Chapter 3
How sordid— how deranged— how reprehensibly vile he found it to encourage such frivolity just hours after demanding such a thing of him— when just days or weeks or months from now, the tenuous thread of hope that those who belong to the Light now cling to will be snapped in the blink of an eye.
With a quick, fatal flick of his very own wand.
But Hermione is here now. The silk of her gown is slipping over her curves like water and she’s positively glowing and he can scarcely tear his gaze from her as she glides across the room.
And there are delicate blue flowers tucked into her hair.
Forget-me-nots.
His tenuous thread of hope, snapped in the blink of an eye.
“Have you ever considered that you ask too much, that you take too much for granted?” Severus had pleaded.
Hermione is laughing now, and the lovely sound of it aches deep in his bones. He could strangle that old man, he thinks bitterly, but clenches his fists instead.
“Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don’t want to do this anymore?”
No. Of course, it hadn’t. For what could Severus Snape— the death eater, the traitor, the dispensable spy— possibly have to lose?
Her warm amber gaze meets his and it is he who is being strangled, the air wrung from his lungs as she draws near.
Oh, what he wouldn’t give to lay down this damned sword— What he wouldn’t do to run to Hermione now and sweep her into his arms, to clutch her to his chest like that night at the lake and whisk them both away from this hellish reality.
But he cannot— so he runs away instead.
Severus had endured countless tortures over the years— Nothing, however, compares to the piercing agony roiling in his chest at this very moment. He hurls the crystal tumbler into the fire, feeling none the better for it as it shatters against the stone, and bows his head between his hands against the hearth as his shoulders heave.
“How did you get in here, Hermione?” He asks when he feels her presence at his back, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“The door, obviously.”
Severus huffs a harsh laugh as he turns to face her, his eyes wandering from her gaze to her hair.
“You shouldn’t be here, little witch,” he whispers, begging silently for her to leave.
Hermione steps closer instead.
“They’re forget-me-nots,” she murmurs solemnly, and he surges forward to cradle her lovely face in his hands, wanting, needing nothing more than to kiss her sweet mouth and drink in her soft warmth until every drop of anguish is wrung from their flesh.
But he presses his forehead to hers instead.
“You knew that, though. Didn’t you?”
“Hermione—“
“What does it mean, Severus?”
He winces at the pained tremor in her voice.
“Nothing. Not anymore.” He replies stiffly, pulling away from her to retrieve the forgotten bottle on his side table.
“Maybe I could help if—“
“There is no help to be had!” He roars, slamming the bottle down and stalking closer with a swift turn. “You cannot fix this, Hermione. There is no answer for how to win a war hidden in your books, no test you could ace that would make me survive this— You are a child fantasizing of love in the middle of a fucking war zone.”
Panting now, a heavy guilt seizes him as he looks into her gentle gaze and his stony demeanor crumbles instantly, his eyes drifting once more to the delicate flowers in her hair.
“There is nothing…” he says quietly, feeling wholly bereft. He turns his back to her then, leaning his shoulder against the hearth in defeat and rakes a hand through his hair. “It means… nothing. Not anymore.”
An unsettling stillness falls upon them then, heavy and deafening, until her clear voice slices through the silence and pierces him.
“When you remember what you and I are capable of… come back to me, Severus.”
Click.
He turns abruptly, seized with a sudden panic— her flowers are on the side table and the doorway is empty and her last words are ringing in his ears as he takes off after her, catching sight of her retreating form just as she’s tugging on his office door. He reaches above her head and slams it shut, caging her against the door with his arms and bows his head on her shoulder with a shuddering breath.
“Please,” He utters in a broken whisper. “Don’t leave me.”
Hermione twists around with a gasp and he pulls her closer by the back of her neck as she lunges up to meet his mouth in a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongues and he swears he could die right then and there just from the way she melts against him.
“You’ll hate me by this year’s end,” he murmurs softly as he grazes his lips down her neck, “And I can scarcely bare to think of it…”
He nearly groans as he presses his mouth against the tender flesh, where her pulse jumps beneath her skin, and he tastes her briefly with a flick of his tongue. “But even more agonizing is the thought of you letting me go, however selfish that may be.”
Her shallow breath fans across his cheek as he kisses along her jaw. Cradling her face in his hands, his lips hover just before hers and he can’t be certain if either of them are breathing now.
“I beg you… don’t forget me, Hermione.”
“Never, Severus,” she breathes, his name barely leaving her lips before he claims her mouth with his own and eagerly swallows her sounds as he presses into her.
He should stop, he thinks as the thin strap of her dress slips down her shoulder. He will stop— soon— when his head keeps from spinning and the maddening heat between their bodies ceases to set his blood aflame.
But then her legs are wrapped tight around his waist and she’s arching her chest into his palm with a needy whimper as his hand molds perfectly to her plush, bare breast and they’re falling, falling, falling desperately into a divine spell of intoxication and cool, crisp sheets that do nothing to soothe the building ache that smolders in their flesh.
Severus knows he won’t let her go— he can’t let her go— as her naked body writhes beneath his touch.
“Please, Severus,” she moans beautifully, clenching her thighs around him as he draws one of her stiffened pink peaks into his mouth as he has longed to do since he first set eyes on them in that lake.
He smiles against her breast before raising his head to gaze at her— her eyes are dark and fluttering with pleasure, her milky skin flushed and rosy and he suddenly forgets how to breathe as she draws her plump and reddened lower lip between her teeth.
The sweet, sweet agony of finally, slowly sinking himself into her wrenches a deep, rumbling groan from his chest that mingles with her own primal utterance and he is lost in her as her hands grasp frantically at his hips, his shoulders, flitting from his biceps to thread into his hair.
“You are divine, Hermione,” murmurs huskily, mapping as much of her as he can reach with his mouth and hands. He savors every moan, every mewl, every sigh that spills from her mouth as he feels her come undone beneath him.
Severus is spiraling, spiraling, spiraling, drowning in her scent, her sounds, her touch until she shudders violently, beautifully against him and the sound of her crying out his name brands his very soul as a white hot ecstasy scorches through his veins.
Never… never… never… her voice chants in his mind as Severus draws his dear, trembling witch into his arms.
“Promise me we’ll be here when all this is over,” she says sleepily against his chest.
“I will try my hardest, little witch,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to her tangled curls.
“That’s not good enough,” she says, looking up at him with a wide, willful gaze. “Promise me you will live, Severus.”
As if he could ever deny her— he would give her the world, if she only asked.
“Please…” she whispers tremulously. “Don’t leave me.”
His arms tighten instinctively around her, a bittersweet warmth spreading rapidly through his chest.
“I will never leave you, Hermione… I promise.”
***