Entry tags:

!myfanfics, *[hp] hermione granger, *[hp] severus snape, .dani_forever, =wizard_love, exchange, fandom: harry potter, fic.length: fic: oneshot

[FIC] The Smell of Books. SS/HG. [NC-17]
TITLE: The Smell of Books
AUTHOR: Jessi, princessjessia (Disclaimer)
FANDOM: Harry Potter
CHARACTERS: Severus/Hermione
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 6,394
WARNINGS: Light bondage, some fluff. CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS IN THIS FIC.
NOTES: Written for the wizard_love@LJ 2006 exchange as a gift for rayvyn2k@LJ. It was my very first fic exchange! Thank you to my lovely beta dani_forever for the help and patient hand-holding last minute. Any remaining mistakes are likely my own. Wizard Love 2006 Masterlist [Originally posted March 17, 2006]



Many wondered why, with all the all the opportunities that had been presented to Hermione Granger after the war, she had chosen a bookshop. She could have become an important Ministry official, a pioneering researcher in new potions to aid the wizarding world, even something worthwhile without fame and glory attached to it – the world was at her disposal. All that, and she had chosen a deceptively small establishment that dealt in the most common to the rarest of volumes, from magical to Muggle. Everything one could imagine needing or attempting to find could likely be found within the walls. She liked it just like that and she had done it for perhaps the silliest reason of all.

The smell of books.

Truthfully, there were many more reasons than just that, including a way to fade into normalcy once more so she was not forever branded the brains of the trio that had finally brought about Voldemort’s defeat. There was no real way to ever fully escape it, she knew, unless she changed her name and moved to a foreign country in the middle of a Muggle population, but here among her books she could try her hardest to escape. Sometimes, she just wanted to forget the years and remember a simpler time.

Nothing was dearer to her than memories of Hogwarts library, where she had always believed anything she had ever needed – no matter how difficult the question – could be found within. It had seemed so simple then, the power of books to give her every fact and tidbit she had ever presented to another to be chided for being an insufferable know-it-all. She knew she was not, at least not now, but then – and as the years moved on through school and she found almostevery answer – she had been certain she was exactly as she was labeled. Truth be told, she secretly liked the designation in a way, because it meant she was retaining and learning from all she read. It had all been there, the knowledge of the world lurking in old leather bindings that were occasionally covered in thick layers of dust from disuse and curled, yellowed parchment pages that required a delicate touch to keep them from tearing or simply breaking down into dust.

More than sight and touch, though, was smell. The smell of history and permanence, of days gone by that predicted the way things would go in the future, for all mistakes are a repetition of the same before. Hermione knew that more than anything, for within the histories of their world and even the histories of Hogwarts itself, the books had ‘spoken’ to her of the same pattern of divisions and strife that only ended when all joined together to defeat ‘the enemy.’ The answers had all been there, but they had been ignored, just as they would be again she knew. In this time of peace, all that was learned would be forgotten in the ease of a ‘new world.’

But not Hermione. She would never forget that the answers would always lie within books such as the ones she surrounded herself with and would always strive to see around her. That was why no book was ‘wrong’ for her shop, not even the ones kept carefully secured with all her other most valuable and rare books in a room under the floorboard of this shop with some of the strongest spells in the wizarding world. All magic, even dark magic, was knowledge that needed to be preserved and shared. Dark magic was just as much a lesson to the world as all others, a lesson she had learned well. To deny its existence or to temper its presentation was simply more harmful than knowing of it, something the trio had learned quickly in their seventh year, though they had always known that fact. One could not combat that which they did not understand. But, now she did and she would never forget.

“Ow!”

Brushing off her robes after uttering the short yelp of pain, Hermione shot an indignant glare upward at a precariously stacked pile of books from which one had just made contact with her skull on its trip to the floor. That tome received a disgusted look as she picked it up off the floor and rose to return it to its stack. As she did, her elbow brushed the disaster waiting to happen. Again the book hit the floor, only this time it was to hold her hands up instinctively to prevent being knocked unconscious by several more heavy books on their way down. She was certain this was going to hurt.

The impact never occurred. Looking up, Hermione was not shocked, but surprised, to see them floating overhead and then returned to the stack in a far more orderly arrangement that she had previously had them. Turning to see her savior, she froze as her eyes landed on him. This time it was in shock.

“Professor!” The exclamation came from her almost automatically, despite the years. She knew better but the sight of Severus Snape, former professor from her first six years of schooling and infamous Potions Master after it, in her shop was a bit too much for a collected, businesslike greeting. Definitely enough to rip the six-year-dead term from her throat in a sort of strangled, exclaiming murmur.

“Severus, Miss Granger,” he corrected, dark eyes glittering in clear irritation a moment. He glanced about the shop, quick eyes taking in everything before returning to her. It was the same look and he was so much the same that for a moment Hermione wondered just what exactly was going on. Everyone else she knew had changed in ways physical and mental, ways that she could see on everyone from Harry to the Weasleys to even Luna Lovegood, who no longer looked at everything with the open acceptance she once had. But not this man, with his perpetual sneers and smirks and cold, dark eyes. The expression was the same, the stance was the same and she suddenly felt the urge to prove herself to him that she had from the first moment he had spoken to them in first years Potions.

“Certainly, if you call me Hermione,” she said and then turned and walked to her counter before he could reply. He was obviously here for a reason, so she knew she should actually behave like a shopkeeper. Definitely not a wide-eyed student.

He was quiet as he follower her, only the sounds of his shoes on the tile around the front counter to alert her he was still even in the shop. She turned and regarded him with a polite smile, waiting for him to speak. He still had not agreed to call her by her given name.

As she watched him, he seemed to consider if for several moments, a stiffened sort of look on his features, before nodding just once and then moving straight to the point.

“Hermione, I seek a specific volume on potions, one which is certainly not rare but no longer carried in most bookshops,” he said in a lowered voice, as if expecting someone to jump from the woodwork and condemn him for asking. He drew a piece of parchment from within his robes and laid it on the counter. She watched his fingers smooth the folds with some fascination despite herself, her attention momentarily on his hands rather than what was on the parchment. Even his hands were the same and that plus the realization she recognized that fact left her feeling a bit flustered though she did not show it. A one-time crush on someone’s intelligence did not carry through to adulthood or so she was telling herself.

“Miss Granger… Hermione, do you have this?” he asked and her head snapped up. The realization he had been speaking as she watched his hands hit her and she returned her eyes to the parchment to hide her embarrassment, but not before she noted something twitch the corner of his lips that she would have sworn as amusement on any other. Not on Severus Snape, though, definitely not.

“Mmm…” she murmured noncommittally as she took the time to look at the piece of parchment, noting his distinct cramped scrawl and the illustrations of the book cover and several illustrations held within the volume. Her eyes lit up as she recognized it and she nodded.

“Yes, come this way,” she said, skirting the counter to disappear into the back to the room in the storeroom floor. Very few customers, only her best over the years, had ever been below in this room, but she never hesitated to take him there. While not expressly forbidden, the sale of darker items was still frowned upon even now with Voldemort gone and she generally preferred to use caution – but it looked as though today was the exception.

She opened the door in the floor with a wave of her wand and turned to find him standing just behind her. Never a man of distinguishing features, he still had a commanding presence even when quiet and that presence was causing her to feel just a bit off in a way. She backed up and moved quickly down the stairs. This was her favorite room in her shop, for she loved being surrounded by the rarest and most powerful books in her ownership. She moved right to the book to slide it from the shelf and offer it to him.

He took it with murmured thanks and immediately opened it to inspect it. She watched him, eyes locked on his expression. She noted flashes of pleasure as he found the pages that bore the illustrations he had on the parchment and a smile curved her lips. It was always interesting to watch her customers find something that affected them and these brief shows of pleasure on his face were more startling than excited squeals from some of her more fervent customers, because his face as she had know it was very rarely host to any kind of pleasure except what Harry and Ron had always called spiteful.

“May I?” he asked quietly, drawing her from yet another reverie over him as he gestured to the chair in the room. His dark eyes locked with hers and she stared back for a moment before looking to the chair.

“Yes,” she said with a nod and then, before she could stop herself, “though it isn’t exactly comfortable down here as I try to keep the temperature right for preserving books. If you’d like to come upstairs, I was going to make some tea…” She trailed off as she noted amusement this time, she was certain of it. Unexplainably, she knew he was amused with her and for the life of her, she had no idea why.

“You forget, I think, how much cooler the dungeons at Hogwarts were than this?” he asked, brow arched for a moment as his lips quirked. Then the amusement was gone and replaced by a closed expression that looked vaguely annoyed, one she recognized. Feeling quite stupid for asking him to tea, she gestured to the chair.

“I’ll just leave you to this then,” she said, backing off so he did not have to spell out his refusal of the tea.

“No tea then?” he asked quietly, shutting the book in his hands and watching her. Now she felt more than a bit the focus of scrutiny as he looked at her, his brow furrowing just a trace. She shook her head, feeling oddly confused and completely without her normal business-like composure. Flustered would be an accurate word.

“No. Yes! I mean, I thought perhaps you did not want… yes, tea, this way,” she said in a stilted cheery voice after her initial verbal falter, retreating and going back up the stairs. From below her, she would have almost sworn she heard a faint sound of amusement. No, Severus Snape was not laughing at her.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“I’m shagging my former professor, the most ill-tempered man in all of the known world,” Hermione informed the volume of Dark charms as she inspected its bindings, fingers careful with the ancient leather. With a sigh, she turned and moved to the shelves on the opposite side of the room, removing a potions book heralded as belonging to Merlin himself and sat down in the nearby chair.

She was mad, she knew it and she was certain the voice in her head telling her so sounded an awful lot like Ron. Severus Snape was not attractive at all in the traditional sense, with that too-thin face and frame and that damnable greasy hair. Hair that was surprisingly silky around her fingers whenever she gripped his head and held it close to whatever part of her body that pronounced hooked nose was pressed against to give his lips access. No, that nose and that hair and his thinness were what most would cry unattractive, a thinness that extended to the long fingers on his hands. Slender digits with an elegance all their own as they cradled the books in the shop above or the ones down here, or when they cradled her breasts, slightly roughened fingerpads flicking over her nipples in they ways he was learning made her moan.

This was lusting, plain and simple, despite his ‘unattractiveness.’ That was what made every unattractive thing about him even more appealing, she had determined, learning to appreciate the strength in that thin frame and the history behind that maddening bump on his nose and the practical reasons behind his greasy appearance. She was wildly attracted to his body and even more his mind, for never had she met another who spoke so freely of all that he knew - once he had warmed more to her over the first few weeks. She found herself looking forward to what was now becoming a habit for them, evenings when he would come to the shop and they’d do more than just have sex, but would talk of so much and had discovered many things they had in common despite her once believing there was no person she would ever share a love of knowledge with like this. Talking to him was a joy and listening was even more of one.

“Especially that voice,” she murmured, not looking at the book as she idly flipped through it. Witty with a dry sort of tone to match his wry sense of humor when they talked, cuttingly derisive when speaking of what displeased him and soft and smooth as the green silk lingerie she had purchased yesterday as a surprise for him. Anything to wipe that smug smirk from her mind the first time he had remarked on her decidedly unpractical and boldly Gryffindor red lace undergarments the first time he had seen them three months ago.

”What a distinct surprise,” he murmured, a hint of sarcasm clear as his fingers moved over the line between red lace and creamy skin, thumb barely brushing her hardening nipple

“What, that they are red or that they aren’t practical?” she asked against his throat before he expertly coaxed a moan from her to leave her even more wanting. She hated when he teased, it was so unlike him. But then, most things about him in her bed were obviously unlike the sneering educator she had once known.

“The red,” he said, dropping his mouth to her shoulder. “Not surprising, but I am surprised that you would chose something with so little function, you have always seemed like one who would value practicality in these.” His hand slid down her side to hook under the brief piece of material that was over the curve of her hip to accentuate his words.

“Exactly how much thought have you put into my knickers and for how long?” she asked, giving him a mildly horrified look before her silenced her with a needy kiss.

The answer had never come, now that she was thinking about it. He had been far too good as distracting her from the question and now that just amused her. Granted, she certainly hoped he had not been thinking about her knickers when she had gone through her own hormone-induced professorial crush. At least…

The bell over the door tolled out and her stomach jumped – or was it her heart? Either way, they were signs she had begun having often enough lately that she was annoyed with herself. It wasn’t acceptable at all, given what they had, that she might have this kind of teenage infatuated feeling for him again, let alone love. Just lust.

“No, I am not falling in love with my former professor, the most ill tempered man in all of the known world,” she muttered aloud as she replaced the book on the shelf. Perhaps if it were said aloud, it would be clearer. Talking thoughts and ideas out loud had always helped in the past, but this time it only made it more real. Even as she said it, her hands went to her hair and she shook out the length as she moved up the stairs. Severus rounded the corner as she reached the top, a look she well knew by now in those fathomless dark depths.

He might not feel more than lust for her, but she definitely was feeling much more for him. Yet, knowing that she would likely never receive much more from this man who still would not share his feelings in anything more than action, she still would not trade this. With a wicked look, she moved forward and used her smaller frame to pin him to the wall.

“Hello,” she said, fingers already working at his buttons as she pushed him along the wall toward the stairs that led above the shop.

“You wear far too many buttons,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. She felt his hands on her hips, as if to hold her, but she laughed and pushed him up the stairs with a playful growl and grinned when amusement crossed his features.

“And you talk far too much. Yet still, you are able to be bossy without saying a word, such odd talents you have,” he said, claiming her mouth with a searching kiss and she struggled half-heartedly to get free from it. Sex in the shop was just… odd.

“Fine, upstairs,” she ordered in a theatrically bossy way as she pulled back and glared at him. “And I’ll show you my odd talents, but not in my shop,” she promised as they reached the top and she closed the door behind them.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“What is this, Severus?” Hermione asked, bottom lip caught under her teeth as she heard the sounds of his approach after the bell tolled over the door. For six months now, six to this very day though she wanted to deny having counted the days to know this fact, that they had been carrying on just like this. There was so much she now sought from it – companionship and talk about things that they both enjoyed or disliked, sex that she had stopped viewed as just sex despite this odd ‘relationship,’ and the way she looked forward to each day when the bell called out his presence and she closed her shop for dinner with him, or an evening in bed with him or even some actual evening out. They had gone many places in the last six months, but never anything very public. He hated the crowds and the occasional whispers that came, even now after all these years and every way possible to clear his name. Some would just not forget ever, or rather, would not forgive.

Her eyes never left the cover of the book she was holding; as if the detailed illustration or large scripted title held the answer to the question she was asking him. Yet, it did not. For the first time in her life, books did not hold the answer to this question and they had failed her. Or rather, she had failed herself by apparently not learning all of what books could teach her.

“An encyclopedia of lake vegetation, I believe,” he said with a quick glance to the cover, though he grew even more still than normal.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she whispered, shelving the book and looking at him straight on, crossing her arms over her chest it what would have looked to be irritation, but was actually protection. She knew it and she could see by his eyes that he knew it. Those eyes, the only expressive thing in his neutral features and the only thing that gave her any clue to him when they were not in her bed in the flat upstairs. There she could coax reactions from him that she would never witness otherwise, the achievement of actual emotion other than the simmering anger she had known so well the first six years of her schooling and could still see now when he spoke of his life since that time.

Unexpectedly, he reached out and uncrossed her arms and pulled her tightly against him. It was far tighter than was comfortable, but so long as she could still breathe she would not protest this at all. Never in the store or in public had he shown her anything softer that an occasional restrained smirk and she was, admittedly, stunned.

“I don’t know,” he finally said in a quiet, silky murmur, still holding her just as tightly as he moved her until her head was over his heart. The fact that it was beating far harder than she knew it should, combined with his answer of not knowing, reduced her to little more than someone with the ability to still stand upright. She had no words to offer, only maddening thoughts racing through her mind at what it could mean. Perhaps he was ill in some way or under the influence of the fumes of a potion gone wrong.

And then he was kissing her and it was not the hot, fiery kisses that normally were the short prelude to their months of sexual encounters. This one was infinitely gentle and, if she could even wrap her mind around such a concept in regards to Severus Snape, unsure. His lips tested hers, both sets softening at the touches. He actually did not make motions to further deepen the kiss, just held her close and thoroughly kissed her. Despite feeling off-balance at him kissing her in this way in the shop where anyone could walk in and see them – after months of keeping their relationship to her flat, her shop and the occasional private outing – she was becoming quickly aroused.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said against his mouth, trying to back away and lead him there. With this slight change in demeanor, she found her earlier wish to have the meaning of what this was spoken aloud was no longer necessary. If she had learned anything over the years, it was to rejoice in the small victories and this seemed to be one of them.

Instead of going with her, Severus reached out and pulled her back. He kissed her deeply as he backed her up in a different direction until her rear was firmly pressed against a long display table currently empty of all books because she had been rearranging her display. Being pressed against the long, empty table made her pull back and look at him with rounded eyes.

“Not in the shop,” she said, sliding along the table to free herself of his grasp.

“Yes,” he said, pulling her back to him.

“Severus!” He silenced the protest with searing kiss as he worked at the layers of her clothing off. He broke it off long enough to pull her cobalt jumper over her head and then claimed her mouth once more as his long fingers actually fumbled at her buttons, despite his normal dexterity.

“You wear far too many buttons,” he muttered as he pulled back, irritation briefly on his face that she knew was aimed more at her clothing than her. Good, he deserved it after months of smirking while she had to undo more buttons than any one person had a right to have on their clothing.

“Yes, I know. And you are talking too much,” she parroted back, switching out the two phrases that were often spoken between them. Yet, he never silenced her despite his remarks on how vocal she was and sometimes, if her eyes weren’t closed at the right moment, she saw a rare smile briefly cross his features after a particularly loud moan or yelp of his name.

He seemed to give up on her shirt after finally freeing her of her jumper and the buttons, content to leave her partially clothed as his hands moved to her bra. He made a small noise of what sounded to Hermione like triumph that forced a small laugh from her as he discovered the front clasp on her Muggle-designed bra.

“Replace them all with ones like this,” he demanded, sliding the material aside to gaze down at her exposed breasts. She arched her back, offering them up for his touch but he just stared at her for several more long moments, a strange light in his eye. She would not have labeled it possession, but it was like that in the way one might look on a possession that was wholly theirs. She found that she did not mind – in fact, would not have even noticed if he was not taking his time about everything today.

His hand settled on her breast and her eyes dropped to that motion for a moment, loving to watch the way his long fingers cradled its weight carefully, thumb brushing over one peaked, dusky nub. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, inviting him to lay siege to her neck, which he did, teeth marking the pale column of her throat before his tongue soothed over the marks. As he did, he removed her trousers and knickers quite quickly, ghosting his hands over the exposed skin for a moment.

She moaned as he sucked slightly at where her pulse beat beneath her throat and then heard the rustle of his clothes. It was at a speed that almost compelled her to open her eyes to investigate, due to the fact it was practically impossible to disrobe him that quickly. She should know, for she had done it enough. However, as his clothes were currently missing, she reached for him instead. Her fingers slid down over the bumps of slightly protruding ribs and the sharp angles of his hips, as he was still too painfully thin even now after months of being fussed at during meals in her flat. He made an impatient sound and grabbed her wrists, holding them in one hand so he could continue with the path he was making down her neck towards her breasts.

“We have time to be slow later,” she said huskily, pulling her hands free to reach for him again. Her fingers crept down his side once more, eager to feel his hard length in her hand instead of against her hip. “We’re in the middle of my bloody shop and I never did take you for an exhibitionist.”

“I locked the door and we are away from the windows, now stop,” he ordered sharply as he nipped at the hollow at the base of her throat and snatched her hands away once more. He pinned them behind her back this time with one hand, his other going to the side of her breast as his lips found their way to the upper curve of it. He was being so methodical and precise about everything and she could see his smirk through half-closed eyes, knowing he was enjoying this.

“Severus…” she said, her tone now distinctly bossy because she was becoming annoyed, “let go of my hands.” She wanted to touch and he was denying her, the smug bastard. Deep down, he was a wretched tease, something that delighted her and exasperated her at times. So many things she had discovered about him.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said right before he closed his mouth over her nipple. His tongue flicked at it in an uneven pattern, just enough for her to not be able to fall into any sort of accustomed rhythm and effectively silencing her protests – though not silencing her. He guided her down flat on the table, his legs straddling hers as his erection rubbed close to her throbbing center.

“Yes, Severus, please,” she moaned as his mouth trailed lower, to a spot just under her breast that caused a violent shiver to run through her every time before he continued on down her stomach. He alternately nipped and kissed his way over the slight curve of her stomach and dipped his tongue lightening-fast in to her navel as she giggled.

“Stop that, you wretched… oh!” Any reprimand for trying to tickle her at a time like this stopped as he settled his mouth, without preamble, on the dark patch of curls at the apex of her thighs. He finally did release her hands in order to slide a longer finger into her now significantly wet heat as his tongue circled her sensitive nub before his teeth found the same area. He exerted just the right amount of pressure to have her nearly flip off the table with a wrenching moan, an extremely pleased smirk on his lips at the sound.

“I want,” she panted, arching her hips up to his mouth as slipped another finger inside her, languidly sliding them in and out, “I want…”

“What?” he asked, his mouth against her thigh for a moment, “what do you want Hermione?”

She could feel the smirk against the skin his lips rested again. He knew what she wanted, but apparently he wanted her to say it. Damn him.

“I want you to fuck me, now,” she growled, fingers tangled in his hair. She was not exactly gentle as her grip tightened on his hair, but she knew that was what it would take. The moment she did, he slid from the table and pulled her to the very edge. Her arse nearly hanging off the edge, he entered her with one swift, hard thrust and she made a satisfied sound as her legs locked about his hips.

Falling into a rhythm of thrusts, he pulled her upper body to his to claim her mouth in a seeking kiss. He released her lips, however, when sounds started to come from her. He gripped her hips as she braced her splayed out hands behind her on the table.

“Harder,” she urged in a moan, at most points only her hands still completely on the table as she lifted her arse to meet his thrusts, her hips supported by his hands as they dug firmly into her flesh. Her breasts bounced with the effort and he leaned in several times to suck hard at her nipples, sweetly torturing the hardened flesh as she cried out. He removed one hand from his grip on her hips and slid it between them, thumb and forefinger twisting her clit.

“God, yes, Severus!” Hermione nearly screamed, despite the likelihood of her voice carrying to anyone to close to the shop door. He was coming to know her body too well, it seemed, as though he studied her just as he did his potions books in search of the accurate combination to produce the desired result. Currently, with his fingers wickedly playing with her and his hard thrusts into her, he had the right combination.

With a shattering cry of his name, she came hard. Her hands slipped to land her none too gently on the hard table. He moved with her, thrusting hard several more times in rapid succession until he came as well, collapsing on her as she lay there. They both lay panting for quite some time until he lifted his head and she saw concern in his dark eyes. Open concern, not the fleeting concealed concern from times before when he had seem to fear himself too rough with her and would shy away. He had not spoken more than once on the topic of his parents, but it was enough for her to piece together those reactions to injuring her with what she imagined his childhood had been like

“Are you alright?” he asked, placing his weight back on his feet entirely to move his hands along her side. He lifted her up to run his fingers over her back, as if searching for something. His face was currently set into a deep frown as he explored her back.

“What? Oh, the table?” she asked as understanding dawned. She smiled reassuringly at him, kissing him for a moment. “Yes, fine, couldn’t be better.

Looking at her and then nodding once as if satisfied, he clutched her to him to pull her off the table. He stepped back, sinking onto the plush sofa that was part of a small grouping of seating for buyers to settle on and sample the books in the shop. She curled up against him, looking up at him quietly, trying to sort out everything different about him today since her question. Now that they had had sex in the shop, she was in no rush to move. There was not really any point.

“Hermione…” he began and then paused.

“Hmm?” she murmured, meeting his eyes. In that moment, she knew, with a startling clarity she did not have about much in her life. She was a thinker and a planner who dealt in the facts books could provide, but book facts were no help with Severus. What was a help to her now was they way he was looking at her. She felt her heart jump oddly, stop and then beat faster as they stared at each other unblinkingly.

“Hermione, I…”

She interrupted him by shushing him, knowing doing such a thing on any other day might result in being snapped at, but not today she sensed.

“My question earlier?” she continued, smiling brightly at him, as she was unable to stop the foolish expression. “I finally figured it out, all I had to do was read.” That was the truth, if she had taken the time to read his eyes like the open books they were, she would have known the answer. She had no idea how long it had been there, possibly even before she herself had realized it, but it was there despite how truly odd it seemed. She chided herself then for her own stupidity, because she had seen how what he had done over six years ago still affected him to this day, and if he could care so deeply about that despite the outer shell of cold, hard, sneering distaste for the world, then perhaps he could very well feel just as his eyes told her he did.

“I suppose you read to the end?” he asked as he released her and reached for the floor and his clothes. Settling back, though his posture was rigid and tense, he took her hand and slipped a ring on her finger, a filigree band of a darker metal than silver with a stone of deep emerald. She looked down at it and then up at him, mouth slightly agape until he shut it with a nudge to her chin with one finger.

“I think I missed this part,” she whispered, looking down at the ring again. This was not possible; perhaps it was just a gift? Maybe she was simply being rewarded for months of what had grown to be shockingly fantastic sex and quiet moments of talk that revealed far more about him than she would ever have guessed on her own. It could be a millions things other than what her normally logical mind was pushing forth as reality.

“Hermione, I am not a nice man, or a good man,” he said seriously, pulling her chin up to meet his gaze. She had heard this so many times before, practically after every time she had awakened to him in her bed with him looking at her as though he had not slept and instead watched her sleep. She could parrot this speech too, she knew it so well.

“You know my life now, I will never live down the stigma of all I have done despite what the Ministry would like people to believe,” he said, and her lips moved with the words he spoke. He was so bloody predictable, she was half tempted to roll her eyes, except that a very ornate and gorgeous ring was currently weighing down her lift ring finger and this all was suddenly starting to sound like a proposal. That certainly had not been predictable. Words spoken for months to her and in this moment they had a whole new meaning.

“I have no right to inflict that on you, but I… Hermione…” His hesitation was silenced before he had even begun as she kissed him deeply.

“You talk too much,” she said against his mouth, her lips quickly curled into a grin. “And yes.” Her answer given, she pushed him into a reclining position. Leaning out, she dug her wand out of her piled clothing and summoned a blanket from a shelf behind the counter. She laid down against his chest and pulled it over them, lifting a finger to his mouth as he went to speak again. That one she knew she’d pay for later, but for now she just wanted silence to follow all that had been spoken without words. She drifted off to sleep on his chest with a lazy grin on her face, surrounded by the pale skin of his chest and encircling arms and the smell of books mixed with the distinct scent of Severus. Her last thought before succumbing to deep sleep was that it was just the additional layer of scent the smell of books had always been missing.