Nightmare (lying here in the dark)
“I don’t need to know,” Hermione whispered. It was the middle of the night, and she was resting in Severus’ arms –her new habit as of lately–, exhausted after an evening of blissful coupling, sleep eluding her. So far, so good; they were in her own quarters, because it was much easier for him to sneak in her rooms than her marching into the Headmaster’s quarters; too many portraits, too many uncomfortable questions such as Why is she here and Isn’t she inadequately dressed for a professor and Can’t you wait to get into the bedroom before removing your clothes, questions she didn’t have the energy or the mood to answer. As if Headmasters or Professors didn’t indulge in carnal relationships. Oh, the things she wanted to tell those portraits–
But that was exactly the reason why she and Severus kept their love life to her quarters instead. And that was how they had ended up like this, with Hermione tucked comfortably by his side, nuzzling slowly at his neck, where Nagini had left a multitude of scars.
Severus had more scars than Hermione could count; jagged lines and burn marks and raised skin where it should be smooth. But nothing compared to his internal scars: those that made him flinch if Hermione touched him when he was unguarded, those that sometimes made him wake up with a cry from his sleep and run away from Hermione’s bed, those that made him close his eyes and hide his shame behind what seemed to be cool indifference.
Hermione knew that he had all these; and she had her own share too, but not that many. Not that deep.
“I don’t need to know,” she repeated. He had fallen asleep momentarily, spent and exhausted, only to wake up startled, tears streaming down his face. And he looked so ashamed by it; so raw, so exposed.
And Hermione could have asked a million questions, as per her habit. But she knew that some things are better left unsaid, that maybe he needed to bury his sorrows instead of bringing them to the surface.
“I know, witch–” he murmured, drawing her close to his body again as if this would warm them up inside and out, “–but you want to. And I want it too.”
The dawn found him still recounting all his wounds with a quiet voice, and as Hermione stroked his hair in response, she vaguely thought that yes, she could live like this; keeping him close, being the one he shared his burdens with. And if he had another nightmare, she’d be there to hold him through it.