The Burning Pen

A Turn for the Better
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 50 ~ Dinner and Dessert

Merryweather looked around Snape’s bedroom apprehensively as Bottleblue put the final touches on the four-poster bed. Both elves heard Hermione and Snape enter and Merryweather’s ears folded to her head in terror.

”The Snape not likes us in here,” the elf whispered as Bottleblue brushed off her hands and looked at her work with satisfaction. “And he not likes this, I is sure.”

Bottleblue gave her a naughty little smile.

”He is with the Miss now. When he enters, when he sees, it won’t matters. All that will matters is the Miss,” she said confidently. “Can’t you feels it, Merry? Nothing but the Miss. Not even potions.”

Merry seemed to concentrate, then nodded.

”Still, I wants out of here,” the elf said, her ears still flattened.

”The last pampering is done. We go,” Bluebottle said, winking out, followed by a relieved Merryweather.

Bottleblue insisted on inspecting the Potions master’s bedchambers to see if it were suitable for the Miss. The elf was very serious about her service, particularly since there weren’t many to serve at Hogwarts during the summer months. She and Merry were the envy of the other elves, who were relegated to just cleaning the castle and finding things to do.

The little addition she made was quite nice. It should be well-received, if the couple stopped long enough to notice it.

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Snape settled Hermione into her seat, then sat down himself and clapped his hands. Immediately, two nervous looking house elves appeared, ears flattened and each carefully bearing a tray with a small meal on it, One had a bottle of white wine. Carefully, they set the food and wine on the table, bowed and exited.

Hermione looked down at the meal. It was quite nice and light as the professor promised. Roasted orange-and-bell pepper soup, scallops and pasta with pistachio-parsley pesto, and for dessert, spiced figs in red wine. Two slices of crusty French bread accompanied the meal. Hermione watched as Severus carefully poured the wine.

”It looks delicious,” she said softly as he passed her a glass of wine, his eyes resting on her cleavage, the green gown and open silver robe for a moment.

”Not as delicious as you,” he replied.

His voice sounded a bit raw under the silkiness, and Hermione blushed, looking down at her soup and picking up her spoon. She began to eat, as did the professor.

It was a quiet meal, and rather tense from Hermione’s side. The Potions master’s eyes rarely left her, and it was disquieting and made her feel self-conscious. Snape did his best not to stare, but . . . she was so lovely . . . and soon she would be in his arms. He had been at half-mast since the moment he laid eyes on her, and couldn’t help his reaction, willing her to eat faster.

Hermione was nervous, mentally telling herself to calm down. Gods, she hated the way she was running hot and cold. Throughout the day there were moments when she felt she couldn’t stand not to be in his arms, and then there were others where she felt like curling up into a ball. She bit into her last fig, the professor watching her.

He had already finished his dessert and watched her consume the last of her meal. She put her spoon down and slowly looked up at him across the table.

”I’m finished,” she announced unnecessarily.

”As am I,” he said to her softly, rising, Hermione’s brown eyes turning upward as he walked around the table and gently pulled out her chair, helping her up.

”Our moment has arrived, Hermione Granger. I’ve waited nearly half my life for you,” Snape said. “Half my life to claim the woman who saved the whole of it.”

He gently enfolded Hermione in his arms, embracing her tenderly, feeling her quiver against the hardness of his body before she relaxed in his arms. She didn’t feel frightened anymore, but . . . protected. She looked up at him.

”It’s really happening, isn’t it?” she asked him, her voice nearly a whisper.

”Yes,” Snape replied, kissing her.

Once again, Hermione felt herself heat up under the sensual contact of his lips, and her arms slid around his neck, drawing him closer, returning his kiss hungrily, the indecision inside her swiftly shifting to the “Yes” side. Yes to everything that was about to happen. She breathed it against his lips.

”Yessssssss.”

Snape slipped one hand into the mass of soft curls, cupping her head, and let one hand slide reverently down her back, shifting over slightly to caress the curve of her hip. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric clinging to her body, heat he would soon touch without any obstructions. Touch and more than touch.

Hermione felt the wizard’s hand slide over her hip and the fabric between it and her skin and pulled away from him suddenly.

”What’s wrong?” Snape asked her, frowning slightly as she slipped out of his grasp.

In answer, Hermione slipped her silver house coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing the thin straps of her nightgown and the smooth, naked flesh of her shoulders and cleavage. Her nipples were puckered with desire, the tight buds clearly visible beneath the green silk, and the way the gown fell against her body, it was clear to see she wore nothing beneath it.

Snape stared at her, a helpless sound emitting from the back of his throat before she moved back into him.

”That’s what was wrong,” she said to him, drawing him back down into another kiss and pulling him back towards the rearranged sofa. Snape followed her, his hands resting on her waist, feeling her warmth even more, her body soft beneath his hands, willing to go wherever she led him. Hermione stopped when she felt the sofa hit the back of her legs, then pulled away from his kiss again.

But this time the Potions master wasn’t so willing to let her break the kiss, and quickly darted back in claiming her mouth hungrily, kissing her fully, delving into her heat and sweetness with an urgency she hadn’t felt from him before. Hermione gasped as he gathered her body to his, feeling his full-blown erection pressing into her belly, long, hot and pulsing beneath his clothing.

She pushed against his chest, breaking contact, the Potion master breathing heavily as he looked down at the woman in his arms.

”What now?” he hissed, wanting her back against him.

Hermione’s hands moved to the top button of his pajama shirt, and slowly she unfastened it. Snape’s hands dropped to his sides as he silently watched her unbutton his pajama top, her small hands hesitating from time to time as she looked up at him, his eyes glinting and nostrils flared. She half expected him to snort a waft of smoke at her as she worked her way downward, then parted his shirt, revealing a lean torso and slightly ridged belly, a smattering of hair around his navel that thickened as it disappeared into the waist of his bottoms, which were slightly ballooned in front.

Hermione’s brown eyes drifted down his chest, noting how it rose and fell as if he’d been engaged in some strenuous activity. She placed both hands on his chest, running them over his skin, feeling the strength of his body beneath her palms as she slid them under the fabric over his shoulders. They flexed slightly, the wizard’s eyes closing with pleasure as she ran her hands slowly back down, exploring his chest and the ridges of his belly, sliding around his waist, curious, compelling, nearly innocent, but not quite as her fingertips met at the small of his back.

”Take off your shirt,” Hermione said, the wizard’s eyes opening, his face contorted slightly with lust. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? How she made him feel? He loved her, but gods she made him want to just . . . just . . .

Snape caught himself and did as she asked, removing his shirt and letting it fall to the floor, standing before her half-naked, his pale upper body open for scrutiny and exploration. He stepped out of his black slippers as well.

Hermione ran one hand down the center of his chest.

”Your skin, it’s so pale. Like alabaster. You’re like a living statue,” she said to him softly.

”I’m no statue, Hermione,” he breathed back at her, “although some parts of me are hard as stone at this moment.”

Hermione’s eyes dropped to the tent in his trousers just as it bounced noticeably. Biting her lower lip and meeting Snape’s eyes, she slowly drew her hand down his chest once more, then over his belly, then gently eased it over his covered erection, the wizard letting out a hiss, his eyes fluttering as he felt her caress him with her fingertips.

”That’s not so frightening,” she said softly, echoing the words he spoke to her so many years ago when she first touched him so intimately.

”I’m glad you feel that way,” he said to her hoarsely. “Very glad indeed, Hermione Granger.”

Suddenly, Snape grasped Hermione’s waist and lifted her against him, the witch’s gown riding up and her slippers dropping off as her legs reflexively wrapped around the wizard’s waist, bringing her core into contact with his swollen erection as he hungrily claimed her mouth again, his hands slipping down to her buttocks, holding her steady, his palms full of her curves as she looped her arms around his neck, letting her head drop back as his lips moved over her throat, his breathing harsh as he shifted her against him, rubbing his crotch against her heat, her naked thighs wrapped around him.

Hermione moaned as she felt him grinding against her, lifting and shifting her body, rolling it against his cock hungrily, the front of his silk trousers moist with her juices as the scent of her arousal rose like a musky, maddening perfume.

”Oh gods, Severus,” Hermione hissed as she felt his teeth scrape her shoulder, drawing down the thin strap, then kissing her skin feverishly. “Kiss me more, touch me more. I’m burning up. Please.”

The wizard lowered her to the sofa, his fingers fumbling slightly as he pulled down the other strap then roughly yanked her gown downward, exposing her breasts, then paused, catching himself before he completely lost control. He stared down at Hermione, her hair wild around her head, her brown eyes heated, her breasts puckered and exposed, then carefully climbed on to the sofa, easing forward on his hands and knees, poised over her outstretched and slightly undulating body, his black hair a curtain around his face as he looked down at her.

”I remember this,” he said softly, his dark eyes softening, “not quite like this, but looking down on you, before I took you. It’s like turning time backwards, Hermione, and getting a second chance.”

He leaned downward and captured her lips between his own, suckling them before entering her mouth and kissing her deeply, Hermione’s arms twining around his neck, her breasts barely touching his chest. They kissed passionately, only their lips connecting fully although Hermione arched several times longing for full contact with the wizard’s lean body. Snape pulled away slowly.

”This time,” he breathed, “this time will be different. You’ll feel more than my lust, Hermione. I’m no longer that randy young boy who took advantage of an opportunity to shag a brilliant young witch who came to save a world . . . to save me. How ungrateful I was.”

Hermione blinked up at him.

”You weren’t ungrateful, Severus, just young . . . and maybe lonely,” she said to him softly.

Snape nodded slightly, his eyes washing over her body again before resting on her face.

”Yes. Young and an opportunist. I didn’t know what a jewel you were when you came to me, although I had some inkling. Thank the gods you still felt drawn to me in this timeline. I can try and correct my error. I can show you the tenderness that you deserve,” he said, drawing closer to kiss her again.

Hermione turned her head slightly.

”Not too much tenderness, I hope. I’d rather . . . rather have your passion rather than your restraint,” she told him. “I know how you feel about me. You’ve been kind to me from the day I arrived at Hogwarts. You’ve been careful, even calculating concerning me, Severus. I know you have. And I appreciate it, but . . . if we’re to be a couple, I need to know the real man, not the careful, methodical one who treats me as if I’m made of glass. I’m not made of glass, Severus, and I don’t need a pedestal. All I need is you, the real you. I’m not afraid.”

Severus gave her a slight, somewhat sad smile, moving her hair out of her face.

”The real me,” he said, “isn’t all that pretty, Hermione Granger.”

It was Hermione’s turn to smile as she tentatively caressed his large nose.

”I’ve never done ‘pretty’ well anyway. I prefer ‘substance,’” she replied, now letting her fingers play through the lank, black hair swinging around his face. It was soft and fine.

”I’ve got plenty of that,” he crooned, lowering his mouth to hers and beginning the journey to bliss.

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A/N: Ah, at last. Yumminess around the corner. Hermione is a little lioness in more ways than one, isn’t she? She’s claiming this situation. You go girl. Drop those robes, open that shirt, bring him to the sofa. Oh yeah. Lol. Thanks for reading.

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