The Edge of Nowhere

Chapter 10: A Plan

The sound of the seabirds nudged her awake. Hermione rubbed her eyes. Morning streamed through the large windows giving an airiness to the spacious room; like waking up on top of a cloud in the middle of the sky. She hadn't been this contented in a very long time. Her body needed a good stretch, so she obliged. When her right arm brushed his shoulder she glanced over to the other side of the bed and smiled. Turning up onto her hip she watched him sleep. 

It was her considered opinion that men were at their most attractive when asleep. It was certainly true in Viktor's case. He had a bulky physique similar to artistic renderings of over-muscular Greek gods. His brawn was slightly less bulging when he slept. Awake poor Viktor was not a captivating conversationalist, nothing remotely intellectual ever left his lips.

The same degree of mental prowess could be said of Ron. His body habitus was pudgier, much less chiseled than Viktor. 'Thick' would be the word that described Ron both physically and mentally. He slept much of the time they were married and did very little else, save eating. As a matter of fact Hermione counted sleeping as one of Ron's best attributes, after eating and Quidditch.

Severus was of a more streamlined build than either of her two previous consorts. His limbs long and lean. He appeared free of any adipose tissue whatsoever. His musculature was well-defined, his fitness more taut than bulky or puffed-up. She would guess his body fat count was next to Zero.

Conscious, Severus was obviously brilliant. He was intellectual, well-read and fascinating in conversation, once past his wards...and mask...and walls. 

Among her few lovers Severus was, by far, the most skillful in bed. The only one ever attentive to her needs before his own. 

Lying on his side, Severus was facing away from her. His gentle snoring reminiscent of Buckbeak sleeping. Not the gravelly clangor of Viktor's snore or the gagging gargle of Ron's. During her time as Mrs Weasley it was many a night she had left their bed seeking peace in the spare room. Severus breathed low and deep and...cavernous. Like Crookshanks' purr on steroids. Hermione found it comforting.

She ached to see more of him in this clear morning light. Gently tugging at the sheet she watched as it slid off his shoulder. There was a sudden clenching in her stomach. Hermione gasped. Her curiosity revealed a network of long scars, overlapping and crisscrossing, etched across his back to his waist. Some faded silver, some varying shades of pink. Tears gathered in her eyes.

His Medical file reopened in her mind. The reports only went up to age 17. Some of these scars succeeded that time, likely from his years as a Death Eater and spy. He must have dealt with these on his own for they were wider in appearance, possibly not having been closed properly. Pain, agony and delirium made magical self-healing difficult at best. No wonder Conor had said what he did when helping put Severus to bed after the rescue.

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed her shock. The scars were not hideous or grotesquely disfiguring. They were heartbreaking. Opening her eyes she reached out, her fingers a whisper away from touching him. On second thought she drew back her hand remembering his words, 

'Do not think me a pitiable wretch...' 

He did not want pity and she would not give it. He was strong, valiant and dignified. She would not take that from him. Hermione smiled wistfully. Let him sleep.

***

She had cleared the kitchen putting away the remaining casseroles and stews, breads and cakes, the villagers had brought. It was a good thing the old Priory boasted one of the largest cold storage pantries Hermione had ever seen.