure as her hand slid along the ridges of his hardened organ. He covered her hand with his, guiding her in tightening her grasp; she began to stroke him perfectly as soon as he showed her how. The feeling of her hand around him was like nothing he had ever imagined; she pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, exploring his mouth hungrily with her tongue as she stroked him – he thought he might die from the overwhelming sensations that washed over him.

Her hips began rocking into his hand as he rubbed her; he was losing control of his massage, her hot folds so slick and wet. She cried out when his long fingers slipped inside of her. She began thrusting her hips more emphatically with his fingers inside her; her grip on his erection tightened, her strokes quickening.

Their panting breaths brushed against their faces, the smell of their breath lingering between them. Lily suddenly abandoned his penis, her hands forcing her pants down over her hips. Her feet began feverishly kicking as she discarded her jeans, her legs falling widely open to allow Severus better access to her heated core.

As he rubbed at her, she struggled with his corduroys. She used her feet to drag them off him, abandoning the task as they rested at his ankles. Kicking his feet, his trousers fell to the floor, and with a sudden burst of lust, he clambered over her. His lips searched her face and throat, his hands sweeping over her chest and beneath the fabric of her brassiere hungrily. The feeling he had always imagined paled in comparison as he slid his fingers over her pert breasts, cupping them gently.

"Lily, are you sure—"

"Severus, shut up," she gasped, grabbing hold of his hips.

With her hands, she roughly guided him towards her. The feeling of her hot core pressed against him was excruciating; Severus hadn't the vocabulary to truly describe it. Her legs surrounded him, her sharp ankles hooking around his calves as she pressed herself forward. As she began to surround him, the hot, wet pressure pressing in on all sides of him, he nearly climaxed.

For fear of ending it far too quickly, he slowly eased into her. His entire body shuddered violently as he tried to restrain his climax. The feeling of her tight walls surrounding him was like nothing else he had ever imagined; the slick feeling of the musculature surrounding him, pulsing around his hard shaft stroked him in a way he, himself, never could have. He clenched his eyes closed against the wonderful feeling, the soft sighs below him teasing his blinded senses. His thrusts were deliberate and slow but to no avail; it seemed within seconds he released his seed within her, the most climactic of orgasms reverberating throughout his body. As his eyes flickered open, the face below him was not the girl he loved; her straight red hair had darkened into honey-brown curls, her piercing emerald eyes a pretty shade of amber…

Severus woke to the feeling of sticky, moist sheets pressing against his abdomen. He was overcome with a strange sense of euphoria and nausea. His lower stomach seemed to throb, and as he rolled his head against the pillow, trying to force his eyes to open, he brought a tremulous hand to his forehead and wiped away the thin film of sweat. Severus discovered a very long time ago that his brain had a very cruel way of preventing restful sleep; if he was not plagued by nightmares of the horrors he had seen, then his outlandish and impossible desires coalesced in his mind as tangible events, only to be torn from him upon waking. He refused to acknowledge the change of identity of the woman in his dream; it only served to further complicate his troubled mind.

He was indeed growing quiet weary of the excessive sleep he was obtaining while hospitalized. Briefly he wondered if Granger – Hermione? – had been providing him a sleeping potion; he would have to remember to ask her when next he saw her. Severus was not one to desire much sleep, for reasons that were becoming readily apparent to him. The prison of sleep held no solace for him, only pain.

Finally, his eyelids peeled open, revealing to him a dim room illuminated only by the soft glow of the early morning sky through the window. Lifting the blankets, he pulled the tacky sheet away from his body, staring with some disgust at the mess that erupted from his body in his sleep. A long yawn widened his mouth and as he rubbed at his eyes, the sudden smell of his own ejaculate stung his nose. A small, cynical smirk touched his mouth, and as he shifted in his bed, he noticed a strange disheveled imbalance in the mattress.

Turning to his left, he finally noticed the sleeping head of his Healer. She looked terribly uncomfortable; her arms were folded upon the mattress, her head resting atop her forearms. She was leaning forward from her chair, her back arched in an oddly seductive curve. Her hair spilled over her arms like honey-brown waterfalls, glittering prettily in the pale morning light. The wrinkled, torn pages of a magazine peeked out from beneath her elbow. The magazine he had been reading the evening previous.

Her presence there was curious. A smile crossed his lips as he combed his fingers through her thick hair, the soft curls coiling around his fingers. The tickling sensation against her skull stirred her, and as she began to lift her head, Severus recoiled his hand. Her heavy-lidded amber eyes were glazed as she peered at him, the weight of sleep apparent in her face. A yawn brought her hand to her face in feminine politeness, and as she wiped the tears from her eyes, she smiled groggily.

"It's not quite morning, I hope I didn't wake you," she whispered, her voice as heavy as her eyelids.

"Hardly, Ms. Granger," he growled. "I believe I am the one who has done the waking. Why are you here?"

"I am the most unprofessional Healer in the hospital, of course," she replied, playfully. "I couldn't sleep in my apartment. My room smelled of Ron."

Severus turned his head to the side, his eyebrow arched in curiosity. "And your preference is the stale scent of the hospital?"

"Of course not, Sev," she replied, sleepily. "My preference is your company."
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Potions, Plans, and Second Chances