Chapter 1
Hermione shifts restlessly in her bed as Severus watches from the shadows of the infirmary. He had run out of plausible excuses to visit her long ago— and yet night after night, he haunts this room like a specter, manifesting at her side just long enough after Poppy has retired to her chambers for the evening.
He shouldn’t be here. He knows that.
But it makes her happy to have him read to her, and the fondness he feels as her amber gaze warms at the sound of his voice was now too much for him to give up so easily.
Sometimes he puzzles over when she caught hold in his mind. He had been cruel to her for years, unjustly so. But in recent times, they were the only ones who regularly occupied the library at Grimmauld Place and he suspects they both were surprised when a pleasant ease soon settled between them. He has always admired her, even if begrudgingly at times. She is of a rare sort— dangerously clever, a true lioness in her bravery… uncommonly kind yet capable of a stunning brutality that justice can sometimes require. Severus will never forget the vision of her fighting against some of the most skilled death eaters at the ministry, the sheer power of her cracking like a whip through the chaos as she fired curse after curse even as a river of blood poured from her chest.
Beautiful. Utterly bewitching.
And entirely out of his reach.
So he reads to her— because it makes her happy.
“Severus,” he hears her whisper. “Are you there?”
He’s by her side in an instant, pressing the back of his hand to her flushed cheek as he observes her tear-filled eyes with concern. “Are you in pain?”
“Of a sort,” she replies in a strained voice. His chest tightens as she reaches up and clasps his hand between her two smaller ones. “Severus… will you please take me outside?” she pleads. “I’d have escaped on my own by now if I thought I could make it without collapsing.”
“Hermione—“
“Please, I am begging you. Just for a moment. I’ll die if I stay in this bed another minute.”
He sighs heavily as he gently brushes a tear from her cheek. “You won’t die. You’re much too stubborn for that, little witch.”
Severus ignores the warmth spreading through his veins as she smiles up at him.
“Can we go to the lake?” She asks as they pass through the courtyard.
“That takes more than a moment, Miss Granger,” he replies drily, eyeing her with an arched brow when he would really love nothing more than to keep her clutched to his chest for as long as possible.
“That is subjective, Sir.”
He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him then, delighted by the cheeky grin spreading across her face.
“Very well, then.”
“To the edge,” she directs as they near the lake. “I’d like to put my feet in the water.”
He watches as she pads carefully across the pebbled shore and submerges her feet. The moon is bright tonight, shining through her thin hospital gown to where he can just barely discern the smooth curve of her hip. He clenches a fist.
“It’s warm,” She says, peering at him over her shoulder. His brows lift minutely in question as he meets her gaze. “The water.”
She turns from him and shuffles in deeper until the hem just above her knees is wet.
“Come and feel it, Severus.”
He pauses briefly before stripping off his coat and rolling up the sleeves, tossing his shoes and socks aside. She’s crouched down when he nearly reaches her, languidly wading her arms through the water.
The air flies right out of his lungs as she stands and turns to him, and he stills as a sultry heat spreads rapidly through his flesh. If she heard the gasp escape his mouth she doesn’t let on, her head turned down as she picks her way toward him on shaky legs, and he takes the opportunity to memorize the way the soaked cloth of her gown molds to the soft curve of her breasts, his dark eyes fixing on perfect rosy peaks before grazing down the dip of her waist to the plush swell of her hips and thighs.
If the gods had any mercy, they’d ki—
“Eek!”
His hands dart out to catch her, pulling the drenched witch into his arms with little thought and steadying her against his chest.
“Sorry,” she breathes, wide brown eyes looking up at him, her hands splaying across his chest as if preparing to push herself back to her own feet.
His hands instinctively tighten around her waist. “It’s quite alright,” he murmurs. Her weight sinks back into him, and is it just his imagination or was that a slight flutter of her lashes as she slowly blinks up at him?
“It is warm…” He practically whispers, his eyes drifting down the delicate flush of pink trailing from her cheeks, down her slender neck and to her rapidly rising chest— Gods, her skin is burning against his, he thinks as his grip flexes around her. “The water.”
She nods slightly as their faces draw closer, his hands inching higher up her sides as his thumbs slowly sweep back and forth across her rib cage.
He feels the breath of her quiet gasp against his lips when his thumb brushes over breast, just barely grazing her stiffened nipple, and he freezes. Neither of them seem to breathe as the charged silence stretches.
Severus finally gives a defeated sigh, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers.
“I can’t, Hermione,” he murmurs, his voice gruff.
“Please,” she pleads softly. “I… I’ve always admired you, Severus.”
He huffs a mirthless chuckle. “You are much too bright and much too young to admire a man like me, dear witch,” he says quietly before raising his head to meet her gaze. “A man who likely won’t make it past the end of this war—“
“Don’t say things like that—“
He raises his hand to cup her face, silencing her with a light brush of his thumb across her lower lip. “— but you will, Hermione. If it is the last thing I do, you will. You’ll have a brilliant, beautiful life and grow old with someone who can give you everything you deserve… with someone who deserves you.”
Severus draws in a shaky breath before a sad smile touches his lips. “No,” he whispers, leaning closer to press a gentle kiss to her temple, the sweet scent of her wild hair filling his lungs as he steels himself. “Forget me, Hermione.”
***