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Severus Snape was tired.
It was the kind of exhaustion that came with a bone-deep weariness, one that made him scrub a hand over his face and heave a sigh that shuddered from his chest.
He shouldn’t be here. In fact, there were a great many places he should be, and this place didn’t rank amongst them in the slightest.
But he was tired. Worn down. And there was bound to be a sorry excuse for a bed somewhere in this ancient house. It was merely a place to rest for a few hours. Nothing more. That was what he told himself, anyway.
Severus trudged up the stairs of Grimmauld Place, his footsteps heavy on the creaking floorboards from the weight of the day. When he stepped onto the second-floor landing, he paused, warring with himself.
He should turn left. He knew which rooms would be vacant, ready and waiting for the people who filtered through on a never-ending cycle of transience only seen during times of strife and war.
It was a familiar path he’d worn into the dusty rugs lining the halls over the years—one step and then another, leading him to a shabby mattress and threadbare blanket. There might even be a lumpy pillow to rest his head for a few hours if he were lucky.
He looked left, willing himself to move in that direction with every ounce of willpower he possessed. His foot lifted, his body lurching forward on unsteady legs.
He turned right.
Winding around, he placed a foot on the staircase in defeat before ascending to the third floor. He’d made himself a promise, told himself he wouldn’t. Yet here he was, in the middle of the night, haunting the halls of a house that wasn’t his in search of something he couldn’t have.
He let his feet guide him without thought once he’d reached the third floor, drawn closer despite his better judgment. When he came to the fourth door on the right, he hesitated. Slowly, as if he were afraid that at any moment he’d be taken from this very place and barred from its lonely halls, he raised his palm to rest against the smooth mahogany surface of the door.
Hanging his head, he traced the familiar woodgrain, pleading with himself not to enter. His resolve was crumbling, though, falling down around him when faced with the one escape he had left in this miserable world.
The sole beacon of light in his lonely, interminable existence lay just beyond this door. It was ludicrous to think that he had the strength of mind to resist a lure as bright and as pure as that.
Severus had never been a strong-willed man, he knew. He constantly struggled between what he wanted and what he thought was right. The guilt of it twisted in his gut like the coil of a snake, an insidious poison corroding him from the inside out.
His life was full of choices, and he always seemed to make the wrong ones. Time and again, what he thought was right only ended up causing him further pain and endless suffering. No, he’d never considered himself to be particularly strong, and that wasn’t going to change tonight.
With a shaky breath that he held in his lungs until it ached, he twisted the brass doorknob, the last of his resistance withering away like the dust that coated every inch of this decrepit hideaway.
As he shut the door behind him with a quiet snick, he gazed at the tiny form curled beneath the thin blanket on the bed. He stepped closer, admiring the sleeping girl.
No, she wasn’t a girl anymore. The years of war had seen to that, etching its violence into the lines of her skin, carving out the hollows of her eyes. War required a hefty price from everyone, and Hermione Granger had paid it in full.
Severus catalogued the differences from the last time he’d seen her. He noticed the way her head rested upon the thin pillow, moonlight highlighting the mass of curls splayed out behind her. He saw the way the soft light caressed her closed eyelids, her eyelashes fluttering over her skin from worries that followed her even in sleep.
She seemed restless, probably as worn down as he was. Maybe more so, given all that she did for the Order. Her work was never done, and it was taking its toll on her.
Hermione’s fingers curled into the fabric cocooning her, her knuckles turning white as her body stiffened. Her leg twitched, a phantom movement brought to life. She whimpered, the sound low and pained. Afraid.
The sight gutted him. He wanted to slay each and every one of her demons, real and imagined, and it galled him that he couldn’t. That this was all he had.
Unable to look away from the witch falling deeper into the throes of a nightmare, he loosened the collar of his shirt, shedding his clothes along with the stresses of the day. Each garment that fell to the floor was a layer of armour he shielded himself with.
That was his lot in life. To hide.
He hid his thoughts in the dark recesses of his mind with Occlumency. He hid his feelings behind a neutral, stoic mask pasted firmly on his face. He hid his actions in the ever-shifting shadows of duplicity and espionage.
There were times it felt like he even hid from himself. He feared that one day, quite soon, he’d look in the mirror, appraising the sallow complexion, hook nose, and swathe of midnight hair and not recognise the stranger staring back at him with lifeless, black eyes.
He doubted there was a single person in the world who ever got to see him—see the man—beneath the facade he was forced to don.
Except her.
She was always the exception.
When the last piece of clothing settled at his feet, his body and soul bared to the moonlit room, he had nothing left to hide behind. He stripped it all away for her until he felt the heady weight of relief settle over him.
Pulling back the coverlet with careful fingers, he slipped into bed behind her, desperate for the salve of her skin against his, the heat that warmed him better than any charm in existence. It wasn’t much, and he didn’t indulge often, but it was better than nothing.
Settling against her back, he told himself that his actions were solely to bring her the comfort and solace she needed after a nightmare. But if he were being truthful, he knew he was taking just as much as he was offering. If not more.
Severus clung to her, every piece of himself aligning and conforming to the curve of her body. He soaked up the softness of her skin and the relief he felt at having her safely in his arms once again. His breath trembled past his lips. She was here. She was whole—mostly. That was what mattered.
Her muscles tensed as he wound himself further around her tiny frame, unable to get as close as he wished. She startled awake, blinking into the darkness. Hermione’s delicate touch drifted to the corded muscle of his forearm, which he’d wrapped tightly around her midsection, and she relaxed into his hold.
“Severus?” Her voice was thick with sleep, muddled from nightmares that chased her endlessly in unconsciousness.
He hummed softly, reassuring her with the rumbling timbre of his voice as he brushed back the curls that fell over her eyes. “Shh, go back to sleep. It was only a dream.”
“You’re back?”
Severus nodded, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. He didn’t need to tell her that he wouldn’t be around for long. He never was.
They were like ships passing in the night, never meeting or finding safe harbour. They did their duty, letting it pull them in opposite directions, hoping that this time it wouldn’t be too far to find their way back to each other.
All they had were these stolen moments, small pieces of each other that they hoarded away to tide them over until they could meet again. He wasn’t oblivious or naïve. He was aware of the harsh reality of their circumstances. He knew he was only good for momentary comfort, a small reprieve from the horrors of war that surrounded them.
So, he did what he knew he was capable of—the only thing he knew he could deliver on. He comforted her. He sang.
The first few notes were barely audible, the soft humming starting low in his throat and building louder in the silent room. As the familiar melody drifted from his lips, his fingers explored her skin where it peeked from the blanket, tracing lines between her freckles. He imagined his hand playing the notes, fingers dancing across a different kind of ivory.
The humming eventually morphed into murmured words. He’d sung them more times than he could count over the years, but these days, he only sang them for her. He’d discovered that this lullaby and his lilting, imperfect voice were the only things capable of soothing her fragile equilibrium after a nightmare.
His mother had taught him the song as a boy, the beautiful notes flowing from her lips much better than he could ever muster. She would sing to him whenever he was upset or sad, her words lulling him into sleep. After her passing, he kept her memory and the comfort she’d given him alive through the words.
Severus wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he knew it was the quickest way to soothe the witch in his arms. He wasn’t a talented singer by any means. Some of the notes cracked under the weight of his deep voice, but if it helped her even a little bit, then he’d sing for hours if he had to.
The tense muscles in her shoulders grew lax as she melted into him, her worries drifting away with the notes of his song. He kept singing, though. For her and for him. He didn’t delude himself into thinking either of them was whole. He wasn’t sure it was even possible after all they’d seen and done in this war. But he knew that this—here, with her—was the closest he’d ever get to true healing.
As his fingers danced over her skin, his touch causing the hair on her arms to rise, he tried to memorise the feel of her for those lonely nights ahead. Slowly, his hand moved from her shoulder to the lines of her collarbone and then up the elegant column of her neck. His touch was light, a tease, a caress, and a promise all in one.
When he reached her chin, he tilted her face toward his, watching as her eyes drifted shut and her lips parted on a sigh. The first brush of his lips met the corner of her mouth. The second grazed her chin. He continued lavishing her with gentle kisses until, at last, he pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was soft and unhurried despite their limited time together. He wanted to savour her, worship her, show her with his actions what his words wouldn’t allow him to say.
Hermione shifted to her back, which allowed him to deepen the kiss, tasting her from a new angle. It was a dance he’d become accustomed to, but one that thrilled him with each familiar step. He recognised that every touch and caress was a gift not guaranteed again amidst the violence of war that sought to separate them.
Her delicate fingers wove into his dark locks, tangling and tugging as she brought him closer. He sipped from the sweetness of her lips for long minutes before he ventured lower. His mouth traced the path his fingers had forged, and as he moved lower still, he hummed the tune that brought her comfort.
His breath blew over her chest, warm in comparison to the cool room, and he felt her shiver beneath him. His hands dragged the thin straps of her nightgown down her arms while his lips found the tempting curve of her breast. Severus licked at the soft flesh, drawing tiny circles around her dusky nipple with his tongue.
She mewled and gasped, her sounds of pleasure the perfect accompaniment to his soft melody. He switched between her breasts, giving each one the attention it deserved before moving on in search of unkissed skin.
He dragged the fabric over her curves, exposing each new decadent inch of her. Hermione was always beautiful, but never more so than when she was beneath him, softening under his touch.
Severus kissed across the prominent ridges of her ribs and licked at the hollow just beneath them. His tongue traced down the centre of her abdomen and dipped into her navel. All the while, he hummed as she shifted below him, anticipation building with each kiss.
Drawing the nightgown past her hips to remove it, he gazed down at her with something akin to veneration. She was a vision. Her curls were tangled around her fingertips, her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, and her lithe body was spread out before him, eager and waiting.
Once he’d looked his fill, although he wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of her graceful beauty, he settled himself between her thighs. It had been too long since he’d had the time to worship her properly, and he was determined to live in this moment, however fleeting it may be.
He eased to his elbows, wrapping his arms around her thighs to part them further to his view. With a quiet reverence, he kissed his way down the smooth skin of her leg. His breath warmed his path until he reached their apex, placing a single kiss to the small birthmark on her inner thigh, a part of her that only he was privileged enough to see. He breathed her in before lavishing more kisses on her skin, lapping up the familiar taste of her.
Severus tried not to rush, but his movements gave him away. If this were all he could have, then he’d savour it. He would pleasure her in ways no other could. His tongue delved deeper, dipping inside of her before tracing a leisurely path back toward her clit.
Shifting deeper into the mattress, he focused all of his attention on her. His tongue wound around her clit in tight circles, the pressure firm as he knew she liked. Every now and then, he would hum and suck until her back bowed off the bed, writhing beneath him in ecstasy as her legs tightened around him.
His persistent rhythm eased her over the edge into her climax, and he delighted in the sounds she made—her harsh breaths and the quick inhale when the pleasure became too much, the moan that echoed through the room when she finally tipped over that ultimate peak.
He wanted it all.
With his hips thrusting helplessly against the tangled bedsheets, he redoubled his efforts, wanting—needing—to drive her higher once again. Severus wanted his touch to consume her, possess her, erasing every fraught memory of turmoil and war and loneliness until there was only him.
He pressed closer, drenching his face in her essence, nudging her clit with the tip of his nose whenever he dipped lower to taste her. He was ravenous with her. At times, he felt like he might lose himself completely to her wiles, worshipping at her altar and giving her every part of himself. It was a worthy price, and he’d continue paying it as long as she let him.
Hermione’s legs shook as another orgasm washed through her. She froze, taut like the bow of a violin, before collapsing onto the bed in a sweaty, satisfied heap. He kissed the delicate skin below her navel, rising to his knees and steadfastly ignoring the damp spots left on the sheets from their combined arousal.
Severus crawled up the length of her body, his skin brushing tantalisingly along the smooth heat of hers. He bent to give her a messy kiss, not caring that he wore the taste of her on his lips. She didn’t seem to mind, and slowly, he stoked her back to life until she returned his kiss, arching into him with renewed fervour.
“More?” he whispered against her lips.
Hermione hummed her assent, her fingers trailing along his jaw and then the muscles of his shoulders. She clung to him, hands desperately tugging him closer.
He knew this was for her. To comfort her. But each taste he was allowed healed the jagged pieces of his soul, smoothing the rough edges until they couldn’t slice him open with their sharp points any longer.
He needed her. Desperately. Achingly. Selfishly.
Easing off of her, he urged her to the side to face away from him. Although he loved basking in the glow of her attention, sometimes the depth of emotion he saw swimming just below the surface was too much to bear. She saw him, all of him, and that level of vulnerability was its own sort of agonising relief. Relief because she knew and accepted him, but agonising because it also meant she saw through the mask he wore to hide the faults and imperfections that lay beneath.
However, like this, with her back to his chest, he could see every inch of her while ignoring his obvious shortcomings. He could delude himself that he was good for her, that he deserved her.
Severus slid into position behind her, pulling her flush against him, unwilling to have any part of himself not touching her. He hooked an arm beneath one leg as he slid inside of her welcoming heat. His groan filled the small space, too loud in the quiet room. If there were a heaven, it would be right here between her thighs, and he counted himself supremely fortunate to be able to indulge in it, if only in these stolen moments.
He eased in and out, movements unhurried. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he breathed in the scent of her soap, clean and a bit sweet like freshly picked fruit. His hands stroked gently over soft skin as he moved. He wanted to wrap himself around her, protect her, smother her in the affection that she deserved but seldom received.
Hermione arched into him, a gasp on her lips, and his rhythm faltered. She clenched around him as her nails dug into his forearms, leaving tiny crescents on his skin, proof of her mounting desire. Urging his hand lower with a silent plea, he obliged, finding her clit and teasing her through one last orgasm.
“Severus,” she breathed his name like a benediction into the stillness of the night.
In this moment, hearing her whispered pleasure, it was all worth it. The leaving. The returning. The constant battle he fought—and lost—each day to stay away.
He followed her over the edge, gasping out her name on a broken, stuttered exhale. They lay there for long minutes, breaths harsh and chests heaving, not saying a word but content to simply exist next to each other.
They’d both come completely undone—her by his ministrations, and him by the simple act of loving her. These stolen moments unravelled their carefully shorn defences and masks until there was nothing left between them but skin and sweat and silence.
Severus ran the back of his finger down her cheek in a loving caress and situated the blanket over them so they could sleep. They needed the rest, now more than ever, and he hoped his presence beside her would keep the persistent nightmares at bay.
She nuzzled into him, soaking up the comfort he sought to give her with the small gesture. She grabbed his hand and placed a kiss on his palm before wrapping it around her waist.
“Will you sing for me again?” Her words were barely audible, sleep already pulling her under, but he knew he couldn’t deny her anything.
He started the song, the words enveloping them in a temporary serenity he knew wouldn’t last. He sang until he felt her body go lax in his arms, unsure if minutes or hours had passed while he held her, but secure in the knowledge that it had worked to soothe them both.
Placing one last kiss on her shoulder, he whispered, “I’ll see you in my dreams, my darling.”
Severus slipped from her embrace, careful not to wake her. He’d served his purpose. Comforted her. Now, it was time to leave, as he always did, a part of his heart left behind each time he slipped away under the cover of darkness.
He wondered how long until there was nothing left, no part of his heart remaining to sacrifice at her altar. He wondered when the comfort he could provide her would run dry.
He thought back to each of the nights they’d spent together and how hard it was to leave afterwards. It was like they were on some perpetual Ixion’s wheel, doomed to repeat the cycle no matter the cost. They were undeniably drawn to each other time and again, but his heart ached when it was all said and done.
Severus decided at that moment, despite the pain twisting in his gut at the mere thought, that he wouldn’t return to her. Couldn’t. It was far too painful, this cycle of theirs.
Sitting on the bed, one hand gripped the edge while the other scrubbed over the weary lines of his face. He waited a beat, and then another, taking a fortifying breath. He needed to summon the courage to walk away.
A featherlight touch shook him out of his maudlin musings. He looked down to see small fingers tracing over his knuckles where they clutched the bedding.
“Stay.”
Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it all the same. Heard the soft plea undercutting that one word. He looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze, the warm honey colour of her eyes shining from the moonlight pouring through the window.
How could he say no to her?
Every time he looked into her eyes, he was lured back in, drowning in their rich, expressive depths. It was a temptation he couldn’t refuse. He knew it with absolute certainty because he’d tried to stay away over and over again to no avail.
With one word, one look, he was lost in her once more, a slave to the burning ache she incited in him that he couldn’t stand but also couldn’t seem to forfeit. He was hers. Always.
He gave her a slow, defeated nod and crawled back into the sanctuary of her arms. Her warmth engulfed him, reaching inside his soul until he felt nothing but her. A weighty sigh left his chest as he let her comfort him with her soft touches and sweet kisses.
He surrendered to her, letting her lull him into sleep where he’d dream of an impossible life that would never exist outside of the confines of his own mind, one with peace and happiness and love.
As his eyelids grew heavy, he had one final thought before succumbing to unconsciousness: resisting Hermione Granger took immense strength, and Severus Snape had never considered himself to be a strong man.
(Artwork by charlijacobs. This is a commissioned piece of art. Do not use, edit, or repost without permission.)