A/N: This is the final and absolute ending chapter of SYI.
Hermione watched from the door as he laughed. It disturbed her, surely, but she wasn't going to let him know that. It had taken every last ounce of Godric Gryffindor's bestowed bravery to do what she'd done so far and she was not going to let the opportunity go to waste.
"Glad to see you're awake."
He relaxed into the bed and rolled his head to meet her eyes. His nothing eyes did their best dementor imitation and tried to suck at her soul but she knew her own little "Ridikulus" charm on this nasty boggart.
"I took the liberty of warding the room, so any noise we make will just bounce back at us." She smiled the cold, dark smile she'd grown in the past few hours ever since she realized that whether she liked it or not, she'd never want to be rid of this man. "I didn't think you'd mind."
His eyes narrowed, clearly conveying he knew perfectly well both the basic reason of why she did it and that he'd not had much—she smirked—say in the matter.
Satisfied, she stalked over in her heels, loving the intimidating sound of them on the stone floor and watched him every step of the way. She reached the bed, hitched up her skirts so she could crawl up beside him and worked her way around to straddle him.
From the looks of things on her way over and the feel of things beneath her now, she wasn't entirely unwelcome. Not. At. All.
She lifted herself delicately and shifted her hips just a tad so she could center the very hottest and wettest part of her nether-lips directly on the middle of his upwardly-pointing cock.
His eyes closed, his nostrils took in great amount of air and his cheeks sucked in around her panty-gag. It felt fantastically satisfying to see him at her mercy like this, but…she shook her head.
Where to start?
It was extremely tempting just to see if she could ride him—first, she'd never been allowed the upper hand with him and second, it would allow her to watch but not touch and knowing he was denied the same was somehow sadistically empowering.
He watched her, his breathing starting to hitch. With a curl of her hips, she lifted herself and, using only her hips and his ever-hardening erection, maneuvered herself onto him. After making sure she was good and centered over the tip of him, she plunged home, keeping tight hold of her skirts at her thighs.
They both shuddered and groaned, though she couldn't tell which of them was louder.
Two weeks. Two bloody weeks without this. They'd gone longer but somehow knowing she couldn't have it made her want it all the more. She let her inner muscles shift over him, growing accustomed to him at this new angle and smacked him on the face when he pushed up into her.
"My turn. You hold still."
"I can make this easy for both of us and use your little rape potion. I found it while you were knocked out."
She made sure the threat carried through to her eyes and looked menacingly over to the side table, indicating the small atomizer there. There was no bluffing with this man. You either did it or you never said you would. He dropped his hips and the friction nearly drove her off the edge.
She caressed the cheek she'd offended and murmured, "Good boy."
Lord, but his nostrils got huge when he was angry! She had an urge to lean forward and lick at the tip of his nose again but this first fuck was supposed to be for her. No touching for other than correction.
She straightened back up and let herself push down as far on him as she could go, stopped to let herself become accustomed to him again, then pushed farther. He glared quiet anger at her the entire time.
It was amazing how full he made her feel. She ground her hips forward, kind of a pelvic thrust like he used but with more of a tilt. Those angry eyes closed and she saw his uneven teeth bared a bit under his gag-parted lips. Delicious.
She did it again. He made a sound, somewhere between a call and a grunt. Her breathing sped up and she smiled, found a rhythm and ground her clitoris into the new rocking position as well.
Fairly soon, she was clawing at his chest, leaving red marks from his shoulders to just above his nipples and properly riding him with all her might. Every time she tightened her inner thighs to lift, it squeezed her that much closer to coming and every time she shuddered down onto him, he howled from behind his panty-gag louder and louder until finally…
He shot up into her so hot and so fierce she just couldn't help but come right along with him. She rode her way down, milking him, letting her body take it all in, spasming shocks pulsing down along her spine and legs forcing her to finally give up all separation and lay down over him to rest.
He'd been lulled into a torpor by her warmth and susurrations and even found himself to be enjoying her little movements against him when she finally came around. What jarred him fully aware was when she moved her hands to his head and started pulling the gag out. His long hair pulled and yanked at the ears and straggled forward as she drew the silk off, cutting off his vision but he was fairly certain she just tossed the sodden silk over her shoulder from the wet slap against stone. She brushed his hair partially out of his face, bracketed it between her hands and devoured his exhausted mouth with a kiss so deep and breath-stealing, he wondered if she was going to stop or kill him right there.
He almost didn't care.
He'd just had the most disturbing, maddening, superb fuck ever and he could probably die happy right here. Fuck any causes he was tied to, the pleasure his body had just received was the end-all, be-all of everything right now.
Merlin, he hoped she wouldn't turn to espionage, or they'd have him in a trice.
She licked his spit from his face, teethed the end of his nose and writhed against him, still clad in her dress, that scratchy dress that had looked so disgustingly gorgeous on her tonight.
"Take it off."
Her eyes hardened. "Shut up."
"Take your dress off, I want to see you."
"This isn't about you, now, is it? This is for me."
He didn't have to be a bastard. There were times when persuasion worked for him as well, "Then think about how our skin will feel together. Think about how good it will feel to you as you take your pleasure again. Remember it, love."
She'd nearly looked compliant, but snapped her head up at the end, "Shut UP!"
Where was this going? She made no sense whatsoever! "Or what? You'll dose me? I'm inured to it, nitwit, why else would I use it in such close proximity?"
Her lip curled and she sat back, "Ah, but only through inhalation method, am I right? I could make you drink it."
"Not unless you can find a way to pry my mouth open."
She actually seemed to think about that, the brat. "Well, there are shunts for that but there are better ways."
"What?" No, surely…
She reached for the bottle, unscrewed the sprayer and brought the bottle close to her lips, "Bottoms up! I'll kiss you next and we'll both have a good time."
She waited, thank whatever gods were watching him panic. "That is extremely dangerous and you know it."
She moved it a fraction closer to her mouth and he whispered the spell to send him rocketing into her mind. She gasped and dropped the potion onto the bed. It spilled and rolled to the floor, but he didn't care, he just kept driving himself into her mind, trying to make sense of the surface clutter of thoughts flying around her head.
Untie me. He pled, demanded. There was enough scent in the air to make her comply but he worried it was also enough to just knock her out.
She blinked instead of closing her eyes. Great Merlin, she was still awake! He pushed through, looking for whatever reason there may be for her to stay awake through any of the doses he'd ever given her, finding nothing but snatches of memory between them.
Her emotion ran so deeply entwined with each memory, it was like being thrown over a waterfall and being beaten down with it before being thrust downstream and over the next waterfall and the next and the next.
He'd never seen anything this intense…
Dear gods, she was in love with him.
He was drowning in her mind, so quickly swept from one maelstrom of passion to another of anger and then another of pent up lust that he'd not noticed her weeping on him, untying him.
Get out of my mind! She thrust him out with a hard mental shove and he landed, proverbially speaking, back on the bed, at such a loss for words that he just laid there as she finished untying his feet.
She sat at the foot of the bed, trembling, still crying but not looking at him.
This creature…this woman-child…she loved him.
No wonder he'd thought her stark-raving mad.
He slowly sat up in the bed, trying not to let her know he was moving until he was close enough to take hold of her if she tried to run. He still didn't know if that was what he wanted, but how could he not try to grab onto something like this? Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to have her love without knowing if he could give her anything back…but he was known to be a bastard anyway.
The war was still an unknown thing of the future and he'd probably die during the course of it, regardless. He might as well take what he could get.
He reached quietly forward and carefully started unzipping her dress.
She stiffened, sniffled, wiped her face and rounded on him, "What more do you want? You already know everything! Why aren't you kicking me like the lovesick puppy I am?"
Her anger…stopped him, but was justified. He honestly didn't know how to proceed. Severus Snape was in…uncharted waters at this moment.
They just stared at each other. He, slightly open-mouthed and apprehensive; she, indignant and trembling with emotion.
They sat that way for several moments, but Hermione had the courage to break it first. With a sneer and a huff, she started to slide off the bed, but he grabbed her wrist. "Let go of me!"
He jerked her back towards, him, making her land across his lap, "I don't think I will."
"I deserve better than this!"
"Undoubtedly." That shut her up and stopped her yanking with her scratching dress against his sensitive bits, "But what do you want?"
Her mouth snapped shut on gritted teeth and she narrowed her eyes to slits, "You bastard!"
He nearly smiled at that, "Ah, but was that a declarative sentence or an accusatory one?"
She didn't speak, just snarled. He scoffed. Maintaining his hold on her wrist, he pulled her up his body and wrapped his other hand around hers to the zipper at her back to finish what he'd started.
Finally, some upper ground. She fought him with her free hand and he brought it up to meet her other, crossing them in his larger grip. He bodily moved her up the bed and used one of the ties she'd used on him to bind her wrists together and sat back to view his handiwork.
She sneered at him, "What good is an unzipped dress when you've tied me up like this, Professor?"
He slid his palms down his thighs and leaned in over her, one side of his mouth curled up in a dark smirk. "That depends on how I wish to remove the dress, my dear."
He was rather delighted by the shiver that ran the length of her body.
Reaching across her, he opened the nightstand drawer and breached the safety mechanism for the set of throwing knives he kept there and withdrew the smallest, a three-inch Damascus blade that was actually rather decorative with its swirled and ghosted patterns folded along the shaft of the metal.
"What—what are you—?"
He put the blade against the bed, away from her, then closed his eyes for a bit. That hurt. Did she really think he could be that atrocious? After he'd used a knife to cut her tights off before and didn't leave a scratch on her? "Shh. Nothing to worry about. I'm simply going to expedite the removal of your dress, nothing more."
He slit the two straps and put the once-beautiful bit of metal away back in its locked drawer, but couldn't make himself move much farther than that, still draped over her, knees on one side, hand on the other, torso forming a bridge.
He was about to just untie her and mend her dress when she whispered, "I'm sorry."
His eyes snapped to hers, "About what, exactly?" He might have been less harsh, but then again, she might have been a bit more trusting.
It was hard not to just jump into her mind, but he'd already been beaten about by that riptide and didn't feel like going for another dip. He watched her face mix with mutiny, consternation, pride, and agony only to say,
"For questioning you just now. I didn't mean to hurt you."
He was still bastard enough to ask, "Anything else?"
Her chin jutted up, "No."
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head forward, "Are you sure?"
"You're not sorry that I know you love me?"
"You know I'll use that against you at every opportunity, despicable thing that I am."
She took a shuddering breath but held his eyes. "I know that."
That knowledge shot down his spine like lightning and he dropped down to claim her mouth as his. HIS.
Before he thought too clearly on the subject, the words were out of his mouth and against her lips, "Did you kiss Longbottom a lot these past few weeks?"
He growled, "Did you fuck him?"
"All the time. I missed you terribly." He dove into her mind spurred by nothing better than rage and jealousy to find her laughing at him.
He stayed in her mind though, and found it wasn't such a maelstrom as a river. He tread water through the eddies of her mind, pulled and tugged her dress off her body as her memories pulled on him.
If he found something he liked as well, he revisited it upon her. He found that listening to her like this while paying attention to her body was like fine tuning a stringed instrument all alone in a stone room. Every note reverberated back into him, every tweak, every pull, every slide and groan and measure gained between them until it was drowning them both in the very onslaught of sensation. Somewhere along the way, he'd untied her wrists and by the time he was pushing into her just the way she wanted him to, she was clawing his back in little curls instead of scratches, bit by bit, all the way down to his arse, just the way he wanted her to.
Each touch was measured against what the other wanted and left nothing to be desired, every breath crying out at just the right note, the right pitch, the right time.
The inevitable perfect conclusion immolated them both beyond sound. They simply couldn't do more than gasp for breath and shatter into darkness.
Severus could not ever remember waking up with someone curled about him like this. It was singularly comforting and terrifyingly addictive. Her skin was the exact right temperature and texture and he couldn't take his hands off of her now that he'd awakened. She wrapped herself closer, tighter as he did so, running her own hands over his body. Rolling her head towards his chest, which she'd been using as a pillow, she encased one of his nipples in her soft lips and he was instantly more awake than he had been.
He shuddered at both the emotion and the attention. Last night had not been a dream, nightmare, or vision. It had really happened and she was right there in his bed to prove it. Memory of what they'd shared rocked his vision and made him crush her body to him.
He pulled her back, laid her flat back against the bed and started devouring her. Mouth, to cheek, to ear, to neck, biting her shoulder and licking just above her breast. He traveled further down, worshipping her breasts, every inch of them until she was whimpering and shaking beneath him.
He stopped, looked down at her and she made an inquiring noise. He took his time and drank in the sight of her. HIS.
"You asked me last night what more did I want?"
She angled up on her elbows and knitted her brows together, her disheveled bushy hair taking up most of the pillow.
Hermione waited, bated breath, not knowing what more he could possibly want from her. With a whisper, he let her into his mind and kissed her again and she knew that he'd never say it out loud—he was too much of a bastard for that—but he'd say it every other way he could until the day he died.
I want you, I love you, you're MINE.
A/N: Okay, so is this a better end? Do you feel the story is complete now? ;) I assure you I was surprised when so much burst forth from my fingers after only starting at the first chapter, but such is fanfiction, right? Let me know what you think!