Severus simply stared at her without moving. Hermione reached out and caught hold of his robes, dragging him towards herself until she could kiss him again. His lips met hers, and she pushed his robes off his shoulders, running her hands over his back and feeling their bodies pressed together.

His fingers caught in her hair, and his other hand cupped her breast firmly and then tugged at her nipple so that she moaned against his lips.

His entire body was rigid above hers, and she could feel quick shudders run through him as her hands brushed along his torso. She pulled him closer until there was no space between their bodies, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and entwining their legs until she felt as though he'd swallowed her.

His hand slid down her thigh, and he shifted up as his fingers brushed across the fabric of her knickers. Hermione whimpered, her breath catching sharply in her throat as her hips shifted up to meet his touch. His fingers trailed over her covered sex; she was wet and certain that he could already feel it through her knickers as he traced along the seam between her legs

A long, slender finger pressed against her covered core, and she gasped. He caught the side of her knickers and peeled it aside, exposing her, and she could feel the cool air of his room against her bare skin. His fingers slid through her wet folds and she jerked under him, gripping his shoulders as he pressed one finger slowly inside her.

She drew a slow, unsteady breath.

She'd devoted a shameful amount of time thinking about his hands, imagining them touching her, thinking about sucking them into her mouth and running her tongue along them as she watched his expression grow ravenous; she'd envisioned innumerous ways he might conceivably touch her.

Feeling him inside her made her feel so overwhelmed she felt as though she might have a heart attack as he added another finger, and her entire body tensed around him.

She heard his breath catch between his teeth.

She reached down and found the buttons on his trousers, unfastening them quickly and pushed them down his hips, and making similarly quick work of the buttons on his drawers.

Her fingers found him, and she wrapped them around his rigid length, sliding her hand down to the base before drawing her fist up. His hips bucked against her hand, and he groaned against her shoulders, a low rasping sound that seemed torn from him. It shot through her nerves like electricity.

His fingers inside her withdrew and closed firmly around her hand, stilling her.

She could feel the ribs in his chest pressing rapidly against hers as he knelt over her, his body held taut. His breathing gradually slowed and he pulled her hand away.

Hermione raised her hips and squirmed against him. He cursed under his breath as his hips jerked against her own.

"Patience," he said, his voice a growl near her ear. His forehead was resting against her shoulder.

Hermione lay cooperatively still, wondering just how long it had been since he'd had sex. Possibly a few years or more.

His hand curved around her hip, grasping it firmly and keeping her in place as he shifted himself between her legs. She stayed still. Her heart was pounding with anticipation and she was trying to ignore the sharp, growing pain in her arm.

She was being alive.

She wasn't thinking about dying.

She couldn't stop herself from glancing down at her arm. She froze when she caught sight of a splash of scarlet, vivid again the white bandages. She lifted her head to see better, her throat tightening. She was already bleeding through. What if Severus saw it and it killed the mood the way it had last time? She almost turned her arm down to try to hide it in the sheets, but then paused. If it kept bleeding, she might stain his bedding.

It was most certainly a breach of etiquette to get cursed blood on a man's sheets, even if the curse was non-transmittable.

She bit her lip and hesitated, uncertain about what she should do. Before she could decide, a careful prodding between her legs that made her mind go blank.

Her head dropped back onto the mattress as he pushed inside of her. She gave a humming moan as his hips rolled forward, and he sheathed himself to the hilt.

She lay with her eyes closed, breathing slowly and letting her mind lose itself within the moment.

Then she opened her eyes again, finding Severus' jaw and urging him to lift his head so that she could see his face.

His eyes were closed, and his lips were just barely moving, as though he were reciting something. She couldn't make out what it was. She kissed him slowly as she wrapped her legs around him and canted her hips up against his.

He moaned against her lips as he began to meet the movement. His hands slid under her shoulders, and he gathered her tightly against his chest.

Hermione had never imagined Snape as vocal in any of her fantasies. She generally envisioned him silent, taciturn, and controlling. Instead, he groaned softly against the juncture of her neck and shoulder with every thrust.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair and pressed kisses against his cheek.

Her body had begun to tense, heat coiling through her like golden cords of pleasure as he slid back and then pushed slowly into her again. His fingers gripped her a little more tightly each time.

This was good.

This was very good.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she just let herself just feel, running her fingers across his shoulders, trailing over the dips and rises. The contours where his shoulder blades ended and the dip of his spine. She traced up each of the vertebrae towards his neck.

He felt so human.

Lean muscles and fine bones. He was as fragile the rest of them, as though the layers, and buttons, and billowing robes were a kind of armour that he concealed himself behind.

Yet here he was, being human with Hermione, allowing her to see a version of himself somewhat less impervious to the world than he permitted most people to witness.

She ran her hands up his neck, careful near the scarring across his throat, and lifted his chin so she could see his face again.

His eyes were still shut, and he didn't open them when she brushed their faces together.

She kissed him fiercely, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He drove into her harder and deeper, and she gave a low deep moan against his lips. She felt his long, slender fingers twitch and tighten around her shoulders as she rolled her hips moving against him. Her body tensed, and she gave a shivering sigh as the tension ratcheted a little higher.

His whole body shuddered, and he groaned, his hips jerking a few more times before he collapsed onto her. His ribs pressed against her chest as he panted several times. Hermione ran fingers through his hair and dropped her head back onto the mattress, catching her breath.

Maybe they could stay there for a few minutes before she left.

A minute or two wouldn't be unreasonably intimate.

Severus was still for less than a second before pulling out and tearing himself away from her.

Hermione looked up, startled.

His sallow cheeks were stained red, and his black eyes, now open again, had that familiar viciousness lurking in them as he stared down at her.

Hermione's stomach had twisted into a sharp, recoiling knot before he even spoke.

"I knew this would happen. You should have let me see to you first." His voice was vibrating with rage.

Before she could respond, he'd stood. He snatched up his robes from the bed and pulled them on, buttoning rapidly.

Hermione inhaled and then released a slow breath as she felt the heat inside her rapidly disappear like water seeping underground.

"It's fine," she said. "It's fine. This was good."

He stared at her for less than a moment before sneering. "Don't lie to me."

She rose onto her elbows, without making any effort to cover up. "I'm not lying. I mean it. I'm not"—she rolled her eyes—" coddling your ego. I wasn't expecting to have my brains shagged out. Honestly," her shoulder twitched, "I don't think I'd be physically up for that tonight. This was good."

"Be quiet!" The order was rasped but still explosive and vibrating with rage.

She sighed. This conversation was considerably more disappointing than not orgasming.

A sense of cold resentment seethed in her chest. He couldn't even be bothered to look at her face while they had sex, but he was angry she hadn't managed to climax before he did?

She sat up and straightened her knickers before pushing her skirts down. "So, I'm guessing you won't want to do this again."

She caught her clothes up off the floor and slipped her bra on before standing, her shirt gripped in her hand. She inhaled angrily and stalked past him.

As her hand grasped the knob, her shoulder was abruptly pressed against the door.

"I didn't say you could leave," he growled in her ear.

She glared at him over her shoulder. "I'm not your student here! I don't need permission." She drove her elbow back towards his diaphragm as she twisted the doorknob.

He caught her elbow before she struck him. His fingertips gripped her bandaged arm almost bruisingly before quickly softening. He snatched his fingers back, and pressed the length of his hand against her arm, brushing gently along her forearm. His head rested against the back of hers.

She briefly considered ramming her head back and breaking his crooked nose out of sheer spite.

"Wait," he said. His tone was pleading. "Wait a moment."

He sounded raw and sincerely vulnerable.

She wavered, swallowing. Her hand on the doorknob trembled as she paused, trying to collect herself.

"I don't want to do this if you're going to punish me anytime things fail to meet your precise criteria," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady.

Then she wanted to laugh, because this was Severus Snape she'd wanted to sleep with. How else would he be?

His fingers curled around her arms, and she could feel his chest pressed against her back.

"I apologise," he said after several seconds. "I can do better."

She suspected he was referring to his performance and not his attitude—which missed the entire point. But—she wanted this. She wasn't even sure why.

Hermione exhaled, feeling suddenly drained; and turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. "Alright."

His hand slid around her waist, and he pressed himself closer, his hair brushing against her face. A shiver ran through her.

"Tomorrow," she said before he could do more. "Let's try again tomorrow."

His head drew back sharply, and she saw irritation flash across his face.

"I'm tired now, Severus," she said before he could speak.

His hands dropped to his sides, and he gave a short nod.

He didn't move or speak again as she turned and slipped out the door.

She paused for a moment after she'd pulled the door shut and stood staring across the room. She drew a deep breath and let it out, gripping her shirt more tightly in her fist.

She was tired all the way into her soul.

She felt drained as she journeyed past the sofa and kitchen to her room.

Her head was light and achingly hollow when she went to the bathroom to clean up, change her clothes, and dutifully brush her teeth.

She was exhausted to the point of nausea as she sat on the edge of her bed, changing the stained bandages wrapped around her arm, and measuring out doses of all the potions that had accumulated on her bedside table.

When she finally collapsed into her bed, she was too tired to sleep.

She lay in the darkness, replaying the evening again and again as she listened to the clatter of cauldron lids and the rapid tapping of a knife blade in the kitchen.

She couldn't decide—no matter how many times she replayed it—she couldn't decide whether she should regret what she was doing.

There was a skittish sense of anticipation in her stomach when she woke the next morning. What if it ended horribly again? What if it didn't?

What would happen then, either way?

She stayed in her room reviewing homework until she heard Snape—Severus—leave for breakfast. She went out and found all the potions she was supposed to take after the firecrab treatment neatly set on the worktop.

She carefully avoided looking at the Head Table during breakfast.

She always felt better the day after treatment. It was the closest to normal she ever managed.

A little less each time since the frequency had been adjusted, but still better than any other time.

The day seemed to pass with painful torpor.

The anticipation had fully transformed into acute anxiety by dinner time. She avoided the Great Hall and went to her room for a shower, and spent a long time rebandaging her arm with layers and layers of extra gauze.

When she heard the door of their quarters slam shut, her stomach flipped and plummeted as though she'd jumped off a cliff. She considered staying hidden in her bathroom. It was still early evening; she didn't want to seem like some desperate, dying tart who was going to throw herself at Snape every time he walked through the door.

They hadn't discussed a time. He might have work to do, essays to grade, or potions that needed his attention before he was available. She stood hesitating for several minutes before she remembered with relief that she had a stack of third-year essays she'd graded for him.

She went and gathered them up, gripping them defensively against her chest as she stood in the doorway.

He immediately looked up from the potion he was working on.

"I finished these essays," she said, walking towards him.

He nodded stiffly, his expression reserved.

Her stomach fluttered as she laid the scrolls on the counter. "Do you have any others?"

"No."

Hermione stood, feeling out of place. "Alright."

Her hands dropped to her sides, and she watched the flickering flame beneath the cauldron. "Let me know when you do then… Severus."

She started to turn but paused as the flame vanished. Severus stepped around the worktop, and before she could speak, his lips had captured hers, and he was kissing her greedily. His hand gripped her waist as he backed her rapidly across the floor to his room.

"Now?" she managed to say as the door swung open behind her.

"Yes," he said against her lips before he toppled her backwards onto his bed.

He knelt over her, hungrily. His palm pressed against her throat, his fingers curved along the underside of her jaw.

His lips were burning and bruising as he plundered her mouth. As though he were laying a claim on her.

He moved down her body, skipping her breasts and stomach as he pushed her skirt up past her hips. His hands pressed her legs apart.

The lack of ceremony and matter-of-factness was overt and startling.

This wasn't intimacy.

He was proving something to himself and, incidentally, to her. She lay staring up at the canopy over his bed as his fingers trailed up along her inner thighs and she felt his breath near the apex of her legs.

There was a growing sense of fluttering anticipation in her nerves.

His hands brushed up and down her thighs, and he pulled her socks off before running his fingers back up her legs to her hips, his hand pressing against the softness of her abdomen. She sucked her stomach in nervously. His fingers caught the band of her knickers, and he pulled them down her legs, leaving her stripped from the hips down.

Her arm throbbed as her heart rate increased. She caught her lip between her teeth and felt his mouth press a trail of light kisses against her leg. There was a quick flush of heat through her body; her toes curled. She was already on a nervous edge.

Then his fingers brushed near her core and she felt him spreading her, parting her folds, splaying her open.

Her entire face grew hot, the tips of her ears burning, and she tried not to imagine the critical expression likely on his face as he surveyed her, kneeling fully clothed between her legs.

This was not what she'd wanted.

It was not even remotely in the realm of what she'd wanted or fantasised about.

She felt as though their entire—relationship?—hung in the balance, dependent on whether he could make her climax. As though that were the entire point of it all. Conditional on her failing body performing and responding for him in a certain way and on command.

She should have known better than to think having a short-term sexual relationship would somehow make the process of dying easier.

She bit her lip as a despairing realisation struck her.

She didn't want sex, not really. She just wanted something that made her feel as though her life occasionally had a point to it as it rapidly spiraled down towards its conclusion.

Why she'd settled on the idea that an affair with Snape would be ideal, she couldn't explain even to herself.

Probably because Snape wasn't even remotely romantic. He was bored and safely emotionally unavailable to her. To anyone.

It would never be anything but sexual.

Hermione already knew that it was impossible to compete with the dead.

This, however, was a mistake. Severus Snape was going not give her what she actually wanted. He had his own agenda.

There was another toe-curling sensation as she felt his lips on the curve of her mons and he pressed her legs even further apart.

She tensed and started to pull her legs together, about to sit up. He stilled her instantly as the heat of his mouth closed over her sex.

Her hips bucked reactively as she felt the tip of his tongue slide along the slit between her legs and curl against her centre. His hands slid under her legs and up around her hips to pin her firmly in place.

She felt as though she'd been struck by a lightning bolt. Or perhaps a freight train. She was bowled over so forcibly her mind went blank. Her body tensed, and her spine arched upwards as he licked, sucked and laved against her delicate, sensitive flesh with that dangerous tongue of his.

With almost terrifying alacrity, he dragged her up through a haze of blistering sensation. Teasing her, nipping at her. His face was buried between her legs, his nose pressing against the bundle of nerves as his tongue delved into her core as though he were consuming her. Then he moved back up, sucking and nibbling and swirling his tongue in impossible-seeming ways as his fingers slid into her core, pressing up against her pelvis as she climaxed with a shuddering scream.

When she managed to become aware of anything else, she found the weight of his body pressed against hers, and his mouth covered her lips as she lay panting. She could taste herself on his tongue. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest, as though it was bruising itself on her ribs. His hands trailed languorously along her body. She could practically taste his satisfaction. Her shirt pushed up as his mouth journeyed to her throat, and she felt his teeth catch her shoulder, and he sucked hard.

She moaned beneath him, and he insinuated himself between her legs. She could feel the fabric of his robes pressing against her slick sex. He pulled her shirt and bra off over her head. She felt so overwhelmed she wasn't sure whether she was enjoying what was happening or merely swept away by it.

His hands curled around her breasts, gripping them as he kissed further down her body and then pulled a nipple into the mesmerising warmth of his mouth, his tongue flicking against it until she was writhing under him.

She tried to find the buttons of his robes and when her fingers refused to perform the delicate task of unfastening them, she just pulled, trying to tear them open.

"Take off your clothes," she finally said, her voice thick with frustration, when the buttons refused to give away. "Take off your clothes."

He lifted his head and stared blankly at her.

"I want to touch you," she said forcefully. "You got me off, now let me touch you."

He sat up, staring at her with an unreadable expression as his hand rose up and he began unfastening the series of small buttons running down his robes. Hermione lay watching while she tried to catch her breath. When he began on his waistcoat, she sat up and began unbuttoning the shirt beneath it, following his fingers. She pressed herself closer to him and brushed her lips against his throat, feeling the raised scars under her lips as she pushed his clothing down off his shoulders.

He tensed, and his fingers paused as her hand trailed down his chest. He was very thin. He was also scarred. She hadn't noticed the scars on him the night before.

He shifted away from her touch and seemed to be staring intently at an empty corner of his room as he finished unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Hermione climbed into his lap, pressing closer until their skin was touching. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. There was a long pause before she felt his shoulders shift as his hands rose up, and his hands splayed across her bare back.

She lifted her head and kissed him. Her hands slid along his shoulders and over his chest, and she felt him shudder under her hands, his hands curling against her spine and gripping her.

She drew back, studying his face. "Doesn't anyone touch you?"

He stared at her with his black eyes and they glittered disdainfully. "No. No one has ever wanted to touch me."

Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."

His lip curled as he began to reply, but she cut him off with her lips. She kissed him until her head began to spin. He gathered her crushingly close and pressed her down onto the bed.

She ran one hand down his torso and tangled her other hand in his hair, as their mouths played against one another.

She relished the way he reacted to her. The way he'd tense, as though overwhelmed by the sensation of her touch, and then give into it with a low moan. She'd never considered Snape to be a possessive person, but he held her in his arms greedily, her entire body wrapped in his embrace.

He pushed inside her slowly, a quiet groan shuddering through him as he filled her. His eyes were closed; his forehead pressed against hers as their hips shifted and met. She whimpered under him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and arching her back.

He moved slowly, running his long fingers along her body. Touching her until she was nearly shaking beneath him, her heart racing so quickly that her arm developed a burning throb. Reality reasserted itself as sharp as the blade of a knife.

She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him, rolling her hips more rapidly, but he was intent on what he wanted. His hips stilled, and his hand slithered down between their bodies, his fingers stroking lightly along her mons before pressing against her in a way that made her buck sharply against his hand. Her chest was growing tight, and her breathing kept getting shorter and shorter.

The pain in her arm was beginning to stab.

She hadn't realised how tiring sex was.

She didn't remember it feeling tiring.

Then again, she didn't remember breaking sopophorous beans or climbing staircases being tiring either until she realised she could barely manage them.

She swallowed and started to ask him to stop. Before she could, his fingertips swirled around her over-sensitive centre, and she toppled helplessly into another climax with a ragged gasp.

She lay limp in a spasming pleasurable daze as he grunted low in his throat and began moving again, harder, longer thrusts that pushed her body up the bed as he gripped her zealously in his arms and came with a deep groan.

He immediately pulled out. Hermione's eyes snapped open, tensing and bracing herself as she studied his expression. He didn't look embarrassed or enraged this time. Smug. He dropped onto the bed beside her, and she could hear him panting.

She slumped back with relief.

His hand rested on her hip for a moment before withdrawing.

It was a cue to go.

She'd passed. Now she was dismissed.

She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily.

Assuming they repeated this again, she needed to ask to switch to her room. There was a low strained sensation under her ribs, and even breathing felt difficult at the moment.

The path to her bed felt unbelievably long as she lay thinking it.

She rolled onto her side but paused, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. If she stood too quickly when her heart was racing, she'd get dizzy and sometimes her vision would get spotty to the point that she couldn't see. She glanced down at her arm and noted with relief that she hadn't bled through the bandages.

Her eyes started to drift closed and she forced them open. She couldn't fall asleep in Snape's bed.

She didn't even want to contemplate how awful it would be to have him actually throw her out of his room. She didn't think she has the emotional resilience to recover if he did that.

She was freezing cold anyway. She could feel goosebumps breaking out almost painfully down her back and along her arms and legs. She shivered and braced herself to sit up.

A warm hand ran down her arm, and a blanket dropped over her. Then she felt a warm chest against her back and Severus wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

She had just enough energy to register her astonishment, turning her head to look back, trying to see his face and read his intent. His eyes were closed, his arm tightened around her shoulders.

She sank back against his chest.

It stayed in their rooms. That was his only rule.

She woke, half-dazed, in the middle of the night and found him gone. The sound of clattering and bubbling potions was audible from the kitchen. She was too tired to find her clothes. She drifted off again.

She woke when he returned to bed, his arms wrapping firmly around her once more.

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