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A Sprinkle of Latin

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Headmaster's Rooms – October 1998

"You said you…dreamt of me?"

Severus looked up from the reefs of paper littering his lab, couch and low table. A curl of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and Hermione fought the swift tightening of her flesh. That look. One that her dream-Severus had worn so often, a wickedness, a darkness and with it the promise of every sin there for the asking.

"I did." That devilish little quirk to his lips deepened. His dark eyes shone with molten fire. "I do."

Heat rushed over Hermione's face and a half-strangled squeak caught in her throat. Six weeks. Six whole weeks and she still went up in flames at the simplest of things. His voice. That was his main weapon. And she was defenceless against it.

She pressed her lips together, dropped her quill on her Transfiguration notes and sat straighter before the hearth. It had become her place within his rooms twice during the school week and Sunday afternoons. A thick rug, pillows, her notes and books, a quill and the warmth of a roaring fire, whilst Severus tackled the mountains of paperwork that came with being Headmaster of Hogwarts on the nearby couch. It was a little hit of bliss away from the madness of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Their shared time was supposed to be about getting to know each other. And Hermione was…curious. Had his dreams been as…as filthy as hers? As they still were. Kissing him twice a day was only fuelling the…licentious nature of her own dreams.

Her belly twisted, but gods, she was a Gryffindor. She'd kissed him in the Astronomy Tower, after all.

"Tell me one." She lifted her chin. "Please."

A black eyebrow rose and he sank back against the couch. "Then a favour returned, little witch. One of yours, if you please?"

She jerked her head in a nod. "All right." She settled herself in her nest to ease the rush of nerves. That hot and implacable black gaze was fixed on her. What should she give him? His morning kiss taken so, so much further? The wickedness of his dragging her into an alcove, muffling her squeal with his hand then his perfect, perfect mouth as talented fingers…

She closed her eyes, her face hot.

"Please, Hermione, before I am too old and infirm to appreciate your tale."

She huffed at him, catching the wry amusement twisting his mouth. "I best be quick, then."

"Such impertinence…"

The two words were a low and delicious rumble that sank low into her belly. He was evil. Him and his voice.

Hermione drew in a long, calming breath and swept her fingers over the wild tangle of her hair. "I'm in a bookshop. Flourish and Blotts, third floor, that little turn before the windows were the more…obscure arithmancy books are kept."

"Of course, books…"

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and his smirk deepened. Her heart swelled at the growing ease of their relationship and the circles at her wrists hummed their satisfaction. Bloody things…

"I'm aware of you watching me. Silent. Predatory."

Her gaze darted away and back. Something about this particular dark wizard drew these wants out of her. She'd never been truly aroused, not by Viktor and certainly not by Ron, and had always thought herself rather prudish. But Severus Snape… Gods, the man made her positively wanton.

"You offer your hand and draw me into a dark alcove. Press me against the stacks-"

"With a cushioning charm, naturally. My debauched witch must be…comfortable."

His was a velvet rumble, his eyes alight with golden fire.

Hermione jerked a nod, her belly tight, the strain already there in her flesh. Damn the man.

"You ease up my robes, fingers skimming my thighs…" She could see it, feel it. The close scent of old books, Severus a dark and looming shadow, his breath quick, his hands sure and strong and her legs parting for him. Eager. Wanting.

"Are you wet for me, little witch?"

Had she dreamt those words? She blinked at him. Or had he just…? Her face flamed and she fixed her mortified gaze on her fingers. Watching them knot in her skirt. How did he know? Had he…looked?

He gave her a tight smile. "I... My apologies, Hermione. I went too far."

Her head snapped up. "No." She shook her head. "No. You…you are my safe place, Severus. With you, I'm safe to explore anything. Everything. And I want to. I ache to."

With a squawk, she was pulled and bundled into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around her. He buried his face against the wild tangle of her hair, his breath quick and hot over her ear. Their magic spiralled, fierce and wild, swirling away to feed the ever-greedy wards.

"My witch."

That broke a shocked little gasp from her and she snuggled against him. For a moment, she simply enjoyed this. His arms around her. His scent of herbs and warmed parchment. She hadn't exaggerated. He truly was her safe place. Her lips brushed the underside of his jaw. "Fair play, Severus. One of your dreams for one of mine."

He drew back and a long finger teased loose curls behind her ear. He let out a long breath. Something moved in the blackness of his eyes. She wanted to label it unease, but that would be ridiculous.

Severus Snape wouldn't be uneasy over a dream. Unless… He was a dark wizard. Her belly turned over. For the first time in a long time, a sliver of doubt chased through her. Gods, what could want— No. No, it wouldn't be so very terrible. She trusted him. "Severus…?"

A bitter smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing depraved, Hermione."

"I…"

His gaze narrowed and her face grew hot.

"I did think it. For a moment. I'm sorry." Her chin lifted. "But what could be so bad that it would make you —you— uneasy?"

"More than once I have dreamt," the large hand on her hip eased across until he pressed his palm to her belly, "I have dreamt that you were pregnant. Blooming. Glowing. And happy to be carrying my child. A little girl." He swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I have felt her knuckles –so small, so perfect— press against my palm. Seen her foot push out…" He twitched another smile and his eyes were too bright. "Our little girl. Our family."

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, her fingers biting into her jaw. Her eyes were wet. She closed them and a tear ran down her cheek. She…she was all lewd and bawdy and he, he was dreaming —aching— for children.

Did he think that's all he was to her? Fine for fucking, but making no true commitment? Well, he was wrong. Completely wrong.

"When?"

He blinked. "Sorry…?"

She pulled in a long steadying breath. Only six weeks together…but this, they were forever. Very probably the next hundred and fifty years. Then Merlin knew how many years in paint. Yes, he wasn't escaping her even then…

"This magic, our bind and its connection to the castle, has little regard for what should be possible. Even for magic. So…how old was I? So I can plan. Be ready." She smirked at him. "Get in the right amount of baby-making…practice."

He was staring at her. Just staring. A vein throbbed at his temple. Dear Merlin, had she broken Severus Snape?

"You…agree?"

"Of course I do. Silly man."

"Silly…?"

He growled, but his eyes shone and then he pulled her too him, his arms so very tight. His tears wet her skin.