The oil lamp on Hermione's desk extinguished itself with a gentle puff of smoke, leaving only the illumination provided by the candles in the adjacent room.

"You've done enough for today," her husband insisted softly as he prowled in her direction.

"But—"

"What do you expect to achieve by peering at your notes from a distance of four inches?" Severus asked. "Your eyes need a rest. You can barely stay awake." His expert fingers found the tendons connecting neck and shoulder and began to knead at them. "And you're as tense as a lone Hufflepuff in the Slytherin Common Room."

"I have to present this paper — my first paper — before the Wizengamot in less than a week."

His skilled fingers moved upward to intertwine themselves in her hair and massage her scalp. "And?"

"And I'm not ready." Hermione sighed languidly as her head tilted back.

"But you will be," Severus whispered in her ear. "You're intelligent, you understand your subject, you're extremely presentable when you get enough sleep, and you have a secret weapon."

"I do?"

"You do. You have the finest proof-reader, speaking coach and, though you won't need one, prompter a witch could wish for."

Hermione's lips twitched in amusement.

"Who will gladly hex any witch or wizard who fidgets or so much as breathes too loudly," Severus added.

Hermione would have laughed but as she leaned back to catch his eyes, she saw his mouth drawing closer.

Even as his lips brushed against hers in a sweet caress, his fingers continued their sensuous circling. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and she felt other lower muscles react in sympathy as her lips parted for him.

Too soon, he lifted his head. "Bed?" he suggested.

Hermione smiled. "I suppose I still have six more days."