Summary of Chapter 21 – What Happens on Graduation Day

A few days before graduation Hermione is getting nervous, as she doesn’t know what Severus expects from her. When she learns that he has a courting phase in mind for them, she quickly dissuades him from this notion and tells him that she wants to spend her last days before leaving for Australia with him. Severus finally agrees. To set Hermione at ease, who doesn’t feel comfortable when not able to plan for everything, he gives her clear instructions as to what to do for the Leaving Feast – and after...

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Everything Coming Together

To the vast relief of the organising committee, the day of the beach party arrived with beautiful summer weather. Hermione had been prepared to put up rain-repelling charms over the cove, but those were only good for as long as the wizards feeding magic into them were conscious and clear-minded enough to control the flow, and she fully intended to get wasted. Hermione still remembered all too well how Draco’s and Harry’s intoxication level had affected the charmed Christmas decorations at Grimmauld Place ... It had been quite humorous at the time, but the failing of rain-repelling charms in the middle of a party would probably not be considered amusing. Fortunately, they wouldn’t have to worry about that.

The feast was a well-known secret among students and staff alike. The professors pretended to be oblivious to seventh years disappearing from their common rooms when curfew approached, and the few younger students who tried to sneak to the beach found themselves deterred by strong age-wards. Overcome with spontaneous fatigue and a sudden yearning for soft cushions, they turned on the spot and headed back into their beds.

In small groups the graduate students from all houses drifted in – the Slytherins arriving as a united front, their expressions still a bit wary. When the other students welcomed them with tentative smiles or an offering of drinks instead of drawing their wands, however, they slowly relaxed and started to mingle. The punch certainly helped to ease any remaining tension. It had been spiked with a generous amount of Firewhisky, so that it didn’t take long until the initial hesitance and awkwardness was overcome. Just like the organising committee had hoped, students from all houses were soon found chatting animatedly and amiably, sharing funny anecdotes from their Hogwarts years, reliving particularly memorable moments (such as Neville and his Boggart) and gossiping about their teachers.

It was one of the highlights of Harry’s evening when the Slytherins grudgingly admitted that their Head of House had in deed been partial towards his own and especially unfair towards Gryffindors. However, those who had grown up under Professor McGonagalls strict tutelage were surprised to hear that, within the confines of his own house, the Head of Slytherin had been just as strict with his own charges as she, and that he had punished every kind of misdemeanour at least as harshly.

The Gryffindors conceded that their once most hated teacher had changed very much since the war and that – if one disregarded his snarkiness – he was an exceptionally good teacher, and a war hero, who the Slytherins had every reason to be proud of. With this consensus reached, the ice was broken, and house affiliation no longer played a role as students sat listening to the music of the ‘Weird Sisters, chatting, eating, drinking and telling each other of their future plans. In the same measure as the punch level in the cauldron fell, the giggling, the laughter and the horseplay increased, and so did the noise level. The music was turned to up, and Neville, Seamus and Luna started dancing. It didn’t take long for others to join in, and soon, the party was as boisterous and jolly as the famous Tri-Wizard-Christmas-Ball in the late hours.

After it had become really dark – which was after eleven, given that it was summer in the highlands – torches were lit along the beach. Fagged out revellers gathered around the campfires, and Pure-bloods were introduced to the Muggle delicacies of roasted Marshmallows and twist bread. A few particularly daring and inebriated young wizards and witches even spontaneously jumped into the lake in their undies, engaging the Giant Squid in their silly games.

Luna charmed pebbles into colourful glowing orbs and floated them into the surrounding trees, where they not only added scenic illumination, but also softly gave off clear, bell-like sounds that reminded Hermione of wind chimes.

Slowly and gradually, the party noise died down, and when the music was only softly playing in the background, everybody sat around the dying campfires in group or pairs, some even lay down with their heads in their friend's laps, too tired or too drunk to sit upright any longer. By the time the first shimmer of dawn began to show at the horizon, most of the students had found their way back into the castle and only a handful of those who had consumed so much punch that they were oblivious to everything else remained sound asleep on the beach, among them Harry and Draco, lying side by side, hands entwined.

When they woke up hours later to the bright light of morning and the unbearably loud chirping of birds, these hard core party-dwellers were surprised, but immensely grateful, to find a stash of Hangover-Relief Potion on a table next to the burned-out campfire. It was never found out which benevolent spirit had taken mercy on them – it certainly couldn’t have been the Potions Master – but his or her act of pity was praised multiple times that day.

*’*’*’*’*’*

At midnight sharp on the evening of the Leaving Feast, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace of Severus’ living room. Emanating a curious mixture of nervousness, excitement and elation, she self-consciously brushed a trace of ash off her dress and let her eyes search the room. She didn’t need long to find him. The Potion Master was sitting in his favourite chair opposite the fireplace, a book in his hands and a glass of Scotch on the side-table next to him. Seeing her, he carefully closed the book and looked at her.

She was stunning in her red, short-sleeved dress. His breath had caught when she had vanished her concealing school robes earlier in the evening, just in the manner he had commanded her to do. Their gazes had briefly locked across the crowded courtyard and he’d seen the teasing glint in her eyes when he had taken in the fact that she had chosen a deep Gryffindor red to cover the Slytherin green underwear she was doubtlessly wearing beneath it. She had been glorious, radiating with happiness and magical power, and he had felt pride swell in his chest for having contributed to the forming, nurturing and education of this incredible, talented young women.

The unexpected farewell performance of the graduates had been quite a spectacle. It had been a sight to behold, seeing the colourful dresses emerge from beneath black robes which transformed into a flock of blackbirds and took off into the evening sky. Those witnessing the spectacle had been all ‘ah’s’ and ‘oh’s’ and had spontaneously applauded. Severus had no doubt that a new tradition had been established. And no one, apart from him and Hermione, would ever guess what had led to its birth.

“I’m back,” Hermione needlessly said, her voice slightly breathless
.
“On the stroke of midnight, like Cinderella from her first ball,” he acknowledged, standing up and slowly approaching her. “Punctual as ever, and you still even have both shoes. How has the royal court taken your sudden departure?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, and there was an amused sparkle in her eyes. “With utter shock, disbelief and much consternation. When I told them that I had to leave because I had a date with Professor Snape to celebrate my graduation in a more private manner and that I couldn’t wait to see him again, their chins fell down. I didn’t linger to hear them recover their voices.” Hermione wouldn’t be at all surprised if they still stood staring mouth agape into the fireplace. Ron’s and Lavender’s expression had been particularly memorable. Too bad she couldn’t have taken pictures.

“Smart girl!” Severus praised, smirking. “Always choose your battles.” He stepped closer and pulled her into a firm embrace, burying his nose in her hair. He was amazed at how natural it felt. “Happy graduation, Hermione.”

Her own arms encircled his back, and she snuggled against him. “Thank you”, she smiled into his chest. “I never thought that I’d await it so eagerly and with so little focus on my grades.”

He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, relishing in the liberty of finally being allowed to do so. “I’m sure you excelled, as always. You have every reason to be proud of yourself. And just for the record: I have never wished for a school year to end as eagerly as I did this year, either.”

“You reigned in your impatience admirably well. Much better than I did.” He had always seemed in control, never once allowing himself to get carried away. She had been the one who had transgressed. But then, he had always been a man in command of himself.

“I’ve never been able to control my life’s circumstances and adjust them according to my wishes,” he murmured, sliding his other hand up the nape of her neck and into her curls. “But no I’m finally free to do what I’ve been longing to do for quite a long while...” Fanning out his fingers, he gently glided them along her scalp and down the long tresses cascading down her back like a silken waterfall, enjoying the smoothness against his skin.

She let out a low hum, either in agreement with his statement or with the play of his fingers in her hair. Probably the latter, as her eyes fell shut.

“You were so radiant tonight,” he whispered into her ear, inhaling her sweet orange and jasmine smell. “When I saw you perform that admirable piece of magic in the courtyard, and again a little later, when you disapparated from the boat... I almost couldn’t believe that you’d come back to me.”

A delicious shiver of anticipation went down Hermione’s spine when she felt his breath on her sensitive skin. “I think we’re both way too doubtful about many things, Severus,” she sighed, her eyes still closed in bliss.

His deep baritone felt like velvet in her ear. “I’m can feel all my doubts melting away right now...”

“Hmm... yes. So do I... “ She turned her face until her lips met his palm. “Does that mean you’re going to kiss me anytime soon?”

“With pleasure...” he responded, and, still cradling her face, lowered his mouth to hers. It was like the kiss in his office – a bit tentative at first, a gentle greeting of lips that hadn’t met for a while and needed to get reacquainted with each other. Though they had both been anticipating this moment for a long time and had been become really close in every other sense, the physical intimacy was still new to them, and he didn’t want to rush into it. He suspected that she was still a bit jittery and unsure of herself, though she was hiding it admirably well.

He traced his tongue along her lips in a soft and sensual caress until they parted, and she lightly brushed the tip her own tongue against his, inviting him to taste her again. It was an offer he couldn’t resist – all the more tempting since he no longer felt as if he was committing a serious offence. Encouraged by her eagerness and the fast hammering of her pulse beneath his fingers on her neck, he deepened the kiss and began a slow and sensual exploration of her sweet mouth, savouring the silky softness and drinking in her tantalising flavour.

For long moments, they stood like this, relishing in the feel and taste of each other. All of Hermione’s nervousness had evaporated; there was nothing but impatience, desire and the need to feel more of him. But her searching fingers found nothing but cloth - his skin was carefully hidden from sight and touch under far too many layers of fabric. He had removed nothing but his teaching robe while waiting for her.

“Don’t you ever take off your frock coat – not even in your own quarters?” Hermione inquired, tugging on his collar.

“I usually do...” he said, sounding amused. “But in the light of your obsession with my buttons, I figured that you’d want to be the one to undo them.”

Well, that put an entirely different complexion on the matter. “Good thinking,” she agreed appreciatively, happy that she would get to live out one of her most cherished fantasies – and hopefully even more. “Do you see now why I fell for an intelligent man?”

When she got started on his buttons, Severus could only hope that she wouldn’t question her decision, because an intelligent man was all she would be getting. He’d always been a bit self-conscious about exposing his body... not because something was fundamentally wrong with it – he considered himself in well-enough shape for a man of his age – but because it had been used as means of ridicule in the past. And in no way could he compete with ‘no-brains-all-muscles Quiddich-player-type’ guys like Krum or Weasley when it came to his physique.

But Hermione didn’t seem to think in these categories at all. Her face, as usual, displayed all her emotions, but disappointment wasn’t one of them. There was just tenderness and a strange kind of awe; shyness paired with determination.

He stood still as she divested him of his frock coat, undoing each and every button with great care and solemnity, even the ones on his cuffs. Hermione’s timidity was washed away with the excitement of finally finding out what lay beneath his most distinctive piece of clothing. Not so surprisingly, is was a charcoal suit vest over a white button-up shirt with a high standing collar. She had often seen glimpses of it peeking out above the tightly bound black cravat. Slowly, Hermione began working it loose. Fortunately, it was easier to deal with than a modern tie: It was just a scarf-like silken piece of cloth that was wound twice around his neck and tied in the front with a simple knot.

Severus gave an involuntary twitch, but forced himself to remain unmoving. He hadn’t allowed anyone this close since he'd suffered severe injuries from Nagini’s bite. No one had seen his bruised flesh but the healers at St. Mungo’s, who had gone to great pains themselves to repair the damage. The new skin that had grown over the wounds was still tender. It wasn’t pretty. And yet Hermione still looked as if she was untying the bow on a present.

As if sensing that this part of his body was delicate territory, she was careful not to touch him there for now. Her face was solemn, but showed neither disgust nor pity. Her gaze didn’t even linger on his scars, but travelled downwards along with her hands as she diligently started to unbutton his vest.

Only when she had reached the last button did she notice his pants. They were clearly vintage, too... high waist, discrete front flap – with a row of three buttons left and right. Incredulous, she looked up into his face and found him smirking.

“Seriously?” she asked, wondering if this wasn’t taking the theme a bit too far. Though admittedly, he cut a fine figure in those slacks... The overall effect was one of understated elegance. Despite being Victorian, his whole ensemble was rather puristic and no-nonsense, fitting of the man beneath.

“They’re comfortable,” Severus said, struggling to keep his voice even despite the fact that her scrutinising gaze rested on his groin. “I don’t think a rather important part of a man’s anatomy should be squeezed into tight pants like those young men nowadays like to wear. It can’t be healthy.”

Well, from the look of it, these trousers weren’t giving him much room either, but the soft, finely woven wool was probably more accommodating. Though she was itching to explore further in that direction, her courage only took her so far. Feeling the warmth in her cheeks, Hermione left the newfound, rather enticing buttons alone for now and just tugged out the shirt from beneath his waistband.

It had just as many buttons as his other layers, but she enjoyed undoing every single one of them, inch by inch revealing more of the man beneath. Finally she made it down to his bare skin, which emanated heat. Fully aware of how privileged she was to be allowed to get this closed-off, buttoned-up man out of his shell, she slipped off the vest and, after diligently undoing those cuffs, too, the shirt.

Almost reverently, she placed her palms on his chest. That he allowed her this close was a heady feeling and filled her with awe. Beneath her palms, she could feel his heart pound and his muscles tense. Caressingly, her hands explored his skin, wandering across the planes of his chest, brushing over the tight nubs of his nipples and into the shallow dip between his pectorals, and glided lower to the gentle curve of his stomach, while her eyes were drinking him in.

He was just as pale as Ron, but not as bulky. Though he wasn’t overly muscular, his shoulders were broad by nature and his chest defined, which gave him an imposingly manly figure, especially combined with his height. The skin over his sternum was sprinkled with dark hair, which grew in a nicely shaped pattern toward the centre of his abdomen, coming together in the area of his navel and continuing down in a happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. It was incredibly soft, almost downy, when she ran her hands over it – appreciatively, tenderly, lovingly.

She more felt than heard his sharp intake of breath before he – in a sudden, unexpected movement – caught her hands and drew her arms behind her back, encircling both her wrists and holding them pinned. Slightly startled, Hermione looked up and saw something burn in his eyes that she couldn’t define. It wasn’t lust or desire, as she had expected, although both were was undeniably there, too. But there was something else... confusion and utter bewilderment.

Severus' breath had caught in his throat the moment her hands had touched him, and then he had forgotten how to breathe. Now the constriction in his chest was almost painful. There was no reasonable explanation for what was happening to him. It was just too intense, too much to process. His strong response scared him. Hhe felt like he was about to lose it – though what would happen if he did, he didn’t have a clue. He just knew that it would be something terribly sentimental and embarrassing. For a moment, he was afraid that he might break out in tears. Horrified by this, he had quickly caught her hands in his, pinning them behind her back and thus stopping her from wreaking further havoc with his emotions. As much as he had wanted for her to proceed at her own pace for as long as she was comfortable – and she had seemed quite comfortable with what she was doing – he desperately needed to get things back under control.

Before Hermione had a chance to think about what happened, his mouth came down on hers, hard, fervently, commandingly. Whatever had caused the powerful reaction, his intensity was consuming. It caught her as well, and instantly set her on fire. A soft, moaning sound came from her throat. She melted against him, and feeling his body hard and unyielding against her own blew a few more of her fuses.

For the sake of balance – Severus had never felt this naked before, even though he was still half dressed – he slid a hand up her back and slowly unzipped her dress halfway. It drew another sound of pleasure from her that he stifled with his own mouth.

Using both of his hands, he pulled the still tight dress over her shoulders and down to her elbows. The gathered material held her arms trapped and – at least for the moment – kept her wandering hands from continuing their hazardous explorations. Gentling his assault on her mouth, he buried a hand in her hair again and bent her head back until she met his gaze. He needed to see her face to make sure they were still on the same page before he let his eyes and lips wander to other beckoning places. He hadn’t meant to scare her, coming on this strong.

Her eyes were glazed over and her breathing ragged, but certainly not with fear. He sucked in a breath himself at the sight of her. She was glorious. Her hair was already a dishevelled mess, her lips red from their kisses, and her face flushed with desire. Yes, they clearly were still wanting the same thing.

His gaze glided along her upper body, her delicate neck, her collar-bone and her heaving chest. The most alluring parts were still hidden beneath green and silver cloth, and Severus silently praised his own foresight for having demanded a front-closing bra. It certainly made things a lot easier now... He’d undress her properly in a little while, but right now, he just wanted to reciprocate and explore the softness of the skin and flesh that was now bared to his eyes.

Hermione didn’t object to his course of action - not to being restricted in her movement and gently pressed against the bookshelf next to his fireplace, not to his hands and mouth roaming her naked skin, and certainly not to his taking control. It was exactly what she wanted: to surrender herself to these incredibly feelings and the man who evoked them. In none of her fantasies had she pictured this moment in a setting with candles and roses and whispered declarations of love. Romance, at least in her experience, translated to awkwardness, insecurity and too many apologies. With Ron, it had felt like a task she had to get right. She couldn’t blame it on him – he’d been sweet in his typical ‘Ron’ way, but as clueless and inexperienced as she, and really bad at picking up subtle signals. He hadn’t been master of the situation at all, not like Severus now, and his insecurity had only fed hers. This was exactly what she wanted: No worries, no questions, no doubts.

She was perfectly happy to let him take the lead and set the pace, which, as she soon discovered, was deliberately, teasingly and agonisingly slow. By the time they had finally gotten rid of their remaining clothes and Severus picked her up to carry her to his bedroom, Hermione wasn’t able to form coherent thoughts anymore, let alone to worry about anything.

Severus’ intensity and his commanding manner calmed and aroused her in equal measure. It might have seemed like a contradiction before, but she now understood better how her subconscious worked: With him in control, she was free to just feel.

Secure in the knowledge that he knew perfectly well what he was doing and that she neither needed to coach him, nor to reassure him or to ask him to go slow, she allowed herself to be carried away by sensation, until nothing else existed than the man she loved, who was kissing her, touching her, and who was coaxing responses from her body that she hadn’t believed it capable of expressing.

When they had both caught their breath again much later, Hermione nestled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder and putting her arms around his chest. A riot of caramel curls spilled over his arm and his pillow, and he buried his nose in it and enjoyed the gentle tickling on his bare skin, her nearness and the warmth of her body. Another novelty. He had never in his life cuddled with anybody. He wasn’t used to any kind of demonstration of affection that came with touch. His parents hadn’t been affectionate people, certainly not with each other. And if his mother had ever caressed or cuddled with him, he had been too young to remember. Later, she had become too caught up in her own depression to be still able to feel empathy or tenderness for anyone. The women with whom he had spent a night in the past had touched him – but only his body, and only in a rather per functionary way, focussing on the most involved body parts and aiming to arouse, not to caress.

It had been totally different from Hermione’s soft and tentative explorations. She had touched him almost with reverence, as if it was a privilege – tender, gentle, loving. It had completely thrown him. Severus didn’t need a degree in Muggle psychology to know that his reaction to her innocent but uninhibited tenderness wasn’t quite normal. He had never realised before how much of an impact his childhood and his youth still had on him. Hermione showered him with all the things he had never been given, had never experienced and thus had no clue how to accept graciously: gratitude, honesty, trust, affection and touch. His usual way of dealing with these things – provided they penetrated the barriers he had drawn around himself – was to go on the offensive and lash out. And though he hadn’t meant to do so earlier, he had briefly fallen into the same pattern of behaviour again.

It had been instinctual; an outlet for the surge of emotion that had flooded him when she had dismantled all his protective barriers with just a gentle touch. And although he had been a bit more intense, more passionate and more dominating than he had intended to be at this point, she had shown no hesitance or resistance. She had kissed him back with a fervour that matched his, and he had silently thanked Merlin that the woman he had fallen in love with appreciated his natural dominance instead of feeling put off or scared by it. So he had proceeded in the same manner, feeling her tension and nervousness drain away and transform into eager expectancy the more assertive and unwavering his touches had become.

The young witch who had feared herself to be too cerebral, too levelheaded and too analytical to abandon herself to instinct, passion or wanton desire had become wax in his hands...warm and pliant, and incredibly responsive. How anyone, including herself, could ever have questioned that was utterly beyond him, and he wouldn’t exactly pride himself on being an exceptional lover. Attentive, maybe – a good observer, who knew to take his cues and to proceed accordingly.

Just like she had opened up her mind to him, asking very little in terms of safeguards, promises and assurances, she had welcomed his body – with trust and abandon. Sinking into the incredible warmth of her, into the silky softness that had enclosed him and made him a part of her... it had felt much like diving into her mind-lake again. The experience this time had been a lot more physical than transcendental, but overwhelming no less. He had been so overcome with emotions that he was hardly able to tell up from down – it was as if he had been catapulted into an otherworldly realm where everything suddenly seemed possible. It was exhilarating, liberating, bedazzling. And scary as hell.

“Are you alright?” Hermione softly enquired, looking up at him. She had never seen such an expression on his face before.

He narrowed his eyebrows, and she smiled when she saw that one familiar, vertical furrow appear between them. She reached out and let her finger gently graze across it. There. This was familiar. How she had come to adore his frown!

“You’re stealing my lines again,” he accused.

Her smile widened. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware this was still part of the part where you call the shots.”

“It’s definitely not,” he answered and swallowed. “This is the part where I feel totally out of my depth,” he admitted reluctantly.

Hermione, picking up on his tone, sobered. “What do you mean?”

Reminding himself that he didn’t ever want to distance himself from her ever again, Severus gathered his courage to just tell her the truth. It wasn’t easy, sitting here like he was, feeling naked and exposed inside and out. “I told you my experience when it comes to relationships is practically non-existent. I guess this...” he gestured to her body snuggled up against his side and her hand idly drawing patterns on his chest, “falls under the relationship part. I admit it scares me a bit.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, trying to understand. This part was surprisingly easy. She had not expected it to feel so natural - lying next to him in his bed, on twisted sheets, dishevelled, sweaty, but happy and sated.

He searched for the words to describe his turmoil. “For the same reasons you were nervous about the physical part, I suppose. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t really have a clue how to behave and how to get it right. I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I’ll mess it up...”

“You won’t. You can’t.” Hermione objected with utter conviction. “I was only disappointed in you once in my life, and that was a long time ago in my third year.”

“I don’t know how to be gracious, gentle and affectionate. I don’t even know how properly react to you being all that.”

Hermione turned onto her side, propping her head on her elbow so that she could fully see his face. “Yes, you do, Severus,” she said earnestly, reaching out and touching his cheek. Her eyes were full of everything he thought he couldn’t express himself. “Ever since the night I came into your office, you’ve been nothing but kind and patient and even affectionate towards me. I know that your demonstration of these things is a little gruff sometimes, and that you probably don’t qualify as a romantic hero in most people’s eyes, but I don’t expect you to write me poems or buy me flowers. I’d rather have a potion for my hair and books anyway, and I happen to love your snarkiness and your bite. Lately, I haven’t even needed the quill anymore to translate what you were trying to say. Just be yourself with me.”

He snorted. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’m most concerned about. I don’t want to be that kind of ‘me’ anymore – not with you.”

“What ‘kind of you’ are you talking about? The Death Eater? That has been nothing but a role, which you’ve played far too long; so long that it made you thing it was the real you. And should you be referring to the mean, insulting and most hated Potions Professor - you haven’t been him for a long while, either, not since your return to Hogwarts. Maybe it slipped your notice, but your pupils don’t hate you anymore, not even Gryffindors. Harry, Luna, Draco, Minerva – they all very much like you just like you are. And as to all the things you still feel uncomfortable with – like the horrible Gryffindor bluntness and sentimentality – you’ll learn how to cope. I’ll just keep thanking you, touching you affectionately and giving you hugs and kisses until you no longer feel awkward about it. And you will keep pointing out my mistakes and tell me in the same breath that you love me nonetheless, until I am no longer so afraid of failing. I think we have a perfectly working division of responsibilities: You’ll take care of my insecurities, and I’ll take care of yours. From here on, we’ll learn from each other. And if this...” she gestured towards the dishevelled sheets and their state of nakedness, “... was any indication, we’ll be having much fun in the process.”

“If this was any indication, I’ll be a physical and emotional wreck within no time,” he said – gruffly – before her emotional speech could get to him even more than it had. He might be willing to try and become a more sensitive kind of man, but he wouldn’t ever be found weeping. There were still a few lines he didn’t ever wish to cross. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me, witch!”

Hermione grinned wickedly, planted a kiss on his chest and let her hand that had been idly resting on it slowly trail lower. “If this is any indication,” she whispered, leaning closer, “I think I do...”

He quickly rolled her over so she was underneath him, effectively nipping every attempt of her topping from the bottom in the bud. “I love you,” he said, swallowing a tremendous lump that seemed to be stuck in his throat. Saying it was difficult, frightening, alien and made him vulnerable to a degree he had never felt vulnerable before. But he still felt the need to say it.

Hermione lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, his eyebrows, his perpetual frown. “I love you, too,” she said, her soft hazel eyes shining with moisture. “We’ll be good together, Severus. I know.”

The lump disappeared. He was able to able breathe freely again.

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A/N: There, it’s done! In he light of the fact that I hadn’t even intended to write a love-scene, I hope this was at least a little reward for your patience. :) I only did it because I wanted to settle the nagging question ‘What does Severus wear beneath that frock coat?’ Unfortunately, even after a discussion with Dreamthrower on the matter, I wasn’t able to picture Severus’ underwear. I’m just sure that those are not Victorian. After all, Severus is a bright enough man to recognise progress and the sensibility of some Muggle inventions like boxers and elastics. Given that he’s a hygienic man and can easily use a cleaning charm even after going for a pee, I’m not averse to having him go commando, either... So I’ll leave it up to you to decide. ;)

Don’t leave me just yet... I have two epilogues coming...