Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Last 24 Hours of Severus Snape	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 17388 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Muse has returned! Sorry this took ages. Hope the length and content of this chapter makes up for it. The poets included in the work are Robert Louis Stevenson, George Byron, Jack Prelutsky, and Lewis Carroll.

It hadn’t taken her long to decided which poems she would select. A few of her favorites came to mind and then she had called for a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets just in case her selections were displeasing to his ear. Robert Louis Stevenson— a simple poem that that been read to her by her mother in her youth, Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, a wintery poem by Lord Byron that she had grown rather fond of through the years and a simple child’s poem from a book she’d received from her grandmother when she was little. It had always kept her pleased when she read it at night from that book of lullabies. It was a hodgepodge medley of varying genres but a suitable collection just the same.

                Returning to the sitting room she found him curled with his feet beneath him on the couch, still wearing only the cotton sweatpants. She stood for a moment with the books in her hand looking every bit like a nervous school girl prepared to present her findings for a research project, though she was no longer quite so young or even dressed in her uniform. So much had changed since her days at Hogwarts. It was a different world; a distant memory.

                “Will you stoke the fire?” he asked.

                “Are you chilly?” she moved toward the fireplace and knelt, grabbing the poker to stab at some of the wood before using her wand to blast a few solid flames and heavier logs into the hearth.

                “A little.”

                Hermione stood and summoned one of the large pillows, waving her wand and murmuring until she’d transfigured it into a soft throw. She draped it gently over his shoulders and then moved with the books still tucked under her arms to sit beside him on the sofa, tucking her own legs up under her. “I found some poetry to read to you, I wasn’t really sure what you would want to hear so I just found a few that I like.”

                Severus nodded. “I could not think of anything in particular, I cannot say that I have had much exposure to it but it is something that I realized if I had had the time I might have enjoyed,” he said with a simple shrug, his voice once again firmly resigned. “What have you brought for me?”

                She placed most of the books onto the coffee table, selecting the simple Robert Lewis Stevenson book, holding it in her lap, gently flipping through the pages until she found the one she had remembered so well from childhood. “It’s by Robert Louis Stevenson,” she said glancing down at the simple illustration in the book. “Are you comfortable?”

                He nodded silently. Hermione gazed at him for a moment, watching the soft shadows of the fireplace dance across his face, making him look just the slightest bit mysterious. She had always thought of him as an enigma, but in that moment despite the shadows she saw him as a man, frightened and lonely, but determined to soldier through in his stoic silence to the end. Though his stone faced approach was far gentler than she had remembered his emotionless state during her days at school. This was a man who was condemned, resigned to that fate and keeping it all inside. It made her heart bleed and she longed to simply pull him into her arms, squeeze him tight and hold him until they pried him from her embrace. But that was a pipe dream at best and she would not dare engage such a notion, he deserved better than to be coddled.

                Severus had held her gaze, his own eyes gently studying her face, though she had hardly noticed as she was absorbed in her own thoughts, so when he asked her about what she had selected for a moment she just sat there trying to slowly process what he was talking about. “Oh, the poems,” she smiled with a hint of blush in her cheeks. “Mostly things that I knew from childhood— though there was one that I rather liked when I was old enough to read Byron, and I brought the sonnets just in case,” she said.

                “There are three about winter, I think,” he said, musing idly as if trying to recall a time in his life when he had studied them.

                “Yes, I think I know the ones, should I start with them?”

                “No,” Severus shook his head slightly and then stretched his arms out in front of him, the transfigured blanket slipping back off his shoulders. It took him a moment as he reached back and pulled it up over him again. “Sonnets should be last, or at least not first.”

                She nodded her head and then gazed down at the page in the book she was holding. She knew the words but had wanted to look them over anyhow as it seemed a bit foolish to recite it from memory. And she worried that she might blush or forget the words if she didn’t have them before her, just in case. Drawing in a slow breath she began to read the simple children’s poem.

                Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

                A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

                Blinks but an hour or two; and then,

                A blood-red orange, sets again.

                Before the stars have left the skies,

                At morning in the dark I rise;

                And shivering in my nakedness,

                By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

                Close by the jolly fire I sit

                To warm my frozen bones a bit;

                Or with a reindeer-sled, explore

                The colder countries round the door.

                When to go out, my nurse doth wrap

                Me in my comforter and cap

                The cold wind burns my face, and blows

                Its frosty pepper up my nose.

                Black are my steps on silver sod;

                Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;

                And tree and house, and hill and lake,

                Are frosted like a wedding cake.

                She let each word of the poem tumble gently from her lips; slowly gently as if living as the little girl in the poem. When she’d finished she closed the book and then set it on the coffee table, looking at him with a soft smile and the slightest hint of pink coloring her cheeks.

                “What was it called?” he asked.

                “Oh!” she cried feeling just slightly silly for not having mentioned it before she started. “Winter-time.” She said with a smile. “One of my favorites, my mother used to read it to me whenever we would have snow and I’d want to go outside and play. Or at night when I would sit up and stare out the windowpane looking at all the little snowflakes dancing about in the wind, falling down against the shutters…” she snorted softly. “Bit nostalgic for me, I’m afraid, but it was the first thing that came to mind.”

                “It was lovely,” he murmured. “Very innocent, and visual, the snow as naïve as the girl describing it.”

                She hadn’t expected discourse and commentary but found it slightly humbling and rather intriguing. It made her nervous and excited to read more. She wasn’t particularly familiar with any of Stevenson’s other poetic works, poetry had not been taught all but in snippets, mostly the sonnets, at her primary school and that wasn’t until her final year. And it certainly wasn’t taught at Hogwarts. Hermione had had passing interests in the subject throughout her adolescence but never enough to pursue it properly, leaving her with a limited knowledge of what was considered good and which classics were worth reading. But she was pleased with what she’d brought and only hoped that he would be as well.

                “Will you read another?” his voice again stirred her mind from its reverie.

                “Yes, of course, though it’s the only one I know by Stevenson,” she said and then reached for the book of Byron. “This one…Byron,” she said, pausing as if his name weighed her tongue down to say it. “I found it one summer in a library book— not a poetry book, actually, it was a book I had checked out about the Goblin Wars of all things, it was a long boring summer that year and I had been teaching myself some of the finer points of what Professor Bins simply hadn’t covered in his ghastly boring lectures the previous year—” she stopped short when she noticed the slight smirk on his lips and how his eyebrows had raised up onto his forehead. “Bullocks,” she muttered. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

                He nodded his head. “It is amusing.” Severus crossed his arms over his chest and for a moment he almost looked himself; as if they were sitting in his office back at Hogwarts, he behind his desk and she waiting a reprimand on the other side of it. Only his black robes were missing and he’d aged a good deal from when last she’d been his pupil. That notion made her flush a bit more fully; he’d but moments ago been touching her in ways most of her lovers had not been so kind as to caress her— the man that had once been her professor. She closed her eyes drawing in slow deep breaths trying to chase the thought from her mind. All that had changed during the war; after the war, and for many years thereafter.

                When she opened her eyes to see him gazing at her expectantly she slowly flipped through the pages of Bryon until she’d settled on Love’s Last Adiue. “It’s called Love’s Last Adiue,” she said and then cleared her throat softly before beginning to read.

                The roses of Love glad the garden of life,

                Though nutur’d mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,

                Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,

                Or prunes them forever in love’s last adieu!

                In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,

                In vain do we vow for an age to be true;

                The chance of an hour may command us to part,

                Or death disunites us in love’s last adieu!

                Still hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,

                Will whisper, Our meeting we may yet renew?

                With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,

                Nor taste we the poison of love’s last adieu!

                Oh! Mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth

                Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;

                They flourish awhile, in season of truth,

                Till chill’d by the winter of love’s last adieu!

                Sweet lady! Why thus doth a tear steal its way,

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?

Yet why do I ask? To distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perish’d with love’s last adieu!

                Oh! Who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?

                From cities to caves of the forest he flew;

                There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;

                The mountains reverberate love’s last adieu!

                Now hate rules a heart which in love’s easy chains,

                Once passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;

                Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins

                He ponders, in frenzy, on love’s last adieu!

                How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!

                His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,

                Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel

                And dreads not the anguish of love’s last adieu!

                Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;

                No more, with love’s former devotion, we sue;

                He spread his young wing, he retires with the blast;

                The shroud of affection is love’s last adieu!

                In this life of probation, for rapture divine,

                Astrea declares that some penance is due;

                From him, who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine,

                The atonement is ample, in love's last adieu!

                Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:

His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,

His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu!

                When she’d finished the poem she found his eyes had softened a great deal. Even as she’d been reading the words she realized how very deep and meaningful they felt in that moment for although she knew of no great love that was bidding him farewell it was simply a matter of switching a few letters about and she’d read him a poem about the great sorrows that would come when life would tell him goodbye one last time. At first she had regretted her choice but the gentle acceptance that seemed to radiate from his eyes eased her mind a good deal. “Did you like it?” she asked finally.

                Severus nodded his head. “I believe you chose that knowing it would put my mind to rest,” he said.

                If that were the case it was her subconscious at work, she’d only thought of it because she knew it well, and given her limited exposure to poetry it had been selected for that purpose. But her mind seemed to know her intentions better than she knew them and so she nodded her head softly. “It is a moving piece.”

                “The sonnets now, perhaps,” he said nodding to the much smaller book on the table. It was bound in leather and careworn. “Unless you have another?”

                “Yes, one of the literary greats, I’m afraid,” she smiled and quickly snatched up the copy of Through the Looking Glass. “The nonsensical whimsy of mirror writing,” she said and quickly flipped through the pages of the paperback, finding the page that outlined the poem.

                “The Jabberwocky,” he said.

                Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You’ve heard of it?” Her voice sounded more than surprised, perhaps even astonished, so much so that she didn’t realize asking such a thing of a scholarly man was slightly rude and perhaps even ignorant.

                “Of course,” he said and nodded to the book. “’Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…all mimsy were the borogoves and the mome raths outgrabe.”

                Hermione’s smile swept across her face, her eyes lighting with a brightness that she’d not yet encountered since the dreaded memo had fatefully crossed through the mail slot in her tiny office Tuesday night. “I shan’t waste your ears when you know it so well, Severus.”

                “Please,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “Your voice is far easier on the ear than my own and I’m afraid much past that I don’t recall,” he said and closed his eyes. “Something about the bandersnatch and the jubjub,” he opened his eyes. “But surely worded more elegantly than my faulty memory can recollect.”

                “Alright,” she said. “I’ll read the rest if you like, I’m just amazed that you know it,” she said and then blushed faintly. “Sorry.”

                “Don’t be…not many in my line of work take to muggle fiction,” he said with a shrug. “Continue.”

                Hermione launched right into the classic poem, her voice excited and animated as she spoke of the vorpal sword in the tulgey wood, and it spiked with enthusiasm when at last it was heralded the Jabberwock was slain. She put the book down. “Remember it now?”

                Severus nodded. “Lovely,” he said. “You gave a much more rousing rendition than I would have expected, it was delightful to hear such exuberance in Carroll’s words.” Severus sat up a bit, letting his legs slip out from beneath him and onto the floor, his feet bare. “Is that all you’ve brought aside from the sonnets?”

                “I do have one more, but its silly, a nursery rhyme almost,” she shrugged a bit, feeling a bit simple for mentioning it. “It’s actually from a book of lullabies my Gran gave to me when I was really little. They’re less lullaby and more… more…well bedtime poetry I guess,” she said and carefully picked up the blue book with the warm colored illustrations on the front. “There were two for every day of the week,” she said with a nostalgic smile crossing her lips before she put it down. “But let’s read the sonnets.”

                “I think I wish to hear this bed time poem you thought significant enough to bring to me, Hermione,” he said as he drew the blanket around his chest once more.

                Delicate fingers pulled the pages of the book apart, flipping to the back, Sunday’s final poem. Although this copy was not her own it was as old and fragile as the one she owned and she had to take extra care peeling the pages apart. “It’s called what happens to the colors,” she said. She didn’t bother to give the name of the author; knowing that he wouldn’t know the poet and she had never been sure if she pronounced his name correctly. “It is short,” she added and then read the poem aloud.

                What happens to the colors when night replaces day?

What turns the wrens to ravens, the trees to shades of gray?

Who paints away the garden when the sky’s a sea of ink?

Who robs the sleeping flowers of their purple and their pink?

What makes the midnight clover quiver black upon the lawn?

What happens to the colors? What brings them back at dawn?

                She hadn’t rushed her words but they flowed naturally from her lips as if she’d never stopped reading the book. While she hadn’t looked at it in years she knew that in her small flat it was tucked away on the bookshelf in her study, and that when she’d been at Hogwarts it had stayed close to her in her trunk. “The whole book is lovely, actually, though I always had Gran read this one to me, and I read to myself once she passed, even when it wasn’t Sunday,” she admitted.

                It was such a simple secret; reading the lullaby poem that was deigned for Sunday on another night of the week. Seemed ridiculous to keep such a thing a secret, but it had always been a secret kept just between her and her grandmother. They would of course read the other two poems for that night but then they would cheat just a little and also read the colors poem. She realized that she was blushing again and the bowed her head. “Sorry…I was—”

                “Remembering,” he cut her off. Hermione nodded and Severus smiled at her. It was a faded smile but genuine all the same. “You have fond memories of it and it clearly alights a happier time for you, I thank you for sharing it with me, I shall treasure its simplistic beauty and rich meaning until the end.”

                Until the end. Which was rapidly approaching. She hadn’t checked the time piece when she’d retrieved the books but that much time between when she’d set them down to tea and then read to him couldn’t have passed. Perhaps an hour, maybe 90 minutes at most. “Shall I start the sonnets then?”

                “No,” he said and then stood from the sofa. “All of your beautiful poetry has made me crave something unrealistic,” he confessed. “I shall need a moment to sort my mind before I enjoy any of the Bard’s poetic offerings.”

                Hermione’s brows knit together and she frowned. “Unrealistic?” she asked. She had made a vow to him, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it; that he would want for nothing in his final hours. “What is it?”

                “Something that you would have no way of providing me, Hermione,” he said and slowly walked a circle around the sofa before standing beside her. “But thank you for the poems, they were something worth treasuring.”

                Hermione stood from the sofa, standing just in front of him; their bodies closer than she had anticipated but after all that had occurred in the shower she hardly felt embarrassed and only a little bit nervous. “Severus,” she said firmly, though her voice was not stern. “I said anything, I meant anything. I cannot even begin to fathom what you think so impossible,” she shook her head, reaching her hand out to him, letting it rest against the top of his arm. “Unless you doubt me,” she added, teasing him slightly; at the very least trying to infuse a humorous tone to the mood.

                Severus, who was standing quite close to her, leaned forward, his long dark locks brushing her cheek as he pressed his lips just at the base of her ear. She couldn’t help herself as she shuddered slightly, feeling his lips brush against her earlobe as he spoke. “I want snow,” his voice was a subtle whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. She could hardly reprimand the man for the effect his voice was currently having on her body, but she could at the very least prove him wrong.

                Pulling back from him she smiled. “Not impossible,” she said and then drew her wand. She waved it first at the blanket that was hanging loosely around his shoulders and the fabric wove itself into a proper jumper, though it was a bit thin. With a secondary flourishing wave above her head she spoke a simple incantation. “Nixis Solari.” At first there was just a rustle of the air, as if a breeze had blown through the small room. But then the breeze brought with it a chill and just a moment after tiny little white snowflakes began to fall from above them. “See? Snow,” she grinned, watching as the little flakes floated downward, landing on his nose, lying gently in his hair.

                She watched as Severus slowly closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the little downfall of the crisp white flakes. His body was not tense; his muscles relaxed in that moment and it made her smile to see him at ease. He stayed that way for several moments, little white flakes settling into his hair and on his eyelashes, melting into droplets of water as they warmed against his skin. He exhaled a contented sigh before tilting his head upright and opening his eyes, the miniature snowfall still wafting down above him. “Indeed,” he said, holding her gaze.

                “It wasn’t impossible,” she said with a bit of a girlish grin on her lips. She was, after all, an accomplished witch and a simple indoor weather incantation was well within her capabilities. Whether or not it had been to his complete satisfaction she couldn’t say, but if it displeased him he didn’t vocalize it. Hermione stood just watching as the little snowflakes danced merrily down from the nothingness above, landing on his shoulders and nose.

                Severus had extended his arm, resting his hand upon her shoulder before he pulled her, slowly and cautiously, against his body, wrapping his arm around her back. For a moment she just stood there, pressing against him, her eyes transfixed on his. After a moment she leaned her head forward and rested her cheek against his chest; only the thin layer of the transfigured jumper keeping her ear from his skin. “I can hear your heart beating,” she whispered.

                He exhaled slowly; letting his chin rest delicately atop her head. She was just the right height; shorter than him by just enough. He closed his eyes and sighed once more. “You are a warm creature, Hermione.”

                It was an odd thing for him to say, and an even odder thing for her to hear, but she said nothing of it. Hermione kept her head against his chest for a long moment, feeling his other arm draw up and warp around her as if he were trying to pull her into him more fully. After a moment she drew her own arms up around his back and embraced him tightly; a full hug that kept them so close together they could have blended into one another; the snow now falling down into her hair as well.

                She closed her eyes, her own breathing soft and shallow as she listened; the rhythmic pumping of his heart hypnotizing her. The rhythmic pumping that in less than 24 hours would beat no more. A wave of sorrow swept through her but she did her best to dismiss it; not wanting to ruin a perfect moment with the reality that he was going to die. Despite squashing the feeling back down into the pit of her stomach, she realized he had felt it too in that moment, for he squeezed her all the tighter. A true moment of his vulnerability, but she dared not look up into his eyes for fear that she would find tears there, and that they would trigger her own tears.

                Hermione gently nudged her nose against his chest. “What do you want, Severus?” she asked, wanting to fulfill anything and everything she could for him.

                “Everything,” he whispered, his voice fragile, shaking slightly on that simple word. There was a pause, and when he spoke again it was gone; the vulnerability in his voice replaced by the resignation of defeat. “To lie down,” he confessed.

                “Are you tired?” Hermione slowly lifted her head from his chest, gazing up into his eyes. There were no tears, not even a hint that he might be struggling to hold some back. This eased her heart a little and she resolved herself to a smile. “Would you like to nap?”

                Severus shook his head. “No, not nap, just to lie down,” he whispered. “With you.”

                She had assumed as much, but had waited for him to say it. Hermione nodded her head. “On the bed?”

                “In front of the fireplace, I think,” he said and nodded to the fireplace. “On a rug perhaps?” he said. His arms slowly fell from around her frame and he stepped back from her, putting a slight distance between their bodies. His eyes traveled over to the fireplace which had once again begun to dwindle down.

                “I think I can manage a rug,” she said simply and then drew her wand. Swishes and flicks sent the table and sofa blasting back against the wall, clearing a large space just in front of the hearth. Another wave of her wand had the duvet from the bed swirling down onto the floor and transfigured into a plush furry rug. She summoned over two of the pillows and one of the down blankets and then turned to him, “How’s that?” she asked.

                Severus nodded his approval and then moved over toward the rug and pillows, nodding at her. Hermione nodded in return and then knelt down on the rug, gazing up at him. “Should I—”

                “Can I hold you?”

                Hermione stared at him for a moment, awestruck. It was still very strange to hear such requests coming from him despite what she’d already experienced with him in the few hours they’d been together. After a moment she realized she’d not responded, and quickly shook her head yes. Severus slowly knelt beside her on the rug, easing his body down until he was lying on his side facing the fire, guiding her body down alongside him. He shifted her about until her back was pressed against his chest and his arm wrapped around her middle, effectively spooning her against his body.

                She couldn’t help but blush feeling the length of his body aligned against hers, and a tiny smile crept over her lips; grateful for the moment that her face was not facing him. She laid her head down against the pillow and then reached back over him for the blanket, tossing it haphazardly over both of their bodies. “Are you comfortable?”

                “Yes.” Severus brushed his hand up over the back of her neck, pushing her hair up and out of the way. His nose rested against her neck, the soft tendrils of his breath causing her to shiver slightly. “Are you?”

                “Yes,” she said simply. It was comfortable, if a bit strange and tingly. To be wrapped in his arms, like a lover or companion; a strange notion at best, but if nothing else she could honestly say she was comfortable. Her eyes blinked lazily as she gazed into the fire; watching as the flames curled about, dancing their wicked dance. They lay that way for some time, her eyes mesmerized by the leaping flames, her thoughts so scattered she hardly heard him speak.

                But his voice slipped through her thoughts, disrupting the patterns she was tracing with her eyes, his question a bit startling. “Would you grant me the pleasure of discarding your clothes?”

                She swallowed hard; still not accustomed to such notions. “Of course,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. He’d seen all she had to show him, and he’d touched her in her most intimate place, it couldn’t hurt for her to lay naked in his arms. And even if he changed his mind and decided he wanted sex, or wanted her to pleasure him in whatever way he saw fit; she was prepared to give him whatever it was that he asked of her.

                Hermione gently slipped out of his embrace, carefully sitting up on the rug. She crossed her arms over her chest and slowly pulled the black tank top up over her head, letting it fall to the floor just beside them. Her breasts were bared to him; her nipples stiff and pebbled. The chill of the air keeping them taut as she shifted her weight back onto her buttocks and slipped out of the yoga pants, rendering herself naked for him. He sat up, letting his eyes rake over her body. For a moment she sat there, watching as his eyes traced their way down over her figure, watching the way they lingered over the birthmark on her breast. She inhaled sharply when he cupped her breast, squeezing it deliberately in his palm.

                “Did I hurt you?” he asked, gently swiping his thumb over her nipple.

                “No,” she breathed heavily, the blush that was filling her cheeks creeping down into her breasts. “No, Severus, you didn’t hurt me.”

                “Pleasure then?” he asked.

                Hermione blushed harder, if such a thing were possible, and she nodded her head. “Your touch is…yes…pleasure,” she confessed, and bowed her head slightly, ashamed to look at him.

                The soft chuckle that she was becoming familiar with resonated to her ear and she forced herself to look up at his face. He wasn’t smirking as she’d expected, but actually smiling, however faintly. And this made her smile a bit, even if it was an awkward and slightly embarrassed smile. “Will you lie back?” he asked.

                Hermione nodded her head, gently leaning back into the rug, catching herself at first on her elbows before lying flat on her back. “Like this?”

                It was Severus’ turn to nod. He took a moment before twisting his arms and pulling the jumper up over his head. She was surprised, but said nothing, when he left his trousers on. There was a silent exchange between them, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before he leaned down into the rug, lying beside her. He lifted his head carefully and then gently nestled it down against her breasts, his hair splaying out over her collarbone and shoulders. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply; the scent of her body filling his nose. “You are a heavenly woman, Hermione.”

                The compliment made her blush all the more but she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, “Thank you,” she whispered. She could feel her heart thundering in her chest, and knew full well that he could hear the frantic beating but it didn’t disturb her. Her hand idly moved to thread into his hair, stroking her fingers through his locks, her nails ever so gently scratching against his head. If the muffled mumble of contentment was any indication, he was enjoying it.

                Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his hand idly sweeping down her stomach, fingertips tracing little patterns in her pubic hair. They were languid strokes; her fingers and his fingers, the way he touched her with such a familiarity as if he’d done so all his life. It should have been disturbing but she found it rather comforting despite all the sexual implications that went with it. Hermione found it impossible to hide her arousal from such caresses, but she knew there was no sense in worrying over it. It would only make her appear tense or nervous, or worst of all uncomfortable and that was the last thing she wanted him to think.

                “A natural woman…” he mused, his eyes gazing down the length of her body, watching his own fingers gently tease patterns over her mound. “Such a rare thing…”

                She couldn’t think of anything to say. What was there to say to such a compliment? She felt wrong simply thanking him. And as much as she wanted to offer herself up to him, she knew that if he wanted it he would ask, or simply take, though thus far he’d proven to follow the path of asking first. Hermione opened her eyes and stared through hooded lids down at the top of his head; the surreal state of everything slowly seeping into her mind. She should have been chilled, but between the fire and his body lying atop her she felt plenty warm.

                “You are aroused.” His words caught her off-guard though she did not protest. It was a simple fact, there was no denying it. Such close proximity and the way he touched her; even his voice, her body was turned on. She parted her lips to speak but his words kept her in silence. “I find it fascinating that I have such an effect on you.”

                This gave her pause but her mind jump started without her mouth’s consent. “All things considered, you are a relatively attractive man, Severus.” Her words earned her a soft snort, and for a moment his fingers stilled in her pubic curls. He pressed his hand flat against her mound, letting his fingers idly cup her sex. The touch was enough to make her squirm just slightly; parting her thighs however inadvertently to allow him to touch her more thoroughly if he wished. There was no sense in trying to be proper; he would make of it what he would. If touching her as he was pleased him that was all that mattered.

                “Your body is very responsive, Hermione,” his voice had fallen to a soft whisper, not that he had been particularly loud before, but she noticed the subtle shift. Something sensual, something bordering on sexual hovering in the back of his throat. It made her shiver; the sensation rolling up and down her spine causing her legs to tremble slightly. “Very responsive…”

                She could feel her pulse quickening, which was astonishing as her heart had already been racing from the moment he’d laid his head down against her bare breasts. The heat of his body half draped over hers was suddenly stifling but she didn’t make to move from beneath him. Hermione kept perfectly still, feeling his fingers gently stroking at her sex, his slender digits idly slipping between the slick folds of her sex as they had in the shower. Her ears were filled with the sound of her thundering heart, and she could feel her chest rising and falling a bit more quickly despite his head still resting atop it.

                It was practically driving her mad. That he seemed content to merely lie atop her naked body as he was, fingers stroking her sex. She felt the subtle pressure of his fingertips at her entrance as he continued to pet her, languid idle motions without any intent or real purpose. Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from crying out when his finger brushed up against the sensitive nerves of her clit, but the moan was not entirely stifled and she flushed fully at hearing just how wanton she sounded.

                “If it bothers you I can stop…” he said, his voice teetering on the edge of breaking, sounding almost husky.

                “No,” she said, more of a panted exhale than a word, her nerves tingling, her toes curling slightly as she tried to regain some semblance of control. “I…” she felt her breath hitching once more in her chest as his fingers again brushed her clit, almost experimentally this time, but definitely on purpose. “Ooh…” she couldn’t help it as she moaned.

                Severus stilled his hand, letting it rest against her mound, slowly lifting his head from her breasts until he was gazing into her eyes, half hovering over her. “I think, perhaps I should stop before I tempt myself,” he whispered.

                Hermione could hear her mind screaming a protest that thankfully her lips did not express aloud. She closed her eyes and nodded her head; a slight gesture but an affirmative nonetheless. “Whatever you want, Severus,” her voice trembled as she spoke. “Whatever you want.”

                He sighed. And for the first time in a very long time she witnessed something that she thought she would never see again. With his free hand he had brought his fingers up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. A telltale gesture from his teaching days, one she’d remembered well from her days as a student though she’d rarely seen it at Hogwarts. During Order meetings, mostly when she had been spying through cracks in the wall; a sign of confliction. “Severus?” she dared, her voice still quaky but slightly less lusty as she spoke.

                Again he sighed, leaning up, without moving his hand from where it rested between her thighs, resting against his elbow gazing down at her. “There is no denying…” he trailed off, letting his eyes once more sweep down her figure in appreciation. “No denying that I would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity with such a lovely…willing young witch…” his eyes traced a path back up until they met hers once more. “But I don’t think I could bring myself to ask it of you.”

                “You don’t need to ask,” she said, her voice once more in her control. “I’d give it to you freely…whatever you wanted.”

                Severus shook his head, though his hand remained. “I know,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as if to regain his own composure. She hadn’t thought about how it might be affecting him; that he might, for all she knew, have a raging hard-on in the soft cotton trousers that he’d left on his body. Hermione thought back to what he had said in the shower, that it would take too much energy out of him, and she wondered for a moment if that was the only thing keeping him from asking it of her.

                “Would you—” she hesitated, and then slowly leaned up on her elbows, bringing their heads level before she sat up completely. He seemed to follow her body and now sat facing her, his hand resting in her lap. “If it wouldn’t drain you…of energy,” she quickly added, her cheeks fully flushed once more. “Would you?”

                He leaned his head forward so that his forehead rested against her shoulder. Severus sighed softly, letting his hair fall against her chest. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “There are many things to consider—” his breath hitched violently in his throat and his words were choked off, his head jerking up from her shoulder as he felt her small hand curling around the bulge in his lap. “You shouldn’t have—”

                “I’m sorry,” she whispered, easing her fingers from around him, pulling her hand back so it rested on the top of his thigh. “But I wanted to know…”

                He nodded his head. “Makes it all the harder to resist you,” he said, his voice once again wavering into something heady and lustful.

                Hermione shook her head. “You don’t have to resist it, Severus. I told you…I’d give you anything you want.”

                Severus seemed to consider this for a moment. And then he shook his head. “As tempting as it is…and believe me, for many reasons is it indeed tempting.” He paused for a moment, letting his eyes trace down her figure; a glance she was becoming quickly fond of. “You are a beautiful woman, Hermione. Willing and thoroughly aroused at that,” he added with a hint of a smile crossing his lips. “And as a man about to die…the last opportunity I would ever have for such intimacy.” But he shook his head. “But think for a moment if I were not as I am.”

                “I beg your pardon?” she asked, thoroughly perplexed.

                “If death was not but a handful of hours away…if I were free, in the wizarding world, an ordinary wizard of my own vices, would you find yourself so willing then?” His voice was even, not harsh but the traces of trembling lust she’d heard before had vanished. “Not that you intend pity, Hermione, but surely if I were not dying you would not be so hasty to offer yourself up to me.”

                Hermione was taken aback at his words. She didn’t know what to say. And for a moment she considered pulling back from him and draping herself in the blanket, feeling foolish and ashamed all at once. Was that what she had been doing? Throwing herself at him for pity’s sake? She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to sort her tangled thoughts. There was a long silence between them, her hand still resting on his thigh and his still between her legs. Their faces were close, but no longer touching, the only sound filling the room was the slow crackling of the fire in the hearth. Her eyes slowly opened and she gazed into the inky depths of his eyes. “I’d never given it much thought before,” she confessed. “But yes.”

                Her response took him by surprise. It was subtle flicker in his eyes, dashed out as quickly as it had arisen, but she had seen it. “Words,” he muttered.

                “Honestly?” she asked, feeling her whole body tightening as she spoke. “Not that you were ever in a capacity to be considered an option, but I have always found you striking,” she confessed, feeling that all too familiar blush creeping into her cheeks.

                “For how long?”

                “What?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side as if his question had confused her.

                “For how long, Hermione? I am merely curious…”

                This gave her pause. She closed her eyes, not to avoid his gaze but to think. “Since sixth year?” she said, sounding uncertain. “You were stalking about at the stupid Slug Club Party…and it was just something about you that I noticed…and then quickly banished from my mind,” she said hastily, blushing all the more red in her cheeks. “It’s presented itself from time to time in my head; the idea of you…I was just never presented with an opportunity to act upon it,” she shrugged.

                “And would you?”

                “Would I?” her lips pursed together for a moment. “Would I have acted upon it?” This caused her to frown. “I don’t suppose I would have,” she admitted. “But not for lack of wanting to had the opportunity presented itself…I just don’t believe that I would have ever been convinced that you would have wanted me to act on such a notion.”

                “I see,” he said. Severus slowly pulled his hand back from between her legs; his fingers sticky with her arousal. Though he’d only barely touched her, it was clear he had had quite the effect on her. “Pity,” he said with a shrug, wiping his fingers on the side of his trousers. “I think had circumstances been different…” he trailed off and then shrugged his shoulders. “No sense in thinking on what might have been.”

                This was the most disheartening thing she’d heard him say all night. But she gathered her courage and slowly pulled her hand back from his thigh. “Right,” she said, letting both of her arms rest across her lap. She was still drenched between her thighs but the conversation had been a bit off-putting and she was no longer actively aching and throbbing; no longer craving his touch. She didn’t let the disappointment show in her eyes, but instead offered him a smile. “What else can I do for you if you don’t want…” she trailed off. “Is there—”

                “Don’t mistake me, Hermione,” he said, his voice level and clear. “It’s not that I don’t want…” he sighed and then slowly shook his head once more. “I’m just not able to allow myself.”

                “What if I—”

                “No,” he whispered and then slowly leaned forward, brushing his lips against the side of her cheek. “You are thoughtful and sweet to offer, but how it happens makes little difference, I don’t wish to go to my death feeling guilty.”

                “Guilty?” she asked. This was not something she had expected. Nor was it something that she understood. “Why would you feel guilty?”

                Severus remained silent for several long moments. He shifted his body slightly, his eyes once more meeting hers before he spoke. “Regardless of what you may think…or the situation that I find myself in at present…you will always be Hermione Granger, the girl—” he paused and corrected himself. “The woman, you are a woman now, but the woman who was once entrusted to me as a pupil. Even a dying man would find that hard to overlook…your youthful innocence…it would be wrong.”

                Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from chuckling a bit. Or perhaps to keep from shouting. What he was saying made absolutely no sense. How could a man faced with death deny himself something he so clearly yearned for? Perhaps he thought she was truly innocent. “Severus, I’m not a virgin…” she offered, not sure if that would make a difference.

                He nodded his head. “I don’t expect any woman of your beauty at your age to be,” he admitted and then shrugged his shoulders. “But that’s not what I meant.”

                “Well what did you—”

                “Hermione…” he closed his eyes. “You are making this very difficult…I am after all only a man, and I can only be tempted but so much before I give in.” Severus opened his eyes, looking a bit frazzled as if it pained him to restrain himself. “And if you keep tempting me…”

                “If it’s what you want then you shouldn’t feel the need to keep denying yourself.” Hermione placed her hand once more atop his thigh, not so bold as when she had outright curled her fingers around his erection, but brazen enough to let him know she would if he would let her. “I don’t mean to tempt you…but the fact that you are tempted…you shouldn’t deny yourself…”

                “You are making it impossible not to,” he said and then he grasped her hand, twining his fingers between hers. “Hermione, I could…I could very easily…” he closed his eyes, inhaling the faint scent of her lingering arousal. “And I no doubt know that it would indeed please me…hell it might even please you if your state of arousal was any indication…”

                “Then just—”

                “No…” he said and opened his eyes, releasing her fingers. “Touching you needs to be enough.”

                She didn’t want to argue with him, nor did she want to force his hand. But it seemed absurd to deny himself something he so clearly and desperately longed for; knowing that he was a condemned man. Knowing that in a few hours time his life would end and never again would he have the opportunity with her or anyone else. She frowned. How much time had passed? They’d had tea and read and stood in the snow, laid about in front of the fire, and then the touching, she had no idea.

                “Why are you frowning like that?” he asked.

                “Sorry…I was just thinking about the time,” she said, feeling guilty for having said it aloud. “I just wanted to know—”

                Severus nodded. “It’s probably best you check anyhow,” he said and then stood up from the floor. Though he was in no condition to pull her to her feet he offered her his hand, which she took, and within an instant she was on her feet, her bare chest pressed against his.

                “I’m sorry,” she whispered, making to pull back from him, but found both of his arms wrapped around her back, keeping her pressed against him. “Oh.”

                “Check the time for me,” he said and then lowered his lips to her forehead, a chaste brush of a kiss against her skin, sending shivers all through her body.

                Hermione slipped out of his embrace and over to the discarded time piece. The whole experience had been surreal, and she worried that perhaps far too much time had passed. Not nearly as bad as she’d thought, only five hours, though they must have laid on the floor, she spooned in his embrace, a good deal longer than she’d realized. Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours before they would come for him; take him off to be prepared. A horrid ritual that she’d read in the informative paper about the fate that awaited him. Placing the timepiece on the table at the back of the room she walked back to him, painfully aware of his eyes sweeping over her naked body. “You’ve fourteen hours…”

                He knelt and picked up the blanket she’d summoned from the bed and when she was standing just in front of him he draped it over her shoulders. “You must be chilly.”

                “I’m fine,” she said, though she had been chilly since the moment he’d pulled back from her body. The blanket did little to ease that chill but it was a kind gesture that she was more than welcome to accept. “What would you have me do for you?” she asked, drawing it around her body a bit more closely, concealing her nudity from his view. “I could read some more if you like…or we could…whatever you like, Severus.”

                “I know.” Severus crossed his arms low over his torso, thinking for a moment. It was getting difficult to ignore the prospect of having his way with her. “Perhaps you should get dressed,” he said. She only nodded at his request, causing him to sigh. “The longer you stay naked…the more likely I am to cave in and toss you asunder onto that bed.”

                This earned him a cheeky, if faded, grin. “If you like,” she said and stood still for a moment. “I could—” she felt the heat sparking in her cheeks. “Since you seem to be hung up on robbing me of my innocence and expending all your energy…” She had to close her eyes; Hermione could not believe the thought was jostling about in her mind, let alone about to spill from her lips. “I could…” she nodded to the bed, eyes now open. “And you could just watch?”

                Severus considered this for a moment, eyeing her and then the bed. And then he frowned. “I think that is more cruel than simply having my way with you,” he said with a half smile. “Watching you work yourself into a frenzy…only to feel the caress of my own calloused hand? I think not.” He paused a moment, watching her cheeks flush with fuchsia. “Though the offer is greatly appreciated.”

                Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m at a loss as to what to do with you, or what to do for you, then.”

                A hearty chuckle echoed forth from his lips. “Not what you signed up for?”

                “Oh…Severus,” she shook her head and sighed. “I just want you to—” she felt exasperated, and then crossed her hands tightly over her chest, pinning herself in the cocoon of the blanket. “You deserve everything, and no one seems to understand that but me.”

                “And for that I shall be forever grateful, Hermione,” he said and then stepped back toward the bed, sinking down into the mattress for a moment before pulling himself upright and sitting on the edge of it. “To have had all you’ve given me thus far is a blessing. To not be alone…to have the companionship, the company…that is more than I ever could have hoped for, I dare not ask for more.”

                Hermione made her way over to the bed and sat down beside him, their thighs touching. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. What more could she do? There was still plenty of time to do anything and everything he wanted, if only he’d allow himself to want it. She waited; several long moments in the silence of the room before lifting her head and placing one hand on the top of his thigh. “Then what shall we do?” she asked, turning a gentle smile to him.

                “Are you fond of chess?” he asked.

                She made a face. “Not particularly.”

                “Good, then beating you should be easy.”
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The Last 24 Hours of Severus Snape