Chapter 5: Devotion [Part II]
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Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
It felt like an eternity had passed before Hermione’s senses finally came back to her. Her head was still swirling from her violent climax by the time she managed, albeit with great difficulty, to prop herself up on her elbows and look down, the edges of her vision a bit blurry yet.
And that was when she saw him: Professor Snape, sprawled half-naked between her bare legs with his head resting on her thigh, panting heavily, his lips and chin glistening vaguely with her own arousal in the feeble light.
Hermione did not exactly know why, but this sight caused her next breath to catch in her throat. He just looked so damn alluring at this moment, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Like Eden’s forbidden fruit. Straightaway, the warm, flushing feeling in her lower belly returned, and she could not help but clumsily sit back up and launch herself at him. She pulled him into a hungry, heated kiss, tasting herself on his lips.
At some point, her hair tie had to have gotten lost, because now her wild mane of curls was cascading down her back and over her breasts, nearly engulfing the two of them as they worshipped each other again with their tongues. Hermione was still so high off of her orgasm that any shyness was all at once forgotten, and the only thing she desired right then and there was to reciprocate, to make him feel just as good as he had made her feel. And so one of her hands slipped between them and somewhat ineptly palmed the hard bulge in his trousers, prompting Snape to groan into her mouth. Spurred on by his reaction, she rubbed him more brashly through his clothes, and he jerked against her touch.
Breaking their kiss, he pulled back until only their foreheads were touching.
“What are you doing to me, witch?” he rasped in a gravelly voice, and Hermione was not able to suppress the wicked grin that spread across her face. She would have been lying if she had said that his response to her did not make her feel as good as almighty. She had the sudden urge to find out just how much she could affect him.
Inspirited by her Gryffindor nerve, she thus inclined her head and kissed his neck as her fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and the buttons of his slacks, partly exposing the front of his underpants. She cupped his clothed groin once more and revelled in the hissing noise that escaped him.
She continued to touch and kiss him, taking delight in his unusual vocalness; and in her boldness, she soon pulled back and made an attempt at yanking down his trousers. It was a feeble endeavour, however, as his seated position made it impossible for her to pull them past his hips, and she was immediately taken aback by this slight hiccup. It felt like the wind had been taken out of her sails, causing her ephemeral confidence to shatter like glass. What was she supposed to do now? She briefly considered whether she should ask him to get up on his knees, but the mere thought of making such a request made her feel even more embarrassed. She cudgelled her brain in desperation, but her consternation was unwarranted, as Snape seemed to have read her mind already. A quick flick of his wrist was all that was needed to vanish his remaining clothing, leaving him completely in the nude.
Hermione gasped when she abruptly found herself confronted with his nakedness. A path of trimmed hair, whose dark tone clashed with his pale skin, led from his navel down to the junction of his thighs where his already weeping erection stood pointedly. Slightly reddish in colour, it looked so incredibly stiff and – for want of a better term – angry.
The Muggle-born’s heart was pounding so fast and loud that she was certain he must be able to hear it. This was the first time that she was seeing a phallus in the flesh, and even though she could only compare it to some rather insipid medical illustrations she had seen in books, she still knew that Snape was definitely well-endowed. His penis looked so long and notably thick that she had trouble imagining how it was supposed to fit even just halfway inside her.
But despite her flabbergasted state, her innate know-it-all nature quickly took over. Before she could curb her curiosity, she had already leaned forward in order to examine him more closely. His straining manhood was all flushed, with veins and ridges and silky-smooth skin, a glossy, milky-hued droplet spilling at the tip. Unwittingly, she reached out and allowed one tentative finger to brush across the head, watching in fascination as the organ twitched in response to her touch.
However, even though his sex seemed to react with eagerness to this minute caress, Snape did not. Without warning, he jolted backwards, practically recoiling from her, and Hermione froze, with her hand still in the air.
“I –” His tone was barely recognisable, sounding all breathless and scratchy, and Hermione thought that even the blindfold could not fully mask the conspicuous wild look of his eyes, his neatly feathered eyebrows raised so high that they almost disappeared in his hairline. For a long moment, neither one of them dared to move.
“I’m sorry,” she then said, careful to keep her voice calm and quiet for fear that he would otherwise again react as though Peeves had just dropped a barrage of Dungbombs on him. “I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission. I’ll just –”
Scarcely had she begun to back away that his hands suddenly shot towards her and encircled her forearms with surprising precision.
“No, please!” His hoarse voice was a mere thread of sound. “Forgive me!”
He lurched forward and pressed one frantic kiss after another onto the insides of her wrists.
“It’s just –, you cannot imagine how –” He swallowed hard, and she watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat. “Having you … touch me like that … with your scent filling this room so potently and your taste on my lips still …”
His entire body shuddered almost convulsively.
“The curse … it nearly overtook me just then. But I promise –, I swear that I’m in control now!”
Hermione was taken aback by the discernible difference in his speech. These unrestrained, overwrought words – they sounded nothing like Severus Snape, Hogwarts professor and potions extraordinaire. She could not quite put a finger on why this odd change in behaviour bothered her so much, but something about the way the tips of his hair were all of a sudden crackling with sparks of unbridled magic unnerved her.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I understand. I won’t do that again.”
For an instant, the grip he had on her tightened, squeezing her flesh painfully, before he loosened it again.
“No, you … you can touch me,” he added somewhat more calmly, though still with a pressing imperativeness to his voice. “If you want.”
A wave of unease welled up from her belly. There it was again – that sickening suspicion that the dark magic striving to corrupt his mind was perhaps much closer to the surface than she would have liked to admit. Unlike before, she did not think that he was trying to scarper anymore. No, rather something within him now seemed to be all too keen on staying; and she somehow got the impression that this shift did not bode well for her.
Regardless, they had already come this far – there was simply no way that she could abort their mission this close to the finish line. And so she told him, “Show me how.”
He released one of her hands and pulled the other towards him, wrapping their intertwined fingers around him. He urged her fist down towards the base before more quickly drawing it back up in a sort of twisting motion. Repeating this action a mere handful of times – she had always been a quick study, after all – he ultimately allowed his hand to fall away so that she could continue the movement on her own.
Yet again, she was glad for his temporary blindness, since she could only imagine his reaction to the expression she surely had to be sporting at the present. She was – for want of a better term – utterly mesmerised by the feeling of his rigid member in her hand. It felt hot, oh so very hot, and somehow both improbably stiff and velvety-soft at the same time. With each pump of her hand, it seemed to grow even harder, swelling within her closed fist. The way his bollocks appeared to have a mind of their own, ascending upwards and nearly disappearing at various times, had her spellbound.
Most importantly, however, Hermione was bewitched by the actual act of touching him like this – of being able to affirm that under all those layers of black cloth, he was just as fragile as the rest of them.
“Grasp it a bit more firmly,” Snape whispered, and a low rasping sound was torn from him when she followed his instructions. He appeared to fold in on himself, his head dropping to her shoulder, his unsteady breaths tickling her skin. He bucked against her hand and at once, her fingers became slick with precum.
A shock wave of heat pulsed through her blood. Witnessing him in such a state – it made her feel powerful beyond measure. Because she was doing that. She was the one turning him on like this. She was the one causing him to groan like this, and immediately she craved to draw more of those delicious sounds from him. Increasing the pressure on his cock, she began to speed up her pumps. Up, twist, down. Up, twist, down. She let herself get lost in the rhythm.
“Enough!” Snape suddenly barked as his fingers forcefully seized her waist, and Hermione let go off him as though touching him was scorching her skin.
For a heartbeat or two, they remained in this queer position, both of them unnaturally still. Then he pulled back a little and raised his chin towards her.
“I apologise. I did not intend for that to come out sounding quite this brusque.”
Hermione thought that she could detect a slight flush on his cheeks.
“It’s just –, I … I got …” He ducked his head. “Too … close.”
Hermione felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of her face.
This was happening, she thought, this was really happening. Professor Snape was going to fuck her.
A chill rushed across her skin, sharp and cold. The time between that ill-starred order meeting and the present moment abruptly seemed to have gone by far too quickly. How had they already reached this point? Hadn’t he knocked on her door only a few minutes ago? For an agonising instant, she was consumed by dread – and then her eyes fell on Snape.
He was a truly miserable sight. The Slytherin was hunched over, cowering almost, his hands balled into shaking fists at his sides. It was then that the reality of their situation hit her like a ton of bricks. For the most part, her nervousness came down to the typical jitters one could expect to get when faced with the prospect of losing one’s virginity. It was clear, however, that his worries were not of the same nature. Indeed, he looked absolutely horror-stricken in anticipation of what was to occur; and Hermione was promptly disgusted with herself for her self-centredness. To think that she would permit herself to wallow in her own qualms, when his state of mind had to be much worse – no, it simply would not do. After all, she was supposed to help him!
Putting aside her own concerns, she thus scooted over to the middle of the bed, took one of his hands into hers and gently but firmly pulled him towards her. Snape was compelled to follow her as she leaned backwards until her back met the mattress. Their bodies collided without much grace and came to lie in a huddle of limbs.
Snape instantly tried to remove himself from her, of course, but Hermione stilled him with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his face. Stroking his cheek with her thumb, she gave him an encouraging smile he could not see.
“Please don’t try to run again,” she entreated. “We’ve almost done it now. Just hold out a bit longer, okay?”
The only response she got was a delayed, curt nod, and she had to hold back a groan of irritation.
Easy, Hermione. Remember, this is even harder for him than it is for you.
“Ready when you are then,” she therefore told him, a weird cheerfulness in her voice that sounded fake even to her own ears.
Snape, too, appeared puzzled if his rigid posture was anything to go by, but Hermione decided to play ignorant. What followed was a long, awkward pause which only ended once the wizard finally sighed in capitulation. With slow, reluctant movements, he shifted his weight to one side and took himself in his hand. As he guided his member towards her centre, he pressed his forehead against hers.
“You know that you can tell me to stop at any point, right?” He hesitated. “Well, at least until …”
He trailed off, and though she saw his words for what they were – another stalling attempt – she could hear the earnest trepidation in them as well. She could only imagine how uncomfortable the thought of being wholly out of control had to be to someone like him.
“I know.” Hermione reached between them, curling her fingers around his trembling ones and lining him up with her entrance. “Keep going.”
Nervously, Snape moistened his dry lips. His pelvis pushed forwards, and Hermione squinched her eyes shut. His cock was definitely much bigger than his fingers had been, and the unexpected roughness of his initial thrust did not help. A croaky whine filled her ears, and this time she was very nearly certain that it had come from him.
Fortunately, he seemed to regain his composure following that first shove of his hips and waited for her muscles to unclench before he pressed on, gradually sinking into her as far as her body would allow him. To her astonishment, it did not hurt. There was a momentary, slight pinch as he filled her and then … nothing. Frankly, this unforeseen circumstance left her genuinely confounded.
Even though all signs may point to the contrary, at the end of the day, Hermione Granger was but a young woman who had only relatively recently had her sexual awakening. As such, she had in fact read the occasional dirty article or semi-helpful advice column in certain teen magazines that had somehow found their way from Ginny’s extensive collection into her hands and had even secretly listened in on the gossipy testimonials shared between her giggly dormmates over the years. All that had led her to believe that a girl’s first time was supposed to be far from pleasant, outright painful even. Yet all she was experiencing right now was a strange feeling of vaguely uncomfortable fullness.
She briefly wondered whether or not that had anything to do with the pain relief potion Snape had given her earlier; however, she was pulled from her thoughts in the twinkling of an eye. In her confusion, she had experimentally canted her hips in order to decipher this alien sensation, and her heart jolted when one of his hands suddenly thwarted her rather harshly.
Hermione’s lips parted in silent surprise. Never before had she heard the ever-steady, ever-contained wizard stutter like this. In fact, she could not remember ever hearing him stutter at all. The apparent distress in his voice disconcerted her – and at the same time, it excited her, too. To evoke such an uncharacteristic reaction from such an incredibly self-possessed man like Severus Snape with nothing more than a slight movement of her body was downright exhilarating. Without conscious volition her pelvic muscles contracted.
“Sorry! That –, that wasn’t intentional, I swear.”
Throwing his head back, Snape visibly clenched his teeth.
“It’s … fine,” he managed to spit out, evidently with great effort. “Just give me a moment.”
Making every endeavour to lay cooperatively still, she observed his face. The tendons in his jaw were locked in acute restraint, looking more akin to steel hawsers than anything else, and there was a deep line running vertically between his brows, reminiscent of the one which had oftentimes manifested itself in the classroom, whenever he had had to do his utmost not to unleash his fury on one of the – as he so affectionately liked to call them – dunderheads who had just recklessly caused an explosion in their cauldron. The only noise in the room was the sound of small bursts of air being forced out of his flaring nostrils in rapid succession.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tension in his features eased, and his expression gentled. Snape removed his hand from her waist and following another short moment of indecision began to move. His hips rolled forward, rocking against her in shallow thrusts, very slowly at first and little by little becoming a bit more daring.
As he stiffly slipped in and out of her, Hermione gnawed at the inside of her lip. Again, his movements did not hurt, but they did not feel good either. It must be his girth, she thought, or maybe her own build was simply too small or maybe both of those facts were equally true. Either way, she was sure that they had to be physically incompatible somehow, because right now the only thing she could focus on was that disagreeable stretch she felt.
She was not quite sure why this was disappointing to her. After all, she had not gone into this whole curse-breaking-spy-shagging-fiasco with any romanticised notions in her head. However, she would be lying if she had said that the ease with which he had gotten her off earlier had not caused a bit of hope to swell within her. She was still thankful for the absence of the expected pain, of course, but some frustration nevertheless reared its ugly head. In an attempt to squash it, she tried to distract herself.
She was under no illusion that she would most likely never again see the man who was currently hovering above her like this – without his armour of billowing robes and countless buttons, without his sneering remarks and that perpetual scowl of his. She would never again see him this unguarded. This exposed. Therefore, she was determined to make the most of it by running her fingers across any body part she could reach: his arms, his pectoral muscles, his neck. As she traced the dip of his spine, he let out a soft grunt which made the corners of her mouth curl upwards a bit. Even if the previous pleasures he had given her were now missing, she could at least take solace in this – in seeing this powerful man react to her touch. React to her. Suitably mollified, she allowed her hands to continue to roam across his broad chest. Subconsciously, the muscles in her body began to relax, and so she was somewhat dumbfounded when his thrusts were suddenly bearable. No, they were more than bearable – they actually felt kind of nice. She was unaware of the fact that when her legs had settled more comfortably on either side of him, she had inadvertently opened herself up to him more which greatly helped allay that awful stretching sensation.
All the while, Snape had been holding his body taut in an effort to keep his weight off her, bracing himself against the mattress on either side of her head. The muscles of his lean arms were straining, noticeably flexing beneath his pale skin, and when thinking back to this moment later she would use this fact as an excuse for her following actions; though truth be told, she merely acted on a sudden impulse that demanded him closer.
Her legs wrapped around his waist at the same time that she reached out and linked her arms behind his back. She pulled him towards her with all her strength, and his reaction to this unanticipated change in position was immediate. An almost pitiful-sounding moan escaped him, and his head dropped to her left shoulder. One of his arms stretched upwards, his fingers becoming entangled in her curls, whilst his other arm slid under her neck and cradled her close. Simultaneously, his hips surged forwards, impaling her in one sharp stroke, and for a moment, Hermione struggled for air.
“Fuck,” Snape groaned without even seeming to realise that he had spoken. His grip on her tightened as he rammed his cock into her again. And again. And again.
Hermione screwed up her eyes. She knew that it was the curse causing him to act in such a manner – to be reduced to expletives, to sink his teeth into the crook of her neck in an effort to stifle his gasps and whimpers, to cling to her like she was his salvation. Still, she shifted her lower body just so and met his movements with her own. With each thrust, his hips snapped against hers and his pelvis met her swollen clit in a truly glorious manner, drawing breathy moans from her. No longer did his rhythmic invasion of her body feel foreign, no, it was starting to feel good. Really good.
So that’s what all the fuss is about, she thought just before Snape stupefied her mind with a searing kiss. His lips were needy, the pace of his pounding relentless. She let one of her hands trail the path between his shoulder blates and felt him shudder.
“Ah,” he suddenly panted into her mouth, ceasing his vigorous strokes. His chest was heaving with excited breaths as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “I –, I’m about to –, to … Are you ready?”
In spite of his urgent words, Hermione could hear the evident uncertainty in his voice. Instead of answering him, she cradled his chiselled face in her hands. She pressed a soft kiss onto the tip of his nose before she reached around and slowly unravelled the tight knot that had kept the ominous blindfold in place from the moment the curse had struck him until now. The piece of cloth fell from his eyes, and she found herself confronted with his bluish-tinged eyelids.
“Open your eyes,” she told him, even as her heart stumbled over its own rhythm. “Look at me.”
But he did not. Indeed, he tried to turn his face to the side. Her hands refused to let him move so much as an inch though.
“Hey. It’s all right. Really.” She stroked her thumb across his cheekbone. “I know that it’s … that it’s frightening. But I’m here; we’re here. It’s almost over. Let’s unburden you.”
In that exact moment, she did not feel any fear. She could not be certain as to what was about to happen, of course; she did not know how devastating and destructive the curse would truly prove to be. But even so, she thought that right now she was maybe the calmest she had ever been. Because for once, her mind was not in a state of organised chaos. For once, she was not stuck in that suffocating spiral of overthinking and strategizing and obsessive planning, always anticipating contingencies, always worrying, always anxiously awaiting the next tragedy. Perhaps the reason for it was that there was simply no point. There was no need to look for alternatives, whatever the outcome, because the circumstances did not permit it. There was only one way out, and all they could do now was to let it happen. This inevitableness – it was almost a relief.
She kissed him again, on the mouth this time. Gentle and sweet. It was not a kiss of passion but rather one of reassurance. A kind of promise.
“Trust me,” she whispered, and after a heartbeat, his lashes finally swept up.
Their eyes immediately locked, and for just a split second, Hermione saw the Potions Master as she had never seen him before. His gaze was full of so much vulnerability and uncertainty, tenderness and bewilderment. This bizarre jumble of emotions filled her heart and made her want to bitterly weep at the same time.
But then, his demeanour abruptly changed. To the witch, it almost appeared as though his eyes suddenly glazed over, their pitch-black colour somehow getting even darker. His brows knitted together as if enraged and his lips drew back to reveal his uneven, gritted teeth, which morphed his face into something akin to a grotesque grimace.
With a guttural snarl that sounded less like a human and more like a savage beast, Snape arched his back and drew back only to then promptly slam back into her with unprecedented force, sheathing himself to the hilt in her warmth. Hermione gasped and gripped the sheets as he plunged into her again and again, hard and fast. His pace quickened with each thrust, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It took her all but biting her tongue to keep from making a troubled sound, worried about overly upsetting Snape or whatever was left of him, hidden deep inside that creature-like madman who was so roughly fucking her right now.
It was not painful, necessarily – she was far too wet for that – but his forcefulness felt simply overwhelming. It was way too much. She did not try to mask her expression of discomfort; in truth, she even purposefully screwed up her face in an exaggerated manner. After all, should Voldemort truly demand access to his servant’s mind tomorrow night, it was crucial that her supposed distress look somewhat convincing. In the same vein, however, she did make sure to keep her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, covering up as much as she possibly could.
Meanwhile, Snape continued to pound into her with abandon. Accompanied by feral grunts, his furious thrusts were becoming more urgent and erratic by the second. Hermione watched him through the lashes of her squinted eyes. It was all but frightening how different he looked to his usually so composed self, staring at her with those wild, lust-crazed eyes, the veins of his neck protruding to an alarming extent. This was no longer the same Severus Snape she had known thus far – no longer the same snarky professor whose magical prowess she had always admired whilst sitting inside that dark, stuffy dungeon classroom; no longer the same brave man who had sacrificed it all in the fight against the dark side; no longer the ardent lover who had so easily made her become undone and crumble like sand in his arms. No, at this moment, he was truly nothing more than a vessel for that dreadful curse which was holding him prisoner inside his own body.
A desperate moan left Snape’s lips. His breathing was starting to get laboured, and he was little short of frothing at the mouth when he all of a sudden in his rage took hold of her hips, burying his nails in her flesh. Hermione unwillingly yelped in pain as he pulled her towards him in such a frenzy that he lifted her lower body off the bed. This shift in position created a new angle, and even though his movements were still far too harsh and brutal for her sexually verdant self, he was now suddenly hitting that spot within her again which sent a surge of excitement through her abdomen. Hermione whimpered as she felt her inner walls flutter around his length, tightening and throbbing with need. With each powerful stroke, a newly familiar feeling was gradually beginning to build inside her core. Stars danced behind her lids every time he ploughed into her, and against all odds, she yet again found herself climbing and climbing and climbing and –
A throaty roar resonated off the bedroom walls as Snape at last soared into oblivion and spilled himself inside her with one final deep thrust. For an instance, it was like time had stopped, and all Hermione could sense in her foggy state was the peculiar way he was pulsing within her – and then he collapsed on top of her, pinning her underneath his form, his face buried in the crook of her neck. They lay like that for what felt like hours.
“I-is it over?” Hermione ultimately managed to choke out with great difficulty once she had caught her breath, her voice sounding terribly shaky. “The curse … is it broken?”
At her words, the wizard tensed up, and for a mere second, Hermione was seized with panic. In the heat of the moment, she had completely forgotten about their earlier conversation, and so now her wand was lying amidst a messy pile of clothes on the floor, entirely out of reach. She felt her stomach contract into a tight ball as her eyes darted around the room almost feverishly, looking for an escape. After all, she knew that she was no match to him, neither physically nor magically – especially not whilst he was lost to curse-induced delirium.
But then, at last, Snape visibly relaxed.
“No, I … I think … I think it’s over,” he panted between short gasps, and Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief.
They had actually done it. They had broken the curse. It was over.
The following moments were spent in silence. The unlikely pair remained in their unwonted position, him atop her, their bodies still joined in the most intimate manner. Snape was surprisingly heavy, his weight pressing her into the mattress to the point that she nearly felt smothered, but she somehow could not bring herself to care. For some reason, it simply felt right to have him pressed so tightly against her, to experience those slight tingles every time he exhaled against her skin. Hermione did not think that she had ever felt this content before in her whole life. She would have bottled up and preserved this very moment for all of eternity if she could have.
When he finally stirred and consequently propped himself up on his forearms, she immediately mourned the loss of his touch. Though she still had to wince a bit from soreness as he pulled out of her.
All the while, Snape hung his head low, his long hair masking most of his face – which Hermione did not like, not one bit. Just like she did not like the fact that he was suddenly so quiet again. Whilst she was normally well-accustomed to his long bouts of silence, she could not overlook how vocal and attentive he had been just minutes earlier. Slowly but surely, she was growing concerned. After all, the Potions Master was rather infamous for his frequent violent mood swings. Therefore, she could not stop herself from worrying about what his current state of mind was or even what would happen next, now that they had done what they had needed to do. Would they now simply go back to their previous ways? Were they now again merely ex-professor and ex-student, distant acquaintances at best? Would she never again be allowed to see this side of him, the caring and softer him? Would they never again speak about what had transpired between them today? Though she certainly did not have any romantic feelings for him, the idea still hurt.
Her ongoing whirlwind of thoughts was only interrupted when Snape pushed himself off of her and rolled over. However, just before he came to a rest beside her, Hermione could have sworn that she felt his lips ghost across her left shoulder for merely a wisp of a second.
That was how they found themselves laying side by side on her much too narrow bed, their sweaty, naked bodies practically clinging to each other wherever they happened to touch. The only noise in the air was the sound of their laboured breathing. Something wet and sticky was slowly starting to pool between her legs, staining the sheets beneath her, but Hermione barely noticed. She was still so dazed that she could hardly even think straight. Even now, it felt like every inch of her body was on fire, aglow with the carnal intoxication which continued to flow through her every vein. She was faintly aware of a pounding ache gradually radiating from where he had been grabbing onto her earlier during his manic rampage; there was no doubt in her mind that she would wake up tomorrow morning with finger-shaped bruises adorning her hips.
All of a sudden, the man beside her seized her by the wrist, taking her by surprise.
It had scarcely been more than a whisper, but Hermione had heard the words – and the sincerity in them – nonetheless. By the time she turned her head to look at him, however, Snape had already let go of her again. He was staring straight up at the ceiling with a blank expression, his gaze fixated on nothing in particular. Whilst his face was impassive, his posture appeared curiously casual. Resting on his back, he had one bent arm stretched out above his head and the other draped across his abdomen. This pose, paired with his alabaster skin, his aquiline nose and the strands of charred-black hair sticking to his forehead which was beaded with sweat, made him look straight out of a classic painting, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him.
“You’re welcome … Severus.”
