Warning: This Chapter is NSFW

She wasn't certain she'd ever tire of the feeling of him between her thighs. And she didn't know what about that statement frightened her more; the fact that the truth wasn't as alarming as it should have been, or the fact that she had never felt that way about her ex-husband over the course of their nine year marriage.

"Severus." His name crested off her tongue, mingling with quiet sighs of pleasure that filled her airy quarters, the gentle noises of pleasure reaching the exposed beams that bisected the ceiling. The soft predawn rays had already begun to illuminate her chamber and the wide windows painted pictures of the purple sky that bloomed to life beyond the glass.

He always woke before her when he stayed the night in her room, typically slipping out before she could so much as blink the sleep from her eyes, but today was different.

Today he stayed.

Today his hands roved over her body, long wicked fingers dipping over her curves on their mission to part her legs. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her back as he molded himself around her and slowly lifted her leg over his hip. Before she could even fight through the twilight haze that fogged her mind, he was inside her, filling her, completing parts of her that she was unaware had missing pieces.

He took his time, the rhythm slow, like stone masons laying a foundation. Brick by brick, he brought forth a new wave of bliss. Slow, sleepy morning sex. It had never occured between them before, something she never thought entirely possible, but now that he'd given her just a taste of this delirium inducing nirvana, she wasn't certain she could ever give this up.

No, if it were up to her, they'd do this every morning after a late-night visit.

Hermione's arm lifted from the thick mass of comforter that was now bunched beside her, and she curled it around his neck, fingers sliding through his sleep mussed locks, nails scraping lightly as she directed his wandering lips across the sensitive skin on her shoulder until his lips met that small patch of skin that made her toes curl.

"T-There."

His teeth and tongue lavished attention on the spot, nibbling, licking, nipping at the junction between her shoulder and neck until she could feel the skin bruise and swell under his lips, marking her as his. She'd bore evidence of their encounters before: halfmoon indents across her hips from his nails, love bites dotted on the swells of her breasts, and bruises over her arse from the snap of his hips. But this would be the first time the marks would venture above the collar and for some inexplicable reason, the idea sent a thrill down her spine.

This wasn't supposed to cause her stomach to swoop. His touch wasn't supposed to elicit such a confusing myriad of emotions, but as he drove into her with that languid pace he'd fallen into this morning, her heart couldn't help but sing.

His fingers moved up her inner thigh from where he'd held her knee, tickling the soft skin on its journey to where their bodies joined. She practically keened when she felt two fingers slide through her labia, coating the pads of his fingers in her essence before he found her clit.

His tempo didn't change, no, but as his fingers began to press against the bud, swirling and flicking across the most sensitive part of her body, he ground into her with each thrust of his hips.

Hermione's soft whimpers and moans transformed into breathy pleas. The tension he built within her was exquisite, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She could feel it consume her, starting at the very tips of her toes and ending at the bottom of each curl, she felt the pressure build and build and build. He controlled her body like he was its conductor, fingers flexing against her cunt as her mind fell into a space where only his name could be gasped into the bedding.

She felt it first in the very centre of her stomach, that decadent snap that sent shockwaves down every limb until she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath his fingers. Her world faded behind tightly shut eyes and her fingers curled, scrabbling to hold on as the drudging wave of her orgasm consumed her. Despite the raw cries that ripped from her throat, he didn't stop.

Severus redoubled his efforts as if the sound and feeling of her completion were fuel for his own desire. With his arm curling around her middle, he rolled onto his back, guiding her body to lay atop his and he parted her thighs until her legs hung on either side of his own.

She felt lewd, stretched to open on top of him, but the thought was simply a passing blip through the frenzy of pleasure that penetrated every fibre of her being.

Over and over, he drove himself deeply within her, his soft grunts and growls tickling the damp hair beside her ear as his hands curled around her thighs, holding her steady. Each time he pressed inside her and his cock slammed against her womb, her breath fled her lungs, each one of his labored breaths caressing her skin like silk. Her world felt upside down.

Her hands rose, arms bent at the elbow as she curled her fingers into the pillow beside his head, the primal noises he'd ripped from her body reaching new levels as she felt a fast rising need to find her end a second time.

She couldn't.

She wasn't sure if her body would be willing to meet something so divine in such quick succession.

But despite her self doubt, it was evident that Severus knew her body better than she did, because just as she thought she'd wrangled her runaway libido, she was falling once more. No screams nor cries accompanied this climax. No primal noises filled the vaulted ceiling of her quarters.

She could only gasp, mouth parted in silent prayer as she rode the wave of bliss for a second time.

Beneath her Severus's thrusts grew erratic, changing from the steady pace she could have set her watch to into a frenzy of motion, and soon she felt his cock swell and twitch with his own climax. Thick ropes of come filled her, spilling out of her body, trickling across his pelvis as he snarled her name—her given name—into the void.

She should have found it odd.

She should have found it alarming.

But the sound of her name, her given name in that sultry deep baritone did something peculiar to her. Her stomach swooped, her heart fluttered, and more-over, her mind began to think of the possibilities that maybe he wasn't so bad.

Despite his quick temper and near constant foul moods. Despite the fact he drove her absolutely mad, there were hints of something beyond annoyance that he stirred within her.

He discussed Magic theory as others might Quidditch, with conviction and passion so deeply ingrained into the fibre of who he was. While he might roll his eyes and huff when she disrupted his reading or revising to ask him a question, he never turned her away. He didn't shun her for her curiosity.

These feelings, no matter how perplexing, were ones she could never birth.

There was no way they could ever come to light.

It wasn't the age difference, though nineteen years was a bit much. It was rather that they were two distinctly different people. Hermione was light, seeing the best in people, finding hope in even the worst of times, and Severus the dark, focusing on all the wrong in any situation and always assuming the worst.

No, they could simply never work.

Ever.

His hands were gentle as he rolled her onto the mattress, his softening cock slipping from her body and smearing a trail of their combined essence across her thighs. He pulled the thin sheet that had tangled around their feet over their bodies, draping it over her middle before he settled back into the warm space on what had become his side of the bed over the past eight months.

He didn't utter a word, nor provide an explanation for this early morning romp. Though, to be fair, she didn't ask either.

Instead, Hermione curled her arms under the pillow, nuzzling into the downy cotton, and she allowed the sleepy, post-orgasmic bliss to help her drift off. By the time his hand found her back, long lean fingers painting her skin with invisible ancient runes, she'd long lost herself to slumber.

Early December passed much quicker than she'd anticipated and worse, she had barely finished her lessons on defensive spells for jinxes when she'd caught the plague that seemed to be going around the school faster than most rumours.

She wasn't one to miss work. She'd prided herself on never using a single sick day while at the Ministry, but it seemed the ailments her students passed around were simply too much for her thirty year old body to bear.

Thus, she had to take the Thursday and now, the Friday before the winter holidays off.

Minerva graciously covered her lessons, saying she missed being in front of a classroom and didn't mind a small break in her Headmistress duties.

With her lesson plans in safe hands, Hermione had spent the last two days burrowed into the safety of her thick down comforter, nursing what was turning out to be the worst case of Doxy Cold she'd ever contracted.

Her nose felt like a tap she was unable to turn off, her joints ached, and the castle's drafty chill she could normally keep at bay with a cozy fire seemed to rip through her clothing despite the thick layers.

With no end in sight, she'd come to terms with the fact that she was going to spend the holidays alone, likely holed up in her room with a steaming cuppa and some cold leftovers from the kitchens.

That was, until, a knock at her door pulled her up from the cold fog she'd drifted into on her couch while staring at the bright flames in her fireplace.

Untangling her limbs from the plush throw, she moved towards her door with a profound confusion. It was nearly dinner time, which meant classes were long over. She wasn't a head of house, so there should be no students needing her assistance. And surely Minerva would have left her report on her desk as opposed to hand walking it down to her.

Her fingertips pressed over the lock, and she scratched out a soft "Alohamora." Her wandless magic slid the lock free and she pulled open the door to reveal the one person she was absolutely not expecting.

Severus Snape stood at her doorway, as he had countless times before, black hair framing his angular features, dark eyes providing no hint as to his purpose. Her brow furrowed, hand curling around the side of the door as she pulled it wider. "Uh… Hello."

"Good evening." His chin dipped every so slightly, and she could feel his eyes roam down her body in silent assessment. She wore a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms that were adorned with ginger cats in Santa hats—a whimsical gift from Ginny and Harry last year—a long sleeved thermal that had seen much better days, and mismatched knit socks rolled thickly around her ankles. She was a wreck of sorts, she was well aware of that, but she was sick! Surely his stern judgement could take a break on days like today.

"I'm sick." Her arms curled around her middle, fingers tugging on the creeping hemline of her top and she forced a weak smile on her lips. "Sorry, now probably isn't the time for… for a visit."

A visit.

Yes, that's the proper term for what they did, right? Surely making love was out of the realm of possibility, and shagging felt so bloody juvenile. No, visiting was right.

"I am well aware of the state of your health, Ms Granger." Severus strode into her quarters without invitation, paying no heed to the momentary panic that flashed in her eyes at his sudden intrusion. It wasn't until she'd shut her door and turned to face him that she'd noticed a small black tote clutched in his hand. "Students were all too happy to complain about the Headmistress' presence in your classroom for the past two days. Even if I wanted to pretend to be blissfully unaware, the rather boisterous complaints would have not allowed me to feign ignorance."

He moved around her couch and sent the medium sized bag down with a grace that seemed so much a part of who he was. Severus Snape never did anything without conviction. Each step he took and every flick of his wrist was purposefully artful—deliberate.

"Uh… I'm sorry?"

He waved off her apology with a quick roll of his hand, not even bothering to lift his eyes from his current task of unloading the tote at her approach. "Uncouth adolescent minds are hardly your fault. Though, if I am not mistaken, you were once a member of their hearty ranks not too long ago." His arm disappeared into the bag up to his elbow, and with that same exact precision that he did everything else with, he withdrew a plastic container of what appeared to be… soup.

Hermione's feet stilled and her mind blanked as she watched him set it down on her coffee table before laying a cloth napkin and metal spoon beside it. Her lips parted, unspoken words poised on the tip of her tongue ready to hurl across the room. What on earth was he doing?

In all these months teaching beside one another she had never witnessed Severus Snape do something so… so… nice. He yelled at first years for dawdling in the halls for Merlin's sake, and now here he was bringing her soup because she was sick?

She debated pinching herself to make sure this wasn't a dream, because there was no way this was actually happening. Unless…

"Severus?"

He glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. "Yes?"

Her socked feet slid across the floor, hands twisting the hem of her shirt, rolling it between her index finger and thumb as she made her slow approach. "I don't mean to sound unkind… but what the bloody hell are you doing?"

Severus brow twitched, tension tugging the muscles of his face and she could see his jaw work. "I know you're feeling ill, but surely your sight didn't disappear with your fever, did it?" Turning his palm towards the ceiling, he gave a slow sweep towards the container of soup he'd set out. "This is very clearly soup."

"Yes. I can see that, I was simply inquiring as to why you've brought me soup."

"Because you're ill." He spoke the three words as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as opposed to being entirely out of character. He shook his ebony locks back with a quick shake of his head, dark eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "I'd have assumed you astute enough to decipher even the most obvious social norms, but clearly we must work on your observation skills."

"Wh—Merlin you're such a cock sometimes." The insult slipped passed her internal filter as she pinched the bridge of her nose, sucking in a deep breath to calm the rising wave of indignation that was threatening to swallow her whole. "I meant why, Severus. As in why did you bring me soup, and if you tell me because I'm ill again I will ask you to leave my rooms before you can so much as finish that damn sentence."

"While my etiquette in this realm is a bit lacking, I was under the impression that caring for one's partner is what people do in relationships."

Partner?

Relationships?

Her entire body froze, fingers still pinching her nose as his words reverberated in her mind, as if he'd shouted them into a cavern as opposed to snapping them at her across her tiny living space. Partner? Relationship?! What on earth was he talking about? They were just—how could he assume that—but this… this made no sense! They'd never so much as discussed their day, let alone did… date things.

No, they'd patrol the castle together, reprimand children, and then shag like rabbits once the students had all been tucked safely away in bed. Sure, they read books beside one another, and sometimes shared a pot of tea, but that wasn't a relationship, was it?

No, no, there was no bloody way.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Dropping her hand, she blinked up at him, a bubble of laughter churning in the pit of her stomach, threatening to break free, because there was no bloody way he'd assumed they were actually… dating. Was there?

"Look, this whole game is getting rather tiresome, so this is the last time I will repeat myself. You have fallen ill. I have brought you soup from the kitchens to help your ailment. I've also brought biscuits, and a blend of herbal tea that I take when I fall ill. I did this because I was under the impression this is what witches want from their partners, but if you'd much prefer to convalesce on your own, I can excuse myself from your chambers and return to my own to spend a quiet evening by myself. Though, if I can speak plainly, I would much prefer your company as long as you refrain from asking such daft questions."

"You keep using that word—partner and I'm not understanding its definition." Her brow furrowed, lips tugging downward. "Severus, we're—we're not dating."

He looked taken aback for half a second, real emotion flashing across his face before disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. Had she blinked, she might have missed it. "Don't be stupid, of course we are."

"What are you talking about? How on earth could you classify what we've been doing as dating?" Her soup was likely going to cool, and after noshing on nothing but stale scones and warm tea all day, the idea of something of substance in her stomach sounded heavenly, but she couldn't so much as think about sitting and enjoying it—not when it was so clear they needed to discuss the complexity that appeared to be their differing opinions on what had unfolded over the past eight months. "You've literally never taken me anywhere, all we do is shag."

"Incorrect, but given your state I'll allow the error." His fingers began to work open the buttons on his frock, pushing the tiny black disks free in quick succession before he shrugged from the overcoat. "We read together. We have revised on occasion. And I do believe we went to Hogsmeade together last month."

"We were chaperones! I would hardly call drinking Butterbeer while making sure students kept their clothing on a date, Severus."

He settled on her couch, tucking himself against the end so he could drape his body against the arm of the couch. With his elbow planted, his thumb curled under his chin, long fingers nearly reaching his temple as he looked at her as if this conversation were not only rather boring, but a complete waste of his time. It was an expression she'd seen numerous times over, but rather than shrug off his annoyance as she might have previously, she wanted to reach across the room and strangle him.

"Why does your generation feel the need to showcase their relationships in front of everyone?" His lips twitched, threatening to curl into that familiar sneer. "I assumed you outgrew those frivolous wants, but evidently I misread your maturity. I will make note you require a public courting. Though do not expect roses, or fancy dinners. I find most restaurants inadequate and rather hate large crowds."

Was he serious?

Did he really assume them to be dating?

How could he come to that conclusion? Why her? Moreover, why did the idea of them being together not sound so bloody terrible.

Instead of dread or fear that should have snapped through her body like a live wire at the mere thought, she felt… oddly at ease with the prospect. Disbelief still muddled her consciousness, a very present confusion about how this all came to be never far from the forefront of her mind. Severus was almost twenty years her senior, and while by wizarding standards it would hardly cause a stir, the age difference made him only ten years shy of her parents. While they were understanding and trusted her, she knew this pill would be hard one for them to swallow.

Especially since they were still quite friendly with her ex, which was a rather large thorn in her side.

"I'm not looking to be courted, but—" Gods, this felt foolish, but she had to say something, right? To try and find some clarity to this grave miscommunication between them. Moving from the spot her feet had settled in, she claimed the middle spot on her couch, angling her body to her knees nearly touched his, hands folded between her thighs. "I am not—I don't understand when this… became more for you."

"June 8th."

"What?"

"June 8th." He repeated the date as if everything would suddenly click, but nothing stood out. It was around the end of term, she was likely still going over lesson plans, and assisting Minerva with OWLs. Sensing her disconnect, he let loose a perturbed sigh, and shifted back on her couch so he could cross his legs. "That was when I invited you to my chambers."

"Oh…"

"July 13th you accepted my offer of leaving a toothbrush in my washroom."

"Yes but there is hardly anything finite about that. Oral hygiene is important."

"August 2nd we revised together in your rooms prior to my staying the night."

"Severus, surely—"

"September 19th I asked for your assistance in reviewing my work." He pressed his fingers to his temples, eyelids fluttering closed as another long drawn out breath was taken. "For someone who bears the moniker of the Brightest Witch, I would have assumed you understood those meaningless things were far from that for me." His eyes opened, hand sliding from the side his face and he curled his fingers around the arm of her couch. "I am not a pleasant man, Hermione. I will never claim to be such, and I'd assumed that by accepting those olive branches, you understood my intention. Am I to understand you don't feel the same?"

"No!" The answer slipped from her mouth before she could even comprehend its meaning, and she blinked in surprise by the urgency that penetrated her tone. "No…? I mean… I guess I hadn't given it much thought."

"Obviously." Once upon a time that word spoken in the same tone would have left her near tears, but now it only sent a shiver down her spine, prickling the most hidden parts of her desire despite her sickly state. "we can discuss the dynamics of our relationship after you've eaten a proper meal. I hardly think this topic is worth the amount of attention until you're feeling well."

She nodded thickly, head turning to look at the container of steaming soup that he'd brought. It seemed so clear now in hindsight. Those little tokens of intimacy he'd offered her was not him being nice. They were him letting down his guard, allowing her in.

A toothbrush beside his wasn't inconsequential.

Allowing her access to his private library was as personal as allowing someone into his heart.

And as she scooted to the edge of the couch, knees knocking against her coffee table as she removed the plastic lid from the soup, she couldn't stop a riot of butterflies that rose from the cocoons within her stomach.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt the giddy tickle of new romance. Certainly long before her marriage.

Dipping her spoon in the broth, she lifted it to her lips, blowing gently on the curl of steam before taking a drink. "This is really good." Wasting no time, she took another spoonful, letting the burst of chicken, dill, and lemon dance across her tongue. "Is it a special request? I don't think I've ever had this version of the kitchen's chicken noodle before."

"That's because it didn't come from the kitchens." He leaned forward and slipped his hand into the black tote and withdrew two books–the very same two books that had sat on his nightstand four days prior when she'd stayed in his quarters. "I made it myself."

Her spoon hovered in the air, droplets of the divine broth splashing across her pajama covered knees as she craned her neck to look at him, watching as he settled back onto the couch, opening his book as if he had not just told her something so utterly astounding.

He made her soup.

He made her soup.

She didn't know what to say. How could she? She'd only just found out that they were evidently dating, and that the idea didn't utterly repulse her. He laid his book in his lap, long lean fingers holding the page open, and she couldn't deny it almost looked as if he belonged there, surrounded by her things. His dark presence didn't feel out of place, but rather was an almost comforting figure amongst her most treasured objects.

Setting the spoon down in her bowl, she brushed her fingers against the napkin to pull any residual moisture away before she scooted across the couch, crawling up onto the seat as she drew near him and her hands found his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" He jumped beneath her, not expecting her sudden presence. She felt the press of his hand at her side, long fingers curling around her waist as she leaned in to press a chaste kiss at his cheek, ignoring the bewildered look that darkened his eyes.

"Thank you." Her hand replaced her lips on his cheek, her thumb sliding across the sharp definition of his jaw, eyes holding his as her lips curled in the smallest hint of a smile.

Maybe dating Severus Snape wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe this was actually going to amount to something beyond mind blowing sex.

And when she felt his fingers flex at her side, she didn't have to wonder if he felt the same.

Author's Note:

That's all she wrote, folks. I hope you enjoyed my little dip into the Sevmione waters, and I do pray that I did our favorite potion's professor justice. 3

Thanks to Disenchantedglow & LumosLyra for being the crack whip team to get this out to you all as quickly as they did. I would be nothing without their support.

As always, you can find me on tumblr msmerlin-black, or on facebook msmerlin eff. Find me. Friend me. Follow me.

Until next time. xx