Getting Past Broken: Part Four

[tychesong]

Severus awoke the following morning disorientated. He frowned, his mind registering the unfamiliar bed and far wall milliseconds before noting that there was a warm, soft weight at his back, taking up more bed space. His liaisons did not last the night, as a rule, to avoid exactly this sort of awkward leave-taking. He carefully attempted to sit up, without waking the woman, only to remember the previous day while only partially sitting.

His eyes shot to her, still slightly disbelieving. She was curled partially around her pillow, one leg tossed over the bunched up covers of the bed as if she'd tried kicking them off in her sleep and had been unable to. Her hair was a wild curly mess that hid the good majority of her face; the only visible part of it was her mouth. It was red, kiss-swollen, and possessed of a very smug and satisfied looking smile.

Severus allowed himself his own smug smile that he had put the expression there.

Leaning back into the bed on his elbow, he studied her, trying to decide what his next course of action would be. Following their rather incredible encounter the day before, they had bathed together-carefully soaping each other clean of the sweat and smell of sex, kissing languidly and enjoying the simple feel of each other's skin. They had soaked and relaxed; she had piled her willful curls up on her head and had kissed his knuckles when he had passed her the fluffy bath scrubber.

She had teased him about making her bathe three times in one day, and then had managed somehow to talk him into letting her wash his hair herself instead of letting him do it. Severus' eyes closed at the memory. It was something he would allow her to talk him into again anytime she liked. Her fingers had massaged his scalp as she had worked the lather in, seeming to know and understand instinctively where every headache of his life had taken place. She had carefully worked loose muscles in his head and upper neck that had probably been tightly flexed for years.

He had returned the favour as best he could; her long curls had tangled around his fingers as if in protest. She did not seem to notice his difficulty, instead making soft little sighing noises of pleasure that would have shot straight to his groin if he hadn't been already completely knackered.

It had been a tender moment, simple, unguarded and sweet. Had it been any other woman he would not have allowed it-such domesticity had the tendency to give rise to the belief that he was willing to continue in a relationship of some sort. It wasn't just any other woman, any other liaison, however. This was Hermione Granger, who held his life debt and required more care than he would typically offer.

So he had bathed with her, learned her, eaten a modest, but tasty supper and then had curled up in her bed with her. They had not stayed curled into each other of course; they were likely both too used to sleeping alone for that, he reasoned. Still, it was undeniably rather nice to wake up and find a warm naked female next to him. He had barely to move and his skin would be against hers. The thought was a heady one.

He really should not let a sleep-over like this happen again, he determined. The thought was inexplicably distressing, though he resolutely pretended that it wasn't. This was about being free, he reminded himself. Not about the ephemeral feeling of rightness that was utterly ridiculous in reality.

Despite it all, he couldn't seem to stop himself from stroking a hand down the curve of her spine and smiling as she gave another one of her little sighs. He had come to cherish that sound just a little; proof positive that his touch pleased her. She wasn't in his bed because it was glamorous to shag a famous war hero-she had as much right to that particular title as he did. Nor was she trying to snag a husband.

She, a twenty-year-old almost virgin with one of the finest minds Hogwarts had seen in a decade, had had chosen him, of all men, to teach her to enjoy sex instead of fear it. He couldn't help but feel slightly wondering and prideful of that. It was like some kind of bizarre fantasy-turned-life. She had sighed, moaned, and traced the lines of his body and scars with a look of pleased discovery rather than pity, nor had she placed him on an obsessive, romantic pedestal.

She had kissed him as if she had been starving for his mouth, writhed, and fallen apart in his arms thrice. Hermione had responded to his touch as easily as his wand responded to his magic. Severus had always known that the youngest Weasley son was an idiot, but he had never imagined that the young man was this imbecilic. The dunderhead had not only cock-blocked himself, but had actually driven his girlfriend to seek sexual therapy with someone else. How he had managed that with a woman as naturally sensual as Hermione was beyond logic.

As if she could sense his thoughts, the woman next to him stirred, a hand lifting to her head to draw the tangle of curls out of her face. Her smile was dazzling, begging to be kissed. "Good morning," she murmured, drowsily.

"Yes, well. It's morning at any rate," he responded automatically-he had been answering Minerva that way every morning for years. He regretted the words for the first time in his life when her smile slipped, a hint of anxious hurt simmering behind her eyes. Severus cleared his throat, and muttered, "I'm not much of a morning person." He paused, and then conceded. "I do believe this is one of the better mornings I have experienced in a long while."

Her smile instantly bloomed again, and he called himself ten kinds of fool. Since when had he excused himself to anyone concerning his mood or sarcasm? Her enjoyment of his company was hardly a requirement to fulfill his debt. He just had to make her enjoy him sexually. He seemed to be having nearly no problem on that front at all; she would no doubt be done with him in a matter of days, thus freeing him of her.

So why then did he want to see her smile so badly? He had always promptly left other beds as soon as his needs were met; long before anything beyond the general understanding that they would fuck could develop. In fact, when his previous partners had expressed any form of desire that he linger, he had deliberately sabotaged it with the most caustic and acidic comments he could muster. He had even recounted them a few times for Lucius' private amusement.

The thought of deliberately wounding the feelings of Hermione, though, was oddly repellent for reasons he couldn't fully explain to himself. It was mere obligation, he finally ascertained. He felt responsible for her at the present moment, and it shifted his priorities. Temporarily.

Her mouth brushing softly across his cut off his defensive thoughts abruptly. She pulled back, a shy amusement dancing in her eyes, and told him, "You were looking a bit too serious for morning. I thought I would try to fix that."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." She tilted her face up clearly inviting him to kiss her again. When he did, it was a warm, affectionate greeting that reminded him of their shared bath, the day before. It was not a type of kiss that he was accustomed to; kissing had always been either a practiced calculation or a passionate meeting of mouths-but always, always an understood stepping stone.

This, however, this was kissing just for the sake of kissing. Like in the bath, she kissed him, touched him and snuggled into his arms without the intention of arousing him. He should have found it disturbing. Just as it had when he had woken in a bed not his own, an internal alarm jangled incessantly on his nerves, cautioning against this sort of behavior. He wouldn't want her to get the impression that this was anything but what it was.

Bollocks to that. His thought lazily, sinking back down on to the bed with her. It was morning, and he was not fully awake. He was warm, ensconced in a soft bed with a young naked woman who seemed to be making it her priority to ease him into the harsh light of day as gently and enticingly as possible. Only an idiot would turn that sort of treatment down, and Severus prided himself on not being an idiot.

Thus having decided to indulge himself, if only this once, Severus let his mind sink back into the half-lucidity of having a proper lie-in, and reached out for her. Her body tucked alongside his agreeably, her legs twining with his and her mouth tipping to allow him to kiss her more fully. She was pliant and eager, her hands stroking up his ribs to grip his shoulders enthusiastically. Before long their activities had become far less benign; her body twisted against his and she moaned softly into his mouth, one leg drawing up the outside of his to hook around his thigh encouragingly.

His mind lost to the hazy mixture of lust and only partial wakefulness, Severus rolled her under him without thinking about it, situating himself between her thighs to rub his cock against the warmth he found there.

Her nails bit into his shoulders and she jerked her mouth away from his, her eyes going wide. Startled, Severus blinked down at her, just in time to feel her struggle against his weight and breathe out in a panicked rush, "Red light, red, red, red, red, red!"

Awareness suddenly snapped into place and he released her instantly, sitting up and cursing under his breath. It seemed he was an idiot after all. He scooted away from her, giving her space, and glanced over his shoulder at her, contrite. Her head was lowered and her arms folded defensively across her stomach, and to his shock, she was apologizing plaintively.

"I'm sorry, so sorry; I know I'm not quite right, that was the whole point of this, you see. I don't mean to be a cock-tease, truly I don't."

Severus shook his head and interrupted her, "Hermione. Hermione, look at me." When her gaze reluctantly shifted to his he told her firmly, "I am not upset with you, I'm upset with myself. You informed me that being held down triggered you, and I failed you in that. I am absolutely responsible for this…mishap, and take the blame entirely. You did exactly what you were supposed to when I put you into a bad position, a position you should never have been in with me in the first place."

The look she gave him was owlish, and uncertain. "What if I never get past this? What if I'm never able to just have sex like a normal woman?"

Severus looked at her disbelievingly. "Hermione, what do you think happened yesterday? That was sex-incredible sex. You dislike a specific position and for very good reasons; why is that so outlandish?"

Hermione grimaced. "I'm a bit too much like Ron, I suppose, neither of us like being on our backs."

Severus levelled the expression at her he usually reserved for first-year potions students. "Hermione, you and Weasley are nothing alike. He has not been traumatised and tortured until he found a sexual position abhorrent. From what I have been able to gather from your explanations, he is the kind of person who prefers to be dominant during sexual intercourse. On top of which, he has no imagination, has been badly educated, and horribly ham-fisted with you about it."

He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, "There is no 'right' way to have sex. In fact, the only 'wrong' way to have sex that I know of is when it non-consensual. Most people prefer more variety than the one basic position. Now you are asking me to believe that he has convinced you-one of the more intelligent young people of my acquaintance-that a woman who thrives on challenge and has as many interests as you do could possibly be satisfied with his one way of doing things? Even if you had not been grievously injured the idea would be ridiculous."

"Do you believe that I, too, prefer to be ah, dominant like he does?" she asked carefully.

"No," he answered instantly, feeling his lips quirk again. "You seemed to follow my lead easily enough, in any case. You might find some enjoyment out of the more exotic bed games later, when you are a bit more comfortable with yourself and with enjoying sex, but I don't believe that you are naturally inclined to need that type of play to be satisfied."

"You seem to know a lot about it," she ventured. "Are you…?"

Severus felt his brows climb nearly up to his hairline. "No. Not as a rule," Severus quirked a wry eyebrow, and admitted reluctantly, "I have not had a great many partners until these past few years; and I have not really been involved with any of them long enough to be at ease experimenting in that manner with those I have had. A few tamer games; a surprising number of women seem to enjoy the idea of being tied to the bed by a former Death Eater, but I am not the sort to suggest such things first."

Uncertain if he should continue, Severus gauged her expression for any hint of disgust or horror, and to his bemusement, found only thoughtful consternation on her face. She caught his own look and shrugged, a bit awkwardly. "I don't believe I would enjoy that, with my particular phobia, but I have to admit that I am a bit curious in general."

Severus found himself responding faintly, "I am not entirely uneducated in it, and I am acquainted with a few people who do prefer that type of relationship, and if it is your wish…"

To his amusement, she blushed, and muttered, "Later, perhaps." Her eyes met his again, hopefully, and she asked, "Could we do something else today? Something not-related to sex, I mean?"

Severus eyed her, concerned. She wanted to spend time with him out of bed-she had clearly forgotten how unpleasant he was on a regular basis. "Did you have something particular in mind? I am not the sort who goes on shopping trips, or is pleasant company to be had at sporting events. You might be better served by simply ending our association if that is your desire."

The look of stunned hurt and unhappiness on her face was shocking to him; someone might have thought he'd slapped her rather than offered her a way to gracefully remove him from her life and private endeavours. Her lip trembled slightly before firming into a stubborn line, and she slanted an angry look at him. "I realise it is the Slytherin way to manipulate and use, but I had thought you had more honour than to treat me this way after your speech about debts and owing."

Severus couldn't stop his eyes widening in affronted shock, and he responded, "You asked it of me, and I came to your home in good faith." When she continued to look upset, he continued cautiously, "You requested that we no longer engage in sexual contact; I did not believe that you wished to continue down that particular route with me henceforth, considering my breach this morning."

She looked stunned. "I only meant for a while; I had not thought to end the agreement entirely. You halted immediately when I asked, and apologised directly after. I was not raised to give up on something so easily." She looked uneasy and added, "Unless you are not interested in continuing further?"

Severus arched an eyebrow, and glanced languidly down her still-naked body, only half covered by the blankets of her bed. "I certainly have no objections." She blushed rather prettily at his compliment, he thought, and he said quietly, "It is…very forgiving of you." Suddenly feeling a little too kind for his own sense of well-being, he acidly followed the statement with, "and very Hufflepuff."

Hermione's lips curved and her eyes danced, and he wondered if she had somehow caught the humour in his own expression. "A dire insult from you, I suppose?" She rolled her eyes at him sarcastically.

"Indeed, but not so horrifically dire and unfortunate as being called a Gryffindor," he sneered.

"Hey!" she protested, but she was laughing again, her face lighting up with it. She snagged her pillow and tossed it half-heartedly at him, laughing more when he deflected it easily, contemptuous look still firmly in place. She studied him a little, still smiling faintly, and said, "Do you know what I would really enjoy?"

He gave her an arch look and said dryly, "No, and I don't care in the least."

"I would like you to take me back to Hogwarts, to your lab, and tell me all about the horribly fascinating research you're doing this summer. Failing that, I want to read your books while you ignore me and putter about with said research instead."

He sneered at her. "What makes you think I would be at all interested in complying with either of those requests?"

She sat back in the bed with a hooded, smug expression. "I'll suck your cock afterwards if you do."

Severus couldn't stop himself from letting out a sharp bark of laughter. It was the very last thing he had expected from her-particularly after what had happened. "Bribing me are you? How positively Slytherin of you. I do believe, Miss Granger, that there may be hope for you, yet."

Her delicate little nose wrinkled. "I do wish you wouldn't call me that," she snipped. "Makes it all sound so sordid."

"Oh, we couldn't have that at all, now could we?" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. She was terribly amusing. Dangerously so, his mind cautioned.

She was dangerous.

"You agree then?" she asked, and then scolded mildly, "Don't think I haven't noticed that you never actually said so." Her eyebrow lifted in a parody of Severus' own sneering expression. "Yet."

Severus gave her an imperious expression. "I will grant you access to my research and even subject my person to your tender ministrations, in return for your most solemn promise that you will keep your knowledge of it private."

The look she returned to him was a mixture of pleased gratification and the sort of earnestness only a Gryffindor could affect without looking absurd. "I would never reveal your research secrets, Severus."

"I was speaking of your knowledge of my person," he shot back snootily, to her clear amusement. Tossing back the covers, he sat up and finally removed himself from the bed, tilting his head to the side to stretch neck muscles unused to her pillows. "Of course, first, we must bathe."

Hermione laughed incredulously, the sound tumbling out of her in helpless waves. "Bathe? Severus, we just did last night, for my third time of the day I might remind you, and we haven't done anything to warrant another one since then!"

Severus felt his guard rise, his spine straightening, and said stiffly, "I always bathe in the morning, without fail. It is something that is non-negotiable with me." He watched awareness suddenly dawn in her eyes. Her gaze darted briefly to his already greasy feeling hair and he felt a prickling sense of anger and shame. Feeling his jaw tighten slightly, he said as casually as he could, "It will be good for you as well. No doubt you are a little sore, since you are unused to the sort of activities we participated in yesterday. I would very much like it if you joined me." He waited a bit and then lifted a brow. "You're much better at massaging my head than I am."

Looking amused, but still slightly chastened, she nodded, and followed him out of bed into the bathroom. Things were different this morning than they had been the previous night, he gauged. Then it had been a tender exchange as they basked in the afterglow of one of the more drawn-out and lengthier sexual encounters he had ever had.

Now they were both prickling with awareness of each other's presence, reminded of exactly who they were. The bath ran beside them, only partially remembered, as they gauged each other. This wasn't the shy exploration from the day before, when she had sat in his lap, half-naked. Nor was it the tender and soothing exchange in the bath that followed, while they slowly brought each other down from the drama of climax. This was a frank assessment of each other naked in bright light, fully cognizant of who the other was.

He tried to imagine what she saw when she looked at him just now. He was average height-perhaps a little over, but not by much. He was also underweight-no matter how many calories he consumed at Madam Pomfrey's insistence, he never seemed to attain the filled out look shared by most of his peers. He was overly pale and un-freckled, while his hair and eyes were very dark. The contrast made him appear sallow and pallid rather than simply fair. If that were not enough, his hair was perpetually oily from some sort of genetic misfortune, regardless of how many times he washed it, his nose was large, his lips were thin, and his cheekbones sharp. His combined features no doubt made him look a bit wraith-like. Or vampiric, he thought sourly.

Yes, he was very well aware of the idiotic student rumours of him being a vampire. Which lead him to another unhappy point against him: he was a sour, sarcastic bastard of a Potions professor who had made a show of taking particular delight in torturing Harry Potter and his friends in school.

Of which she was one. She was quite possibly the last woman in the entire world with whom he thought he would ever be taking as a lover. If there were ever a woman still living with the right to dislike him, it should have been Hermione Granger. The brash and somewhat homely swot with more enthusiasm than was strictly likable in a person had been a regular target of his acid tongue. He had most often targeted her intelligence and understanding-it was what she was most proud of, after all.

It had been his one nasty comment about her appearance however, that had sent her running from him in tears. He wondered if she remembered that, from nearly six years ago. He had sneaking suspicion that she did. Yet now she stood before him utterly bare, having taken him into her body and shared her darkest fears, and was now subjecting her physical form to his frank and often cutting scrutiny.

Of course, she had little to fear, truly, about any assessment he might make of her beauty, especially in comparison to his own less-than-perfect appearance. She was long and limber looking; soft skin stretching smoothly over firm muscle and a trim waist. Her hips and breasts looked a bit small from this angle but he knew that when she bent over, her bottom was as lush as any man could wish. When she rode him on the couch, her breasts had maintained the perfect amount of sway and bounce to be perfectly pleasing.

Her mouth was a touch too wide, but her smile was dazzling. Likewise, her eyes were a rather forgettable brown but lit up with such enthusiasm and fire that it was impossible not to be entranced by what she was saying. Her most distracting and detracting feature was her hair-that untameable riot of curls that she likely brushed too excessively, resulting in the bushy, frizzled halo around her face.

Hers was a beauty most easily noticed when she was animated, he concluded. It was in that expressive glance and too-wide smile, in the subtle and unconscious sway of her body when she moved. It was in the sharp intelligence that she put behind everything she did-it was exactly the sort of attractive that he found devastating.

Oh, a beautiful woman could make him stare and lust; he was male after all, and hardly blind. However, such women were rarely worth more than the first appreciative look and a hot and sweaty tumble if he might manage to persuade them to it. He had never analysed their beauty the way he was attempting to do with Hermione's, he would never have spent the night with them, or bathed with them.

He certainly would never have accepted a mere blowjob in return for access to his research. With her however, it all just seemed to happen before he could think about it, before he could process what he was doing, understand the reasons why and force himself to surcease.

Even the promised blowjob was not really of that much import to the situation at hand, he realised. He wanted her to see his research. He wanted her to see his projects, the results of his long hours and knack for Potionery. He wanted to show off, he concluded. Show off the mind and talents he was so proud of in the way he would never really be able to show off his physical attributes. He wanted to impress this young woman-this intellectual-who might actually understand and appreciate his work for what it was.

He wanted to erase this sub-par memory she now owned of his naked, whipcord frame and replace it with the image of the area he truly was worthy in. He wanted her to find him as devastatingly attractive as he found her, and if that wasn't the bloody most frightening thought he had ever had in his life then he didn't know what was.

He should never have insisted on a bath, he thought. He should have agreed to meet her at his quarters in the afternoon, instead. She had seen him naked already, stroked him, explored him with her hands and eyes, but she had never just taken a frank, glaringly bright-lighted objective look at him.

It doesn't matter in the least, he told himself. She is a means to an end, a key to truly being free. She isn't a real lover, no matter how attractive you actually find her. She's a woman who is being paid the proper attention to sexually for the first time, any looks of fondness or passion is nothing more than that.

One day very soon, Hermione Granger would take control of her own sexuality and fears, and at that point be done with him. It was imperative that he remember that. Severus turned abruptly and flipped off the tap to her bath before it became too full to hold both of them, and stepped into the water, feeling unreasonably grumpy, considering that she was about to join him.

"You have an incredibly magnetic presence," her voice behind him was small, and a little uncertain. Severus turned to stare at her in surprise, still standing in hot water up to his calves in the deep bath. She half smiled, looking nervous, and continued, "It's hard to really explain. You possess a charisma that is powerfully compelling to me."

She moved closer, and carefully stepped into the bath with him until they stood face to face. Her hands reached up and she placed them flat against his chest, idly toying with the hair there, and his flat nipples. "You are surprisingly well toned for a man who works in a classroom. Not hulking, of course, but definitely not weak in the least. You're built like a runner, or a cyclist." She was murmuring it almost to herself now, instead of him, her fingertips tracing odd little circles on his chest.

"I do run, usually. In the early mornings, three times a week. Hogwarts is also possessed of a lot of stairs," he reminded her. "I might not be the athletic stereotype, but that certainly doesn't mean I'm going to let myself go like Horace did."

She grinned and said shyly, "I like it. You look strong and masculine, but not like you are going to crush me if I ask you to hold me. I've had my share of the overly brawny sort, and I can assure you that I'm quite done with it. I like the way you fit much better."

He curled his lip and tried not to let her see how affecting her words were. "The bath is getting cold," he griped, and she laughed.

"Well, let's wash your hair then. I want to see your research."

She suited actions to words, sitting behind him and scrubbing his scalp, using her nails lightly while he twisted and nearly purred under her fingers. He might have taken out the book on erotic massage, but she was clearly a natural talent at it. It shouldn't have been surprising, he thought caustically. She'd always been good at nearly everything she had attempted. She carefully rinsed his hair again, having him lean back until his head was in her lap and he was staring at her upside down, his knees bent awkwardly even in the overly large bath.

Her fingers stroked along the stubble on his jaw line and she gave him a teasing grin as he sat upright again, wiping water from his eyes and squeezing it from his hair. "You're starting to grow in, some," she informed him. "It felt fantastic between my legs, but I'm pretty certain I've got a rash from it."

"I'll take care of it at Hogwarts," he said dismissively. "I have some depilatory there I've put together."

"Oh!" She brightened. "Use mine. It's guaranteed to last three months." She pointed around his body at a cluster of bottles on the rim of the bath, snugging her breasts to his back. The feeling was entirely distracting.

He didn't reach for the bottle, instead focusing on the rather nice feeling of a naked and slippery Hermione rubbing against his back. He tried to decide if he could somehow reverse their positions without her catching on as to why, and end up with a naked and slippery Hermione in his lap. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling her struggle to reach from behind him, and pictured her legs spread on either side of his. From that position he could grab hold of her hipbones and arse and bounce her up and down in that position on his now rapidly hardening cock.

Inspiration struck and he felt himself actually smile. If she folded her knees back so that she could control the bouncing up and down herself, it would even leave his hands free to play with her exposed genitals, he decided, pleased. It certainly wouldn't be pinning her down.

"Here, why don't we trade places so that you can reach it properly, I wouldn't want to accidentally pick the wrong bottle." He said aloud, feeling ingenious for this excuse to get her exactly where he wanted her. He considered for a moment, and then added, because he was Severus Snape and he should, "that stuff isn't going to make me smell like lavender or gardenia is it?"

Hermione tried to manoeuvre around him in the bath, and muttered, "No, of course not. I think it has a bit of a citrusy-lemon smell, but it only lasts for about a day."

That was certainly worth it, Severus decided. He would never have admitted it aloud, but he was actually rather fond of lemon sweets. Smug smile still in place, Severus watched as she finally gave up trying to reach around him and stood, wobbling as she stepped around him to trade places with him.

It happened so quickly he had hardly any time to react. Her arse pleasantly just in front of his face, she picked up one of the bottles from the edge of the bath, when her foot suddenly slid out from under her. Her arms windmilled, trying to catch her balance, and his knees shot together reflexively to shield himself as she toppled backward towards him. She landed with a massive splash and a surprised shriek, her elbow connecting with the bottom of the bath and nudging alarmingly close to his balls.

They stared at each other for a long, horrified minute, before he cleared his throat and said, his voice dangerously low, "You are very lucky that blow didn't land, Hermione." His erection had withered for the second time that morning, this time under the threat of being nearly crushed.

She licked her lips nervously, and said tentatively, "So…you're okay then?"

"Yes, are you? You landed rather hard."

"My elbow's smarting a bit. That's, uh, not the problem, though." The clearly anxious expression on her face made him start to worry.

"There is a problem," he stated.

"Well, maybe not," she hedged. "It rather depends on how you look at it, I suppose, and it's not permanent, and it could have honestly been much worse-"

"Hermione." His voice came out in low, growled warning.

"Well, you see, I used the depilatory yesterday, in the bath, and didn't cap it quite right, and I just landed on the container, so I'm afraid quite a bit of it may be in the water at this point-"

"WHAT?" When asked later, he would certainly deny that his voice could reach that pitch. For the moment, however, he was too busy hastily trying to remove himself from the tainted water. Too little too late, he discovered with horror. The potion she used for her needs was apparently of very high quality, and with nearly a full bottle of it emptied in the bath, he was rendered silky smooth and hairless from the waist down in almost no time.

Severus stared in horror. His legs had been pale, but at least they hadn't looked too awful behind his dark leg hair. Now, however, he only had pale, nude flesh-reminiscent of a fish's underbelly, and his genitals! Smooth as the day he was born, as if he was one of those male dancers in poof-and-ladies' clubs. The look he gave Hermione, still left sitting at his feet, was murderous.

She visibly swallowed and said weakly, "At least the hair on your head didn't get any on it…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned, looking disappointed. "Oh, even the little line from your navel is gone. I wanted to trace it later when I-" she cut herself off, and brightened slightly. "Well, this will make that considerably easier."

"Hermione!" he thundered.

"What?" she said crossly. "It isn't like I meant to, and it will be easier to suck you off without picking hair out of my mouth. No one has to see besides us two." She gripped the edge of the bath and stood again, carefully. Water sluiced off her body as she did, revealing that she, too, had lost the dark curly thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

Severus arched his brows again, interested, and then felt his lips twitch. Perhaps this incident wasn't a total loss. Certainly not something he would have wanted, but not a complete loss, after all. He had yet to have had a woman who had completely 'blunted the peach,' as they said, and while the effect was a bit odd to his eyes, it certainly was worth trying.

She stepped out of the bath, grasping her wand and a towel off the hanging rack as she did so, and wrinkled her nose at the water behind her. She flicked her wand and vanished the contents of the bath with a shudder, not even bothering to unplug and drain it.

Severus cleared his throat, and grasped his own towel, wrapping it about himself. "It is my proposal that we attire ourselves and take lunch at Hogwarts, and never, never speak of this incident to anyone." His eyes narrowed. "Ever. Is that clear?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I think that is an excellent decision." She slanted a look at him askance. "I'm frankly just pleased that you haven't decided to never speak to me again at all."

Severus felt his cheeks burn slightly and stomped back into her bedroom, viciously biting back an oath. He yanked his clothes on as quickly as he was able, shifting a little uncomfortably at the new and odd sensation of being utterly hairless. Briefly, he wondered if she hadn't perhaps done it on purpose, either to humiliate him or to simply impose her preference of lack of body hair. Had she been a Slytherin he would not have doubted it in the least.

He had to admit, however, that she did seem to be sincerely chagrined, and she had given him far worse ammunition to taunt her with had she done it to embarrass him. He sneered at his boots as he buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his trousers with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Her chagrin wouldn't save her, he assured himself.

He might not be able to take house points or assign her detention any longer, but somehow, he would get her back. She was now entirely bare as well; perhaps he could tease her there until she screamed his name a number of times, and was never able to use that bloody depilatory or have a man's head between her thighs without thinking of him. Hell, he was probably already half-way there. The thought stopped him cold. This was not supposed to be about imprinting himself on her, on making her want him; miss him when he was gone. The thought put him in a sour mood, and robes on at last, he turned with an impressive swirl to look at her.

She was quietly dressing behind him, watching him apprehensively, her lip caught between her teeth again. She released it when she saw him, and said softly, "I really didn't mean for that to happen."

He found himself nodding curtly. "Come then, you wanted to see my research, did you not?" Relief spilled into those lovely brown eyes, and she nodded, a touch too eagerly. He swept through her Floo to his living room and into his lab, keeping his pace just a hair too rapid for her to follow comfortably, enjoying the knowledge that she was forced to walk hurriedly in order to keep up.

When they entered his private lab, he turned to observe her reaction with more than a little pride. Here, there was no shame or embarrassment to be found in being him; here, he was honoured and it was apparent. His private workspace boasted expensive, state-of-the art equipment, including even a Muggle refracting microscope, a full island counter and sink clearly set aside for the specific purpose of component preparation, and enough counter and work space for his notes to sprawl as haphazardly as he might wish.

His ill-favoured appearance and lack of charm made no difference in this room; here he was a brilliant Master Class Potion Brewer, with Journeyman's papers in Herbology as well. He was a laureate of both the Order of Merlin and the Swanither Award for Potions and Alchemy, both of which hung neatly on the wall under his educational certificates, and three approved patent papers posted as well.

Hermione had immediately wandered over to the one cauldron that was currently in place on a burner, peering inside expectantly. He had set it on so low it was barely simmering, something it needed to do for a week to be at the right consistency; or so he hypothesized. He joined her silently, watching as she read his scribbled notes and peered into the cauldron occasionally, as if she could see the work he had put into this particular brew.

Finally she turned, and gave him a sheepish look. "I'm afraid I don't really understand what you are doing with this one. It looks like a strengthening solution that I started and Neville is trying to finish. It has been a couple of years since I have really studied potions, however."

He felt his lips twitch; clearly it rankled her that she didn't immediately pick up on what his seemingly random alterations had done to the potion, despite her lack of secondary training in the field. She was an Arithmancer after all, not a Potioneer. Perhaps it was being at Hogwarts that made her feel the need to know and understand everything she came across.

"This isn't the final product, so to speak," he answered her casually. "Well, it might be considered as such in its own right, but it is not the final product I am aiming for. I am attempting to adapt a strengthening solution in such a way so that it becomes the component itself. I am positing that, if successful, I will be able to then add it to strengthen or lengthen the effects of another brew. For example, Wolfsbane or Felix Felicis.

Her mouth parted in surprised wonder, the edges curling up. "Both of those potions are time consuming to create, while a base strengthening solution is time sensitive; does that lower the shelf life or…?"

Pleased she had caught that, he responded with pride, "Not if one also includes phoenix ash."

Her eyes widened slightly as she mentally ran through it, and then said tentatively, "What keeps the base from gumming up or reacting against the troll tears in the strengthening base?"

Severus found himself actually smiling and answered, "Oh, very good, Hermione. It just so happens that this isn't the only potion I plan on using as a component in this particular brew. There are a total of three-it's a bit complex." He gestured at one of the tables, where several pages of notes were scattered about for brewing, including an intense arithmantical matrix and several alchemical diagrams.

He was gratified to see her expression was a bit overwhelmed as she surveyed his work. It had taken him the better part of two years to work it all out and he highly doubted even her vaunted intelligence would be able to pick it up in only a few moments. He could almost see the wheels and cogs of her mind turning as she picked up and studied the arithmantic equation, no doubt drawn to what she would be most likely to decipher.

"I-I don't understand everything you are doing with this, but what I am seeing is…" She set the page down carefully and turned to him, excitement and respect warring in her gaze. "This is bloody brilliant!" She launched herself at him, then; he had only a moment to realise and brace for the impact before his arms were suddenly full of young, excited woman, slanting her mouth up to his in an enthusiastic display of ardour.

His arms closed about her as if by route, lifting her firmly against him in order to take advantage of her mouth more thoroughly. She did not seem to mind in the least, moulding herself to him and winding her arms about his neck. Hermione Granger, he thought smugly, was clearly a woman who appreciated a man of intelligence.

He got so caught up in her kisses that he hardly realised what she was doing before she had half his coat open, her fingers quickly making work of the release on his robes and the line of buttons on his coat. She had seemed shy of initiating their contact until this moment; it was like balm on his ego-particularly after the embarrassing bathroom incident-to have her so obviously desire him.

"I have an experiment," he told her between hungry kisses and divesting each other of clothes. "Something I would really like to try, but you might not find comfortable. Are you willing to give it a try, if I promise to listen to you if you tell me to slow down?" He whispered it in her ear, lowering his voice until it reached the low timbre that he had found most effective in eliciting a reaction in her.

She paused in pressing sucking kisses to his throat and shoulder in order to murmur a breathy, "Yes," her eyes glazed and only slightly wary. Carefully, he manoeuvred them to the far end of the lab, and to one of the few spans of empty wall in the room. The area was small, bracketed on one side by the door to his private storeroom and on the other by a preparatory table, currently only holding a few books.

When her back hit the wall, her eyes widened with a start, but she didn't say anything or push him away. Slowly, deliberately, he clasped her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and slowly raised them from his shoulders to press them back against the wall above her head. Her position now closely mimicked what she had described as being a trigger for her, merely being upright rather than supine. Her breath shuddered slightly, and she whispered, almost as if ashamed, "Yellow?"

He eased his hold on her and drew back slightly, giving her space, but leaving their hands in place. "I had wondered if it would make a difference if you were standing or not," he said quietly.

"It does," she answered, her eyes opening. "The idea of it is frightening, but I…I am not actually panicking. I can still think about it, control it. I can remember that this is you, and you will not hurt me."

"You are certain?"

"Yes. I know you will not."

Humour tinged his gaze and he said, "I meant are you certain you wish to continue?"

"Kiss me please? I have a much more difficult time thinking about it when you kiss me."

He felt his lips twitch again; she seemed to possess an innate ability to make him smile, now that she had grown out of being thoroughly annoying. He remembered her accident with the depilatory, and sneered slightly. She had almost grown out of being annoying, he amended, and then did as she asked, lowering his mouth back to hers.

They kissed like that for a long time, her back against his lab wall, her hands caught loosely in his above her head, until her fingers tugged in his, silently requesting release. He let them go, only to feel them thread through his still-damp hair and scrape against his scalp, one leg curling around his to pull him closer to her.

"You're so warm," she muttered. "Deliciously warm, and so bloody smart. I could spend hours doing just this, picking your brain and making love in turns. How do you do it to me?"

"My theory is that you've gone mad. I intend to call St Mungos when we're finished. Or you may be under the influence of a controlled substance. What exactly is going on in that head of yours?"

Swollen lips-he never had used the depilatory on his face, he realised-smiled at him wickedly. "I did promise to suck you off, after all."

"Start there," he managed as her fingers started tugging at his belt. "I mean to have you on my lab table before we're done in here."

Her laugh was oddly delighted as she dropped to the floor in front of him, tugging down his trousers as she went.

A/N: Hee hee, more smut to follow soon. :-D Thanks so much for reading! I'm back from Maui, and had a lovely time! I got to see my grandmother, meet some turtles, and indulge in a trashy romance novel reading binge! Just a reminder, the War of the Words challenge I've issued on TMB is half over--it's not too late to jump in and enjoy the fun!
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