psyfic (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} psyfic) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snapelyholidays,@ 2009-01-03 21:55:00 |
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Pinch-hit Fic for:
southernwitch69 Title: Alive & Kicking
Author:
psyfic *moddyPairing Snape/Hermione
Rating mild R
Warnings *southernwitch69, amongst other things, you asked for -- first time, sensual, and tenderness. I think I managed those. Also includes, a possibly disturbing conversation, h/c, and a bit of drunken pulling. That last doesn't mean what it sounds like.*
Summary Whilst living in the Muggle world at the behest of her parents, Hermione discovers Snape is alive... and not bad at karaoke after more than a few pints.
Disclaimer The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count ~7,750
Author Notes The Snapeliest of Holidays to you, Southern! :)
She wondered what was wrong with her. Wasn't she the responsible one? The one who had made sure the boys studied all through school? The one who had tried to ensure Harry ate and slept and that Ron acted like a civilised human being? The one who had modified her parents' memories and set about creating them new identities and a new life in Australia? The one who had helped Harry fight off Death Eaters more times than she could comfortably count and spent a year living rough whilst searching for the horcruxes?
Oh, that's right, she was the one who had insisted they finish their last year of school and then suffered their scorn, or at least Ron's scorn as she was allowed to take her NEWTs early and instead of staying nearby to be "available" to him, gathered her courage and went to collect and sort out her parents, instead.
She couldn't believe his utter cheek! He had simply assumed that because they had finally had a few shags that she was nothing better than his shag buddy, available at his whim. He actually had the nerve to ask what she expected him to do whilst she was "traipsing off halfway around the world? I have needs, you know!"
That was the most annoying thing of all, that he assumed his needs were more important than her own, but of course, she should have realised that from their first time when she had done all the touching and he had merely accepted it as his due and not even attempted any sort of reciprocation. This, she knew, had set up a bad precedent for their subsequent times. When she had gently suggested he touch her in certain ways, he had looked upset, but complied, and then afterwards, she had overheard him speaking to Harry, telling him that whilst he was glad he and Hermione were finally "doing it properly," that Lavender had been "more fun and she didn't make it seem like taking lessons."
Hence, she had felt no qualms whatsoever about not saying goodbye and merely leaving him a note. "Have fun with Lavender, Ron. I'm off. Tell Harry I'll miss him and Ginny."
If he chose to act on it, it would not trouble her, and if he decided to sort himself out and apologise and make it up to her, well, she would be truly surprised, but would consider it, depending on how far he went and how earnest he was in apologising.
She had sorted her parents out, not an easy task, and accepted their reproach. Since she had acted whilst she was still underage, they felt she should accept their punishment, as well, even if she was now of age in both worlds. Being fair-minded, she had agreed.
So far as she was concerned it was less punishment than an experiment of sorts. Her parents wanted her to live in their world for as long as she had forced them to live in Australia, away from the Wizarding World's influence. Her discussion of events had led them to see she had lost all touch with her world, in their opinion, and since she was a dutiful daughter, she agreed. She wasn't restricted from performing magic, but she was not allowed to go to Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, the Ministry or Hogwarts. The monies they had set aside since her birth, for what they had assumed would be a Muggle education at University, would see her through the next 14 months. She had been adjured to live. Not study, research, work or read more than one book a day. The last was the most difficult of all, but she accepted her punishment as it was intended. She had committed the crime, she was paying the consequences. It was only fair.
Which is why she was sitting in the Cock & Pye in Ipswich at 5 p.m. where, in the last three days, she had made the not-very-earth-shattering discoveries that she did not, in fact, like ale or gin and tonic, and was horrible at darts.
On this, her fourth visit in as many days since her arrival in town, she tried a Rum and sugar-free Coke, something she had heard some young American students ask for, although they called it diet Coke. Ipswich was a place that saw a large turnover in Muggles thanks to University Campus Suffolk, amongst which she would be utterly unremarkable; at least it was to be hoped. It also had fairly inexpensive housing with most things within easy walking distance and a good bus line. This much she had not forgotten the importance of, despite her years in the Wizarding World.
She could Apparate, it was true, but there were few places she could safely do so, one of the reasons she felt her parents had opted for her to live there, aside from the fact that it was but an hour away by bus.
Now she sipped at her drink, decided she liked it, and turned to watch the game of darts that had been going on since she arrived... and promptly swallowed the wrong way, eliciting a whooping, gasping coughing fit that enabled her to cover her face with her hands, because she did not want the sharp-eyed player taking his turn to get a good look at her.
Severus Snape was setting up his throw, eyeing the board the way he used to check her cauldron's results, most critically and analytically.
She finished coughing, reassured the concerned, young bar maid she was quite all right and thanked her for a disposable serviette to wipe the mess she'd made at her table, and watched him surreptitiously as she wiped her table and shirt.
She wasn't shocked to see him, after all his body had disappeared from the Shrieking Shack, and then Harry had received word from Narcissa Malfoy -- after the Daily Prophet had made known he was concerned about Snape's body's whereabouts and wanted to give him a proper funeral -- that he should not worry himself and that his family friends were seeing to his welfare. Harry had felt relieved, but then annoyed at Hermione who had voiced her opinion that the letter did not directly refer to their having buried Snape themselves, but might mean he had somehow survived. She fell silent about the issue when Ron had scoffed at her "fanciful ideas," but felt gladness in her heart now that some good had managed to come from so much evil.
So she watched him with an eye to his general health. He looked quite good, in fact, for a man who she thought had died four months ago.
His hair was shorter than she'd ever seen it, still unkempt and a bit greasy-looking, but it was no longer black, shot through now with silver threads. He was no longer quite so sallow, either, but merely unremarkably pale. His eyes, however... even in the dimness of the bar and her distance from him she could see his eyes were no longer the piercing black they had been. Was he using a potion or perhaps even Muggle contact lenses?
The other change was in his body language and his body itself. He appeared relaxed, not quite so high-strung. He moved with ease, as if he had finally gotten used to his once-lanky bone structure. That was the biggest change, she realised. He appeared a tiny bit taller, because he was standing straight and his body had filled out from the gaunt man she remembered to a sturdier looking man, still on the slender side, but not scrawny or underfed in the way he had seemed before.
In all, she realised with a touch of consternation, he was really quite attractive. Especially in the jeans and oatmeal-coloured chambray shirt he wore, thick hair curling about his collar, looking nothing like the stern, unprepossessing professor who had once taught her, nor the frantic, ashen figure she had watched pass out from blood loss. What had happened? Would he tell her? Would he run away on seeing her?
Hermione decided she was going to find out what she could.
She surreptitiously emptied her drink with her wand under the table and called the bar maid over for another.
"That fellow with silvery hair playing darts? Do you know him?"
The blonde bar maid looked over and smiled. "Yeah, he's kind of dishy, isn't he? In spite of the scars. He's been in here on and off since start of school so I figured he was a student or something. He's old enough to be a professor, though."
"Thanks. I'll have another. Um... do you know his name?"
The bar maid practically twinkled. "Ethan. Ethan Spinner. Born in 1960. He got a bit squiffy his first night and dropped his passport. I gave it back the next time he came in, but not before I got a good ogle."
"You didn't!" Hermione acted scandalised as expected and the young blonde giggled conspiratorially.
"Oh, aye! I read it through. Mr. Sexy there hales from Sheffield, but then you could tell by his accent and all. He's a Northerner all right."
"Really?" She considered this, thinking she had only ever heard his silky, well-educated and modulated tones, but then years of living as an academic was likely to blame for it. "I'm from Stratford St. Andrew, where my parents still are, but I'm staying at the Nautica right now."
"That's a swanky place," the bar maid enthused. Then a customer called to her and she winked at Hermione as she left to serve them, leaving Hermione to consider the enigma of one Severus Snape -aka- Ethan Spinner.
She cautiously set up a Notice Me Not charm and then sipped slowly at her drink after that and watched Snape, or rather, Spinner, drink four pints of bitters, play two rounds of darts, winning the first and losing the second before giving up and sitting at the bar, and getting egg & chips, which he ate with yet another pint. He gazed around the bar idly, but ignored her table, which she expected, before eyeing the bar maid and a woman who was watching a cricket game on one of the many television sets past the bar.
Hermione felt a bit odd noting that Snape, or rather, Spinner, was actively considering pulling. Though, this did not surprise her as much as what happened next. The bar maid went up to him and pointed to a small area opposite the end of the bar. He shook his head and one of the other bar patrons seemed to urge him. After a brief discussion, they gave up but the bar patron got up and went to the area and began to fiddle with the box there that looked, to Hermione, like a large stereo. The bar maid brought over a stool and he sat on it. Ethan turned to watch as his 'friend' picked up a microphone attached the stereo device and music began to play. Hermione thought it sounded rather like music her parents used to listen to.
Then the man began to sing, in a surprisingly pleasant tenor. Several people in the bar all began to either listen or actively congregate near where he stood, swaying with eyes closed, singing. When he was done, they all applauded politely and he bowed and smiled, then, again, urged Spinner to take the microphone.
Hermione was dumbfounded when he finally sighed lugubriously and let himself be pulled to the stool where he sat, then began to fiddle with the device. Then he sat back, closed his eyes, sighing deeply as a music sting began that Hermione thought she recognised. It was with shock she watched him begin to sing in a beautifully clear and sorrowful baritone that filled the song with significance and gave her chills.
Soon, he finished singing the Beatles' "Golden Slumbers" and seemed to slump a bit on the stool. The applause he received was sincere, as were the calls for an encore, so he reached over to the machine and pressed a few buttons. Soon another tune began and he sang Elton John "Love's Got A Lot To Answer For" before shaking his head, a small, sad smile on his face.
The applause was louder, but he shook his head more emphatically, starting to stand and Hermione suddenly noted what everyone else must have seen already, being closer -- the shiny tear tracks on his face which he dismissively wiped away as he handed a young woman the microphone and headed to the bar with a markedly different tread than the one he'd used to leave it.
It was familiar to Hermione, though. She recognised it easily, having seen it for six years. Measured and heavy, shoulders slightly slumped, and his face looked much as she remembered it, drawn, tight, scowling, almost as if was daring someone to say something, anything, he found displeasing.
The bar patrons did not pat his back or shake his hand as they had the first singer, but they left him alone and he went back to the bar, where he swigged down what was left of his pint, then he tossed a tenner on the bar top, waved at the bar maid and left.
Hermione left not long after, still deep in contemplation.
He did not show up again for three days, but Hermione was ready this time, having Disillusioned herself in order to get closer. She particularly wanted a look at his eyes. She wouldn't have thought it would make such a big difference, but it seemed to, and she wanted to confirm her own deductions.
He arrived at 3 p.m. and accepted a Ploughman's along with greetings from the bar maid and found a table, rather than sitting at the bar. She cast Silencing charms before approaching, and sat carefully opposite of him, taking time to study him thoroughly.
Her initial impressions remained. He looked good. More approachable by far and his shirt today was stark white cotton, which gave his pale complexion a healthier appearance. His cheeks actually looked a bit pink.
His eyes were not black, but a surprisingly warm amber, with glints of green. There were slight pitting scars around his eyes, though, that she hadn't been able to see from across the room. Up close, they gave him a puckish appearance. She wondered where he'd gotten them.
He ate with an economical grace and soon pushed his waxed paper plate away and got up, headed for the loo.
She did not follow him there, although a tiny and very wicked part of her mind reminded her he could not see her and she might get some answers she hadn't expected to get!
This night she watched him forego darts, to drink and watch the various women in the bar, instead. He went through six pints of bitters before being encouraged to sing and he worked his way through a request: Elton John's "I Want Love." The lyrics to the songs were displayed on the machine, she discovered, so it was not difficult for anyone to sing something they did not know.
His tone and somber attitude were fitting to the song and she watched with awe and wonder as, again, he allowed himself to immerse in the song and find release, his cheeks shiny and wet by the time it was over and he was given a hearty round of applause, which seemed to embarrass him deeply, judging by his blush.
Instead, he went back to the bar and wiped his face on a serviette and started on his seventh round. When he could see the bottom of the glass, he seemed to make a decision and got up, attempting to buy a drink for a woman sitting alone at one of the tables. She refused him, however, and all too soon a man walked in and sat with her, obviously her companion and he went back to the bar and paid his tab before leaving.
This time, Hermione followed him.
She almost wished she hadn't when he began a long, ambling walk past the bus stops and clearly heading to another town on foot. She finally placed a careful tracer charm on him and walked at her own pace, so as not to tire.
They walked for miles before he turned off the tarmac onto a pebbled dirt road that led past a large house and continued down the dirt road for a good quarter of a mile to a small cottage. The mail drop in front read "E. Spinner."
She waited until he was inside and the light on the first floor had shut off before Apparating to her flat.
He came back the next night and it went much the same except he refused to sing, drinking a handful of pints before making two attempts to hook up which were both unsuccessful. The bar maid seemed to try to offer him consolation and Hermione came to a decision.
She went to sit at a table and making sure no one looked her way, removed her Disillusionment Charm. She considered using a glamour, but decided against it. If she was going through with this, it would be as herself, not someone else.
The bar maid sighed and gave up, good-naturedly, then noticed her and smiled. It could not have worked better if she had tried, because the bar maid then gently nudged Snape/Ethan and pointed her out, saying something which was probably related to the interest she had shown him before.
He turned to look at her... and froze. His eyes widened and Hermione brazened it out, giving him an earnest smile and a small hand wave.
He looked around the bar almost savagely before focusing on her again, gaze narrowing, and Hermione felt as if her stomach had dropped. This man, she remembered.
He got up and strode to her table, looking around cautiously, remarkably sober for a man who had imbibed five pints of bitters, before sitting down at her table.
"Well, well... if it isn't Miss Granger. Should I take it you are the advance scout for the infamous Trio? Will I next be accosted by the Boy Who Still Lives or insulted by the red-headed Menace?"
His tone was low and did not carry farther than her end of the table. She shifted in her chair.
"No, sir. Harry and Ron are at Hogwarts."
His brow lifted at this, and she was surprised at how much expression could be gleaned from those beautiful eyes like rich honey with glints the colour of young spring leaves.
"I see. And why is not the Brain Trust of Gryffindor also at school? Surely she was offered the opportunity to complete her studies?"
She pursed her lips at his silky tone before answering. "I sat my NEWTs, sir."
"Indeed. So... the infamous Trio has broken up. How very sad for all your fans."
She sighed, sitting up straighter, annoyed at the return of the snarky professor. "Might we dispense with all the snide insinuations, Mr. Spinner?"
This had the effect she had been hoping for, making him sit back and frown.
"Yes, I know your name is Ethan Spinner. I know you hale from Sheffield and that you live in a cottage outside of Woodbridge. I also know you work at a Muggle apothecary. And I have told no one else about your existence, nor do I plan to."
He made a scoffing sound. "They already know. Narcissa Malfoy made sure to inform Potter of my existence whilst I was still recovering. She did it without my permission, but then I was in no condition to allow or deny it."
Hermione nodded. "She wrote in such a way as to leave the matter open to speculation. Harry, Ron, the Headmistress and even the Minister, believe you to be dead and your effects to have been taken care of by the Malfoy family."
"But you did not." It was not a question and she did not answer. His tone grew exceedingly irritated. "So you took it upon yourself to dig me up, as it were. Well, Miss Granger, here I am, what is left of me. Whatever was so important for you to see me about?"
She frowned. "You'll forgive me for noting that there doesn't appear to be anything missing, Mr. Spinner."
His frown grew fierce and she had never had its like directed at her before. Only Harry had ever experienced this level of Snapely wrath.
"Notice anything different about me, Miss Granger? My eyes, perhaps?"
She nodded, a bit diffidently, but due to the fact she could tell his temper was still rising.
"I had thought that you might have chosen to colour them or perhaps were wearing Muggle contact lenses. Sir."
He scowled at that and his voice dropped low again, but it practically dripped with suppressed anger.
"Oh, not at all, Miss Granger. These are my very own eyes. A bit new, but entirely my own."
She frowned now, uncertainly. "B-but..."
"Yes. You see, when you and Potter left me in that lovely room to rot, not knowing I had swallowed anti-venom before facing the Dark Lord, you left me there in a pool of my own blood, eyes wide open, did you not?"
She nodded, suddenly horror-stricken. "We thought you were dead."
"Yes, of course. But you did not bother to even close my eyes, did you? No, that is a gesture of respect for the dead."
She swallowed now, fighting tears to shake her head as he continued his diatribe.
"And the Shrieking Shack is such a hygienic environment, is it not? Insects... vermin..."
Hermione's hands flew up to her mouth as she bit back a sob. "Oh, God..."
"When Lucius was able to come and find me, he was able to repel the rats that had come to feast on my unconscious body, drawn there, no doubt, by the overpowering scent of blood. Lucius is a rather fastidious man. He told me it smelt like a charnel house. Still, he threw a stasis field over me until he and his wife could return, but it was already far too late for my eyes. Fortunately, they can be regrown, but Narcissa had to disinter my dear mother to obtain material for the growth medium. As you can see, she did not have my rather distinctive eye colour."
Hermione could stand no more. She stood, tears streaming down her face and ran out of the pub, heedless of the worried enquiries the bar maid was making of her.
When the blonde hurried up to ask what had happened, all he could do was swear and then close his eyes and sigh wearily.
She buried herself in the tub once again, letting her hair drift like seaweed as she stared at it from the bottom of the tub.
Her ears throbbed with the sound of her heartbeat, although it was much slower and calmer now than when she'd started.
Hermione's one serious vice was a tub bath - a proper tub bath, half-full with water nearly too hot to stand and plain, no bubbles or colouring. Her shampoo and soap added enough scent, so far as she was concerned, but before all that she soaked, casting a Bubblehead charm and letting herself sink to the bottom of the tub where she would lay until the water cooled. Then she would sit and warm the water with her wand, remove the charm and bathe.
Tonight was a night that necessitated two dunkings. She needed to think. She had managed to stop crying before reaching her flat, having run most of the way, far too upset to Apparate. Still, she had cast Muffliato so as not disturb any of her neighbours in case she started up again, which was a distinct possibility she knew.
She had sunk into the tub and not allowed herself to think at all. Now, she pondered the entire situation and began to grow a bit resentful, but not angry. Ethan had a right to be upset, she granted, but he railed at her as if she was wholly to blame and she was not.
Harry had been there, too. They had both been scared out of their minds, worried Voldemort would return or Death Eaters would capture them, and whilst Harry had experienced it, she had never seen a person's death up close. To her mind, she had witnessed Snape die that night and had since seen the Thestrals to prove it. Watching him literally bleed to death before her eyes had robbed her of rational thought.
She had read it did that to people witnessing death for the first time. She had been acting on instinct and instinct had told her to leave before she got captured and perhaps find herself lying dead next to her professor. Instinct had not let her do as she might have under other circumstances, namely taking time to check his pulse, close his eyes, perhaps cover him with a conjured blanket. Instead, they had left him for dead.
Except, as it turned out, Snape was not dead, but very much alive. Angry now, over the loss of his eyes and what was probably an overly extended recovery.
Eyes and other organs, she knew, took weeks to regrow, a very extensively-trained healer to implant them and then a few days to heal whilst the necessary nerves attached. It had been four months since she had witnessed what she thought was his death.
In that time he had suffered weeks of blindness, probable other damage from the snake bite (and rat bites and insects...) that had required healing. He had been helpless, probably scared, and thinking everyone despised him. He should have been hailed as a hero and given the best treatment at St. Mungo's. Not that the Malfoy's could not afford decent care, but it left him beholden to them, she had no doubt, and for a man like Snape...
No, she reminded herself, a man like Spinner. Ethan Spinner. I will never, in any way, give away his true identity to another. This I swear.
She drew in a deep breath and sat up again, reaching now for her shampoo. It was time to finish her bath and maybe write a long letter before bed.
Not long after she had tied the sash of her bathrobe, she heard a knock on her door. Puzzled, she cast Perspicuus on the door and was shocked to see a rather weary and bedraggled-looking Ethan Spinner standing outside it.
She stepped closer, cancelled her Muffliato and asked in a clear voice, "What do you want?"
"Please... I wish to speak with you."
She considered this and was intrigued when he continued speaking.
"The waitress told me where you lived. I... I have to tell you something."
His shoulders drooped and she was stunned to realise she had seen him this way before. Harry had allowed her and Headmistress McGonagall to view Snape's memories. Ron had declined, and the Minister had not felt it necessary, taking Harry at his word, but she had not been able to resist and Minerva had wanted to see for herself, so they had.
Ethan Spinner looked very like Severus Snape had on the night he had gone to Grimmauld, except he was not crying. Not yet, she amended, seeing the pain in his deep amber eyes far more clearly than she had ever done before. He felt wretched, and that knowledge made her feel just the tiniest bit better.
She opened the door to him and stood aside to allow him to enter.
He stared at her, clearly taken aback before stumbling back a little and shaking his head.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your bath. I'd better go."
"No, Ethan. Please... come inside."
She did not want to have a scene in the hallway where the neighbours might hear, nor did she want to talk to him at some other time. It was important to speak while they might say things they would otherwise keep buried. It was necessary, sometimes, to clear the air.
He took a hesitant step, then nodded and strode in, carefully avoiding looking at her. She was suddenly conscious of the fact her bathrobe was all she was wearing, and that it only went down to just above her knees.
She closed the door behind him, recast the Muffliato on the walls, and turned back.
"Please take a seat. I'll make some tea."
He nodded, finding his way to her rather firmly upholstered couch where he perched on one end. She stepped into her kitchenette and tapped her wand to the teapot that always had water, making it reach steaming temperature instantly. Grabbing two mugs and the teapot, which she warmed with a wave of her wand, she dropped a tea ball full of some excellent Darjeeling her parents had insisted on bringing back with them from Australia, and poured it in. She set the pot and mugs on a tray that already had a plate of sliced nut bread she had intended for the morning, and took it into the sitting area.
He was looking at his hands, and shook his head when she set the tray before him.
"I'm... I came to apologise. It was the beer speaking. I can't believe I said what I did."
"You were honest. You shouldn't apologise for being honest."
"In spite of that despicable Muggle saying, honesty is not always the best policy," he muttered, then sighed. "It was an unnecessary indulgence on my part. I truly had no intention of saying anything, but..."
"I took you by surprise. Probably the same way you took me by surprise. I figured you were living privately somewhere, but I never imagined it would be so close to my home town, nor even anywhere in England."
"I'm English to the bone," he sighed. "I cannot imagine living elsewhere except by dire necessity, although the Malfoy's did offer me one of their summer homes along with the vault in my new name on the continent to start over."
"To hide, you mean."
He conceded this by nodding and then reaching to pour the tea. "I'll be Mother, shall I?"
She nodded with a smile and watched as he poured them both a cup, indicating yes to milk, no to sugar, and watching as he drank his the same way.
"I would have taken you for a sugar man," she said now, having sipped at her tea and let the warmth flow through her.
He snorted slightly. "Rarely could afford it, growing up. I got used to drinking it without."
"Whereas my parents would be horrified at the mere thought of me adding sugar to anything."
He frowned. "Are they diabetic?" He had heard of the condition, of course, whilst growing up.
She shook her head. "No, they're dentists and they live in horror of tooth decay."
"Ah." He shifted uncomfortably, before adding. "I am truly sorry, Miss Granger, for my outburst. It was uncalled for."
She shook her head. "I took you by surprise. Moreover, I was convenient. You've probably been resentful over the situation all this time."
He considered this, and then nodded. "True. However... I note you do not accept my apology, by which I take it you do not find my offence forgivable."
She said nothing for a long moment until he finally worked up the bottle to meet her gaze.
"Ethan. Do you know why I let you see me tonight?"
He frowned, and then shook his head.
"I didn't have to. I wanted to. I've been watching you, you see, and I had finally worked up the courage."
He nodded.
"I was hoping, foolishly no doubt, that you would look at me, the way you looked at those two women who turned your offer down, and... and make me the same offer."
She met his gaze then and watched as he blinked, and frowned, and parted his lips in astonishment, then looked at her, baffled.
"You're joking," he said softly.
She shook her head. "Not at all. I'm quite serious. Feel free to use Legilimency if you think I'm being dishonest."
"I... I'm afraid I disbelieve you, not your intent, but that you could--"
"I watched you die, Severus Snape now Ethan Spinner. Some part of me was ... elated, when I learnt it was possible, just possible, you were alive. When I saw you the first time... I haven't been so happy since before the whole bloody war. One more person wrenched from the finality of death... one less person to grieve. Can you see?"
He looked troubled. "I... I don't see why... how you would... that you..."
"That I grieved you? I did. I grieved that I didn't do enough. I woke from nightmares about not having even checked your pulse and I would see you waking in the dark and dying there alone. I felt so guilty. So when you said what you did--"
"Dear Merlin... I'm... I can't possibly say how sorry I am."
"Then don't," she moved closer and put a hand on his arm. "Show me."
A tremor ran through him, from head to toe and she watched him repress a shiver as he closed his mouth and studied the hand on his arm.
"I..."
"Unless, of course, you find me lacking in appeal. In which case, I'll be happy to settle for a nice steady correspondence, and maybe the occasional dinner. I really do want to keep in touch."
"Hermione..."
She touched his cheek with gentle fingers. "Ethan. Please say my name again."
He met her gaze and swallowed, repeating, "Hermione."
She closed her own eyes, smiling and sighed, clearly gratified. Ethan found it a little unnerving, and looked away, studying his denim-clad knees.
"I... You need to know... I haven't... I don't have a great deal of... experience." He suppressed another shiver and gritted his teeth to get the words out. "The women at the bar... I was hoping to... to use Legilimency without them knowing... so I could..."
Suddenly her hands were on his knees and he gasped as she took his hands in her own, squeezing gently.
"Ethan. You've been embracing a new life. I want to do that, too. To celebrate life, and I want to do it with someone I care for, someone who deserves better than he got, someone I would gladly give of myself to help and someone who has always rather held a special place in my heart. Can you see that and will you let me... let us share this celebration?"
He squeezed her hands back and nodded, still not looking at her, but it was enough.
"You can use Legilimency, if you like."
Ethan swallowed, and then nodded.
Hermione had led him to her bedroom where she had paused, dimming the lights, but not extinguishing them entirely, then turned to him and smiled. He gave her a hesitant smile back, before stepping forward and leaning down slightly to kiss her.
She parted her lips to allow him entry and he groaned.
Soon he felt her fingers pulling and pressing at him and he moved back to find her carefully unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed as she uncovered the tender, thin-skinned scarring on his neck. He gasped as she kissed it, and then licked along the scars before gently biting the juncture of neck and shoulder as she slid his shirt down his arms. It was tucked into his jeans, so she pulled back to assess the situation, before stepping up to kiss his chest as she gently unbuttoned his flies.
She pressed her ear to his heart as she carefully worked his trousers open and untangled his erection from his pants. His heart began to pound a rapid beat as her hands freed him and pressed his trousers and pants both down his lean legs. She made him sit as she worked his boots and the rest of his clothes off, then she pulled the sash of her bathrobe and got up, letting it fall from her shoulders as she stood before him.
Hermione was magnificent. Ethan could not stop staring at the beauty of her body. Her hair unbound was glorious, a brown cloud of apple-scented softness. He ached where it touched him in a way that made him never want the feeling to stop.
"Hermione..."
"Ethan..."
He swallowed, standing. "Just this once... call me Severus."
She nodded and moved closer to kiss him again before moving her lips along his jaw to his neck where she gently stroked her tongue over his tender, pink scars. "Severus."
He moaned and held her close to him, running his hands down her body, molding her to him as he buried his own face in her long, lovely neck.
Before she knew it, she was lying back on the bed and Severus was working his way down her body, tasting and gently nipping as he went, driving her mad with sensation. Soon he reached her centre and Hermione could only gasp and moan and clutch at his shoulders as he brought her to ecstasy more than once with his hands and mouth.
It was so different from Ron. It was what she had been hoping for all along, what she had read of and dreamt about since she began her road to womanhood. Ron had touched her only as much as he felt was necessary to obtain what he truly wanted, not because he longed to or wanted to learn her body beyond what pleasure it could give him.
Severus touched her as if he never expected to have the chance again, and it was possible he did not.
Silly man.
His hands and mouth spoke volumes his lips and natural reserve did not let him say. She felt like a goddess, as if he was worshipping her.
She cried out now and brought Severus up so she could kiss him and then urge him to join with her. His eyes expressed his diffidence... and his desire.
"Hermione..."
"It's all right. Please, Severus. I want you inside me."
He groaned, gritting his teeth in an agony of need, before carefully settling himself atop her. He looked up to her and met her eyes, briefly gazing within to reassure himself of her desire. Her level of need more than matched his own and he cried out, even as she did, as he finally slid within her.
Then it became a blur of hands and lips and teeth, hot whispered breath and soothing caresses, sibilant sounds not quite words and clutching fingers.
Sooner than he would have liked, the pleasure crested over them both and he found himself collapsing atop her, despite his best efforts.
When he tried to roll aside, she held him to her and stroked his back, expressing without words how very glad she was that he was there, that he had given her this, and in the singular clarity of thought that followed climax Severus realised that Hermione had also given him something very special indeed.
Morning brought more tea, along with toast, all-fruit spread and eggs. It also brought a familiar small owl.
Hermione fed Pig a scrap of bacon and sent him on his way after glancing at the message, which was not from Ron, but Harry. It read:
Good-bye, Ron. Fare well.
She sighed and put the letter away to answer later.
Then she came back and sat at the table to consider the bathrobe-clad man across from her who was huddled over his tea as if he hoped to read auspicious news from the leaves.
She sighed again. Hermione had rather been hoping for more sex this morning, and less drama. Still, she thought now, perhaps sex was not as good in the morning.
He spoke first, still looking only at his cup. "If you should regret what's happened..."
She reached across the table and touched his arm.
"Never, Ethan. Never. You fulfilled all of my wishes last night. How could I regret that?"
He hesitated. "If the others should discover I am alive and that you are... were... with me--"
"I will not lie about last night. I have no shame over anything we did. I have no shame over being with you."
His hand trembled as he popped toast into his mouth. He swallowed hot tea before responding.
"Here and now it seems simple, but I know what it is like when your companions stand before you, disapproving..."
"My companions, such as they are, do not dictate what I do or who I do or don't see."
"Yes, but--"
"Ethan. Severus. Either. The answer is the same. I'm not ashamed. I won't pretend nothing happened. I'm not one person with my friends and another person with other people. I may not tell some people things I could tell only close friends or family, but that's different. And when it comes to you, there is nothing I would not be willing to tell either friends or family."
He was silent for a long moment, and then asked quietly, "And when they accuse you of having bedded a Death Eater? A murderer?"
She was silent long enough that he looked over to her. She gazed at him calmly as she replied, "Then I would tell them that they do not know you as well they think they do, and that they might want to rethink their assumptions. You were a Death Eater. You were also a spy, fighting against them. As for the Headmaster, it was a private pact between you both and something no one else could truly understand, nor would wish to, and I am amazed to know someone with so much strength and personal integrity."
He considered all this, still troubled, but her gaze was even and his Legilimency could not lie anymore than she could hide her feelings.
"I still foresee trouble," he finally grumbled lightly, turning his attention back to his plate and began to eat his eggs.
Hermione smiled. "And here I thought you disliked Divination."
He snorted. "It's brought me nothing but trouble -- how could I like it?"
"I find it a woolly discipline."
"It's real enough, but it's unstable and tenuous. What you see now can change in the very next instant, after all. Decisions made each moment change the future. It's best to leave it alone."
"On that we can agree. To leaving it alone," she picked up her tea and he held up his own, clinking their mugs together.
"Well..." he looked across to her and then back down, abruptly shy, which she found rather adorable on him.
"What is it, Ethan?"
"I should go home."
"Do you have to work?"
"Not today, but I had thought to put in some time on a potions project."
"Shall we meet later then, at the pub? Or would you care to forego a night of hopeful pulling for a sure thing?"
His lips parted on a soundless gasp and before she could credit it, he was kissing her, tasting of elderberries and pungent tea.
When he finally let her go, he pressed his forehead to hers, still clutching her hands in his.
"Come to my place. I should very much like to show it to you."
She smiled. "Be still my heart. I get to finally see the mysterious Ethan Spinner's abode."
"He's not all that mysterious," he breathed. "Just a bit... reserved."
"And your prior wardrobe, Mr. Spinner, was just a bit... monochromatic."
"Hermione..." This was both groan and complaint. His erection was already near-painfully rigid with her closeness.
"Would you care for a bit of relief before you start the day," she offered with a smile, gently carressing him through the bathrobe.
He groaned again. "You might well be the death of me, witch."
"How could I? We haven't done anything yet, Mr. Spinner."
He pulled back, frowning at this seeming non-sequitur, and her smile grew wider... and rather wicked.
"I bedded Severus Snape last night, at his behest. I have yet to bed you, Ethan Spinner. But I'm looking forward to it."
His heart began to beat again... rather rapidly if the head rush he felt was any indication. "Are you?"
"Very much so," she agreed. "In fact, I'm hoping to shag you senseless."
He swallowed and she drew closer. "Wouldn't you rather be senseless from shagging than from drowning your sorrows at the Cock and Pye?"
"Oh, I don't know," he replied silkily. "I think I'd like to hear you singing some night. You heard me with that infernal machine and fair is fair, after all."
She slipped her arms around his neck. "I'm deeply wounded. You honestly don't feel you made me sing loud enough last night?"
"That was Snape," he quipped, granting her a slight smile and a gentle kiss.
"True. In that case, Mr. Spinner, we'd best crank up your equipment and see if I can manage a chorus or two to appease your... desire."
His groan this time was buried in the soft, warm skin of her throat and she gave in to his urgency, using her wand to whisk everything from the table to the counter before finding herself atop it.
She was completely mistaken, Hermione thought much, much later.
In many ways, sex in the morning was far superior to sex at night, although next time she thought they'd do better to have it in bed.
note:
southernwitch69, you said any Snape/Hermione scenario, so I took you at your word. :) I hope this suits. If you feel the need for a future epilogue, then I would suggest imagining them singing a duet of the song I The Cock and Pye, by the by, does exist, although it existed in a different location when I knew it, so the interior described here is entirely fictitious. They also did not have karoake back when I frequented it, but I was amused to learn how much it had changed since then and decided to add this new element to suit the story. Nautica also exists and is a brisk walk from the Cock and Pye of less than a mile.
Just in case the UK slang usage isn't clear to everyone:
bottle - courage: boldness or nerve ( informal )
Example : didn't have the bottle to say it to her face
pulling, to pull: transitive and intransitive verb
to attract a sexual partner: to chat up in the hopes of attracting a potential sexual partner ( slang )
Examples : Did you pull at the party? : It's amazing he goes pulling at his age.