Check Mate

Gentle Kiss

Severus had been thinking about Hermione a lot since he had kissed her the second time. It suddenly seemed real, much more so than before, despite their 'discussion' about the relationship moving forward. He was a firm believer in that 'actions speak louder than words,' and kissing her last night had been his first action towards the unknown, the abyss of a relationship that would lead to four kids in a shack.

It had been hard to go from seeing her as an annoying student to the young woman that apparently Fate had deigned for him to marry. He couldn't kiss Miss Granger, or even Granger, really. And though she made the transition from Professor to Sevie without ever stopping at Severus, he, on the other hand, was having a bit more difficulty. But that didn't mean he didn't want to kiss her. He just didn't want the moment ruined by a traitorous thought about her being his student, (even a former one,) entering his mind.

So, he had played things slow. He invented reasons why she should be in the lab with him instead of going to defense training with her friends, (he knew this might put her at a slight disadvantage later, but he hoped that her continued inexperience would mean that she would stay with him in the end rather than following her brash friends off onto the battlefield.) He purposely brushed up against her in the lab, his fingers lingering when he handed her a jar of ingredients. He particularly enjoyed looking over her shoulder, peering into her cauldron and effectively pinning her to the workbench. From that vantage point, he could relish the smell of her hair as it tickled his nose and the way her breathing increased at his nearness. When she had started kissing him on the cheek before she left the lab in the evening, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to resist pulling her close and kissing her properly.

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to care for the girl in a way that was completely foreign to him. At first, he had been entertained by their battle of words. He enjoyed riling her up just to see her eyes flash, waiting for her witty retort. He felt comfortable working with her, but at the same time, there remained an odd sort of tension between them. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about her. And after the debacle with Miss Brown, he had felt the first stirrings of lust. They had even survived their first real argument, real in that there had been a few tense seconds when both of them wondered if they would continue down the path that Fate had chosen for them. They argued most days, but this had been dangerous, the outcome unknown.

However, that idiotic game had proven once again that he was stuck with her whether he wanted her or not. And that was precisely his problem. He didn't know if she was what he wanted. It had been a long time since he had felt anything for a woman, he had been stuck in that dreadful house for months, and that insipid game all contributed to this relationship. Would she still want to spend time with him when this war was over? Would he want to spend time with her when it was finally revealed that he was not a Death Eater but a hero? There would be awards, recognition, maybe some money, and hopefully scores of women beating down his front door to console him after his long exile and years of mistreatment. Perhaps this relationship served just as a comfort in hard times. A comfort he would be hard pressed to give up now, but in the future...?

He snorted aloud. The idea of women wanting to tear his clothes off just because he lied to the Dark Lord was ludicrous. He hadn't even been all that good at it; he had been caught after all. It was the reason he was stuck making potions with Hermione in the first place. And let's not forget his boyish good looks and winning personality. But when he thought about it, it wasn't so bad. So he might not have legions of fans hailing him as a hero, but he did have one person who thought he was special. At least he could stand her presence for more than ten minutes, contrary to what he told her on a daily basis.

However, it wasn't until her idiot friends, Potter and Weasley had dragged her from headquarters in a foolish attempt to 'have fun' that he began to understand what that might truly mean.

They had returned after sneaking out without a chaperone to go to Muggle London. Within minutes of leaving the pub, they had run into Death Eaters. Weasley had been knocked unconscious, Potter had bloody slashes across his back and shoulders, and Hermione had a broken arm, a concussion, and a myriad of bruises. They had barely escaped with their lives, and he intended to let them know his wrath, especially Hermione. She had known the dangers, but had been unable to dissuade the other two, and as a result, she lay in bed while Severus ranted and raved at her.

"Of all the stupid, immature, ill-advised, ridiculous...," he roared.

"If you don't stop, I might start to think you don't like me," she said playfully in a raspy voice.

"I don't like you," he huffed, upset at her interruption. She was supposed to be feeling guilty, remorseful, maybe a little contrite for making him pace with worry when he had discovered they were gone. She should be apologizing profusely, begging his forgiveness for making him feel such things, for making him care. He wouldn't mind a few tears even, but here she was flirting with him!

She chewed on her lip, looking away, hurt by his words. He paused, looking at her intently. With that one look, she had succeeded in making him feel like the guilty party. What was she doing to him?

"Not like this anyway," he conceded. She turned back, and met his gaze.

"How do you like me, then?"

"In one piece," he said, reaching out and bushing the hair from her face. "Preferably not talking, although I'm certain that only happens when you're sleeping."

"Well, that's the only time you're not being mean and sarcastic," she retorted, frowning.

"You need to rest," he said smirking. "Your ability to argue coherently, and more importantly, maturely, has been impeded by both your injuries and insistence on spending time with morons such as Potter and Weasley."

"Don't call them that," she argued weakly.

"When they stop acting moronically, I will cease to call them morons. Tonight's behavior indicates that day is a long ways off. I fear it will never come."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? For spending times with two dunderheads who insist on dragging you into danger or for calling me mean and sarcastic?"

"For frightening you," she said.

"I wasn't frightened," he insisted perhaps a little too quickly. He hesitated letting her see just how much he cared; she might one day use it against him.

"Of course not," she said, patting his hand. He ripped his hand from her grasp, his anger returning full force. How dare she patronize him like that? How dare she take for granted the feelings that he had for her?

"Fine. I was frightened. Is that what you want to hear?" he said sharply. "That I was frightened, that I wore a hole in the carpet from pacing with worry, that I don't want to make potions without you, that I love you...." He stopped. She stared.

"You love me?" she rasped. There was no getting out of it now. The words hung heavy in the air.

"Of course I do, you irritating ninny!" She smiled at him serenely.

"I love you too, you know," she said, reaching up and placing her hand on his cheek. The knot in his stomach untwisted even as his heart fluttered. She loved him. She LOVED him. She loved HIM. He covered her hand with his, turning his lips and kissing her palm. He would probably regret this later, but at that moment, he didn't care.