She is an insatiably curious girl; it is the one true thing he has always known about her. She asks about everything, even when she doesn't understand the question entirely, she is still willing to ask. When he hated her, it was one of the things he hated most.
It is conspicuous, then, that Hermione never has asked him the most obvious questions, the ones everyone asks, most particularly those who have no right to the answers. The closest she will come is sometimes, when he is feigning sleep, muttering her curiosity over why he has chosen her.
Severus will roll over then, his hair sweeping over her face, causing her to giggle. He will say, "You ask too many questions."
She will tell him, "You answer too few," but kiss him with no biting, wrap her fingers around his biceps and hold on as though she would plummet with no end should she loosen her grip even the tiniest bit.
He does not let her fall.
*Finally he has to ask her (and it occurs to him then that maybe, maybe this is what she planned all along--Gryffindors are far
( ... )
Re: Q & A, part 2arsenicjadeJune 2 2006, 02:52:17 UTC
He tells her while her knees are curled around him, while he is sheathed tightly inside her, while her neck is strained backward, open to his tongue, teeth, lips. He tells her while she cannot easily slip away, while he has as much of her as he will ever get. He says, "It. He. The Dark Lord. Voldemort. Was supposed to be. . .perfection. There's a number in arithmancy-"
"Not a number, not exactly. Numbers are mathematical, the rune equivalent value means that it's, um, well, not a number. But yes, the arithmantic seven."
Which is what he's talking about, she always knows these things. She always gets what he is trying to say. "It has a symmetry that's unknown in any other value-"
"You were looking for absolute beauty."
"The things that lie beneath the concept."
She stops moving against him, above him, perfectly still even as she breathes. She says, "We could not offer you that either."
"No," he says, looking up at her and thinking, not thenShe does not ask what they could offer, she rocks into him and crests on her own
( ... )
Of whom much is given, much is required, she would tell him softly, running her fingers through his hair--thick and dark and as unruly as her own. And you, Severus, oh, how very much you've been given.
And he listened, leaning against her in the quiet darkness of his room, his plump cheek pressed to her worn cotton housedress, his dark eyes looking up at her in wonder as she spun her stories, her tales of the grand Princes. How they had moved among wizarding society, and the balls and the soirees and the power they wielded in the corridors of the Ministry.
They had been rich once, she told him, in a dreamy voice, and Prince House had been the envy of all with its grand portriats and marble halls and stained glass windows so different from these cold, grim corridors and tiny mud-streaked windows.
There were no portraits at Spinner's End.
Always remember you are a Prince, she would whisper, as she tucked him in at night and her lips brushed his pale forehead. My Prince, and she smiled down at him.
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It is conspicuous, then, that Hermione never has asked him the most obvious questions, the ones everyone asks, most particularly those who have no right to the answers. The closest she will come is sometimes, when he is feigning sleep, muttering her curiosity over why he has chosen her.
Severus will roll over then, his hair sweeping over her face, causing her to giggle. He will say, "You ask too many questions."
She will tell him, "You answer too few," but kiss him with no biting, wrap her fingers around his biceps and hold on as though she would plummet with no end should she loosen her grip even the tiniest bit.
He does not let her fall.
*Finally he has to ask her (and it occurs to him then that maybe, maybe this is what she planned all along--Gryffindors are far ( ... )
Reply
"Not a number, not exactly. Numbers are mathematical, the rune equivalent value means that it's, um, well, not a number. But yes, the arithmantic seven."
Which is what he's talking about, she always knows these things. She always gets what he is trying to say. "It has a symmetry that's unknown in any other value-"
"You were looking for absolute beauty."
"The things that lie beneath the concept."
She stops moving against him, above him, perfectly still even as she breathes. She says, "We could not offer you that either."
"No," he says, looking up at her and thinking, not thenShe does not ask what they could offer, she rocks into him and crests on her own ( ... )
Reply
And he listened, leaning against her in the quiet darkness of his room, his plump cheek pressed to her worn cotton housedress, his dark eyes looking up at her in wonder as she spun her stories, her tales of the grand Princes. How they had moved among wizarding society, and the balls and the soirees and the power they wielded in the corridors of the Ministry.
They had been rich once, she told him, in a dreamy voice, and Prince House had been the envy of all with its grand portriats and marble halls and stained glass windows so different from these cold, grim corridors and tiny mud-streaked windows.
There were no portraits at Spinner's End.
Always remember you are a Prince, she would whisper, as she tucked him in at night and her lips brushed his pale forehead. My Prince, and she smiled down at him.
And he believed her.
I am a ( ... )
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