Scattered (Book 1)

Message (8)

Black Hermione <3

Hermione lay across her sleeping bag, her feet throbbing with discomfort after another day of walking around the Welsh countryside. She'd barely been able to keep up with the brisk pace that Snape had set for them, inspecting one house after another, and finding only one half-suitable location. It had been nixed due to a strange smell, and overabundance of rodents, and a strange hair-raising sensation it cause as they walked through it. They'd agreed it would be a second choice if nothing else panned out, but both clearly preferred camping even to that hovel.

"Stop fidgeting, some of us are trying to sleep." Snape's caustic tone filled the tent for a moment, causing Hermione to freeze, not realizing she'd been moving around.

"Sorry, I can't get comfortable." She mumbled, resisting the urge to rub her sore legs, the prickling soreness growing the longer she lay still.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable under a stunning spell?" He offered rudely, earning him a silent glare at his turned back.

"No thank you." She bit out, rolling to lie on her back, and stretch her legs out. She propped one leg up until it began tingling, then the other, trying futilely to find a way to ease the discomfort.

"For the love of Merlin, girl!" He sat upright, and turned to glare at her. "If I have to brew you a poison to get you to sleep, I will! Just please stop moving!" He growled the please with more emotion than she could see on his face, which was a feat, since his expression said he was half an inch from murdering her before she even got cozy enough to sleep.

"I can't! My legs hurt too much!" She grouched back, shifting once more, stretching both arms and legs out in frustration. He glared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed with thought.

"Give me your leg." He finally ordered, holding out his hand. Hermione hesitated, inspecting his face, and reading the undercurrent to his thoughts, looking for any intent to hurt her. She found a sleepy muddle of irritation, determination, and sparkly yellow around the edges of his mind. She sat up and turned, bracing her arms behind her, and lifted her leg to offer to him, hoping he knew a spell to relieve the discomfort.

Instead, his fingers clasped around her ankle, pulling her foot into his lap, and skimming to her calf, digging gently into the fabric of her pajamas, forming slow methodic circles. His eyes had turned away from her, closing his thoughts to her, but the firm, careful way he touched made her certain that he held no ill-will. It took her a moment to realize that he was massaging her leg, putting her muscles to rest with his fingers alone. She felt a small shard of embarrassment at the thought, but pushed it away, unwilling to turn down such a relieving and pleasant gift. His eyes seemed nearly closed as he rubbed, his fingers making their way in a pattern up and down her leg, around to the front, and then to her knee, stroking downward across the back of her joint, making her eyes close with enjoyment as he worked, the relaxing fingers laboring onto her thigh, his long fingers splaying and kneading. Hermione felt her breath coming quicker as he moved higher, and squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look at him as he came inches from touching her more intimately. His movements were deliberate and thorough, and she didn't think he was going to try and molest her, but after the way he'd mocked her the previous day, she felt uncertain. His fingers swept back down, and traded her leg out for the other, beginning at her ankle again, and leaving her with a feeling of disappointment.

She'd nearly expected him to inch even higher, to 'accidentally' brush against her pelvis. She told herself it was a good thing he hadn't. That she didn't want him to. It was just some strange result of asking such personal questions. Of being on the receiving end of his passion a few times. A passion he seemed to be totally lacking in his exhaustion. Hermione opened her eyes infinitesimally inspecting his blank face. He could almost be asleep if it weren't for his hands moving up her leg, and the tiny blinks that proved his eyes weren't completely shut. As his fingers came closer again to the top of her thigh, she held her breath, as though waiting for him to wake up, and realize how close he was to what he'd fantasized about. She was starting to tingle at the thought, fighting her imagination as it began producing the scenario of his fingers continuing the massage after her legs had been finished.