Chapter 4
The moon is high as he stands on the bank of the Black Lake, a cool breeze biting through his button-down as he watches Hermione languidly draw her arms through the water.
“You’ll catch your death,” He warns.
She peers at him over her shoulder before rising and he suddenly wonders where the cold has gone as his blood begins to simmer. A slow ache strangles his heart as he watches the waves lap against her bare thighs just below her school skirt, now drenched and sculpted to the plush swell of her hips.
He clenches his fists, ruthlessly defying the impulse to discover what it might feel like to grip her there— to trace every dip and every curve, to tear away the flimsy fabric of her top which clings to her now like a second skin and feel her warmth burn beneath his hands.
“The water is actually quite warm,” She replies, keeping her back to him as she wrings the ends of her hair.
It is several moments before he notices the faded red distinctly marring the sheer cloth on her forearms and he finds himself standing closely behind her before he can even think to remind himself of what a mistake it always is to draw so near when her eyes are open.
“Why are you here, Hermione?”
The subtle scent of lilac snakes from her hair, squeezing at his senses as he feels the heat of her small figure seep into his flesh.
Lilac, like the blooms he once took from her bedside.
Lilac like the scent that haunts him even in the daylight, lilac that lingers in his office once she’s left and appears like a phantom in the night, lilac that lies in wait between dusty bookshelves and dark hallways and the shadows of his bedroom—
“Why are you here, Severus?”
The faintest whimper escapes her as his hand snakes upward to grasp her slender neck with a gentle but firm grip, suddenly clutching her flush against him by her arm.
“Oh, how I’ve longed to ask you that very question, little witch,” He murmurs darkly against her ear.
“Don’t… Don’t make it easy,” She breathes, stirring with it whispers of a dimly lit memory, remnants of a night long-passed when those same hushed words spilled from her lips.
Severus spins her around, trapping her against him by her waist as he catches her wide-eyed gaze.
“I’m not interested in whatever game this is, Granger,” He growls.
“There’s no game, I—“
“Why are you here?” He asks again, but quietly, desperately as he feels himself sink into her amber irises that suddenly writhe with some unnamed sadness. Her bottom lip trembles and he longs to soothe it with his own, while she is dripping in silver, all wet and glistening under the high moon, while her hands rest so warm and so tender upon his chest.
Severus shuts his eyes instead, pressing his forehead to hers so that he can breathe again.
“Tell me.”
Silence.
Silence…
Silence—
“I’m missing something, Severus,” She finally utters in an urgent, tremulous whisper.
How deeply he aches for her… How ardently he hates her.
“Well, I suggest you find it soon, Hermione…” He murmurs softly, his voice like the caress of a sharp blade against vulnerable flesh. He raises his head, savoring her gentle shiver that thrums between them as he ghosts his mouth along her jaw and up to hover at her temple.
“… And then leave.”
Something has been lost this night, he thinks, after he leaves her there under the moonlight.
She has stolen some part of him… and he knows that he will never steal it back.
***