A/N: Thanks for reviewing, following and favoriting! It's such an inspiration. Especially thanks to the guests reviewing the story, as I can't respond to you in person. A shout-out to the guest with the long, detailed and insightful reviews – you know who you are – I love reading your reviews.
"Don't just drop the lacewings into the brew, girl! Ease them down into the swirl, gently, like they are floating down into your cauldron." His voice was decidedly condescending, but it was still a far cry from the harsh criticisms from his classroom, she thought.
She was practicing her Volubilis Potion, as Slughorn had given her a shocking Exceeds Expectations on both her essay and the brewing session. The old wizard had clucked when he looked at her, wagging an admonishing finger in her face as he said: "My dear, do not exert yourself too much. You do look a little tired." Hermione had gritted her teeth, giving Slughorn a forced smile, and marched back to her husband's quarters to complain, ending in her demanding a private lesson.
Apparently worried that she'd destroy or break something, Severus had in the end allowed her to brew in his private lab, though only under his strict supervision. The lab was immaculate, spotless, without a speck of dust, clean like only magic could make it, and held a vast array of different cauldrons, stirring rods, shelves with rare ingredients and five heightened, lava stone hearths to place cauldrons on. It was dark, like the rest of the dungeon, but very warm with the heat of her magical fire. On a shelf nearby, beetle-Skeeter was crouched in her jar, staring at Hermione, pincher-jaws clicking impatiently.
And here he was, looming over her cauldron, his sharp eyes finding faults with everything from how she handled the ingredients, her stirring technique and the temperature of her fire.
Sighing, she corrected herself, drizzling the remaining lacewing into her cauldron. He snorted lightly, and retreated a few steps, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"Now, let it simmer for twelve minutes, but bank down your fire slightly. It's too hot."
She did as he told her too, glancing quickly at him. Was he pulling her leg with all this fuzziness and criticism? He certainly seemed to be in a good mood, she thought sourly, before she asked: "How come I've passed potions, sir, when all I apparently do is wrong?" He was definitively pulling her leg, now he was grinning, that foolish wizard, she told herself.
"Oh, there you see the difference between private lessons with me and a class," he said, amusement tinging his words. "You get the full brunt of my attention, now, and I have the time and opportunity to help you make a perfect brew."
"I thought I knew these things," she muttered grumpily, and he snorted.
"You are adequate, but not up to a Potion Apprentice standard."
Her mood souring even more, eyebrows knitting into a frown, she grumbled: "I suppose I never will be, now."
He threw her an exasperated look, his mouth thinning, before he flicked a stasis spell at her cauldron.
"Hey, I wasn't finished…" she began angrily, but he interrupted her rudely, almost snarling:
"I know you weren't finished, girl, I am a Potions master, and I can clearly see the difference between a finished and an unfinished brew. Now, hear me out, girl, and then you can continue your brewing."
Scowling at him – the one who had planted his seed in her belly, making her NEWTS go to hell, effectively hindering her career and future plans – she leaned back at the counter, waiting for him to speak, tapping her foot impatiently.
He gave her his blank, expressionless stare, which she had come to learn was a mask, hiding his feelings and sentiments. They were there, buried beneath that cool exterior, those strong emotions, bubbling underneath the surface, his iron hold on himself keeping everything in like a cauldron holding a boiling brew.
"I know you feel like your future is lost, but really, girl, do you think I would lock you up in the dungeons, forcing you to look after my children until you are old and grey? You will be able to pursue a career, an Apprenticeship and a Mastery just like you had planned, only a little later in your life."
Narrowing her eyes at him, she said sharply, her own temper flaring: "When will I be able to take my NEWTs? How old will my child be by then? Five years old? Eleven? The stupid law demands at least two children. Shall I wait fifteen years to continue my education?"
He scoffed at her: "It's my child too, you know. I imagine you can sit your NEWTs any day after your finals in June, and do better than most seventh years."
Those strange moods swings that had her so baffled took a hit at her again, and she was floored by his words. "Do you really mean that?" she said, almost sniffling by the compliment, "do you think I'm good enough to take my NEWTs without even starting my seventh year?" She felt stupid, awkward for losing control at the most inopportune times, but she couldn't help it.
He stared at her with those hard, glittering eyes, before he softened slightly and said stiffly: "Yes. Any day, Hermione."
Xxxx
She felt odd, seeing all the students leave for Christmas, standing alone in the grounds, watching the carriages trundle towards Hogsmeade. Almost every single year, she had been one of them, going home on the train to spend the holiday with her parents. Rubbing her arms, having forgotten her cloak, she felt cold in the winter frost covering the grounds. Merlin, she missed them. Scrubbing the tears angrily away from her face, she tried to swallow the sob that threatened to break out. Mum, Dad… You were supposed to be here with me! Instead, you were tortured to death because of me. If I hadn't been a witch, if I hadn't been Harry Potter's best friend, you would be here with me.
In her head, she could imagine their screams, how their bodies contorted under the Cruciatus, how sanity fled as their minds broke under the curse, life slowly leaving their eyes as their bodies gave up. Forcing down the nausea and familiar despair, she willed herself to think about something else, not thinking about how her parents should have been here to watch her get married, and then greeting their grandchild.
With a wry smile, she imagined how they would have taken the news of her marrying her Professor all of a sudden. It would not have gone down well, she was sure, and Christmas with Severus and her parents would have been the most awkward Christmas ever. Her Dad would have scowled at the man knocking up his precious daughter, mumbling things under his breath like "lecher," "horrid old man going after teenagers" and such, and her Mum would have served snide comments on the importance of finishing one's education before having a child, probably scattering books and articles on the dangers of teen pregnancies around the house. And Severus, oh my, how would he have reacted to that? He'd be sure to show off his most barbed side, delivering cutting remarks and sneers all through Christmas. Or, maybe she was exaggerating. It may have worked out better – though it would have been singularly awkward, even with everyone at their best behavior.
Speaking of Christmas... She looked down on the present in her hand, almost sniggering as she looked at the beautifully wrapped flat, oblong box, with the Malfoy sigil printed in silver on the bows.
Draco Malfoy's face had been a mix of painful embarrassment and horror as he delivered the present to her, his ferret-like face contorted into a forced smile as he had said: "Happy Christmas, Godmother. This is for you, from the Malfoy family with our best wishes."
She had hidden her surprise and wild urge to burst into uncontrollable laughter admirably, retreating behind her hastily erected Occlumency shield. She rather thought her lessons with Severus seemed to be paying off, because her sentiments were becoming easier to hide, if not her emotions. Giving Malfoy a condescending smile, she said: "Happy Christmas to you too, Malfoy. I'm sure I'll be delighted." Hoping that Severus had taken care of any presents to the Malfoy family, as it had definitively not been on her mind, she continued: "I hope you'll be pleased with the present from the Snapes too. My best wishes to you for a joyous holiday at Malfoy Manor, with all your … guests … and family."
At that Draco had shuddered, a quick expression of revulsion flitting over his face, but he had nodded, withdrawing quickly into the throng, trying to not be affected by the whispering stares from the Slytherins surrounding him.
Snorting softly to herself, she realized she enjoyed the endless possibilities of putting down Malfoy that her marriage afforded her. Maybe she had a streak of Slytherin in her, too.
Oh, well, she definitively had a part of a Slytherin in her body now, growing and developing every day. Her soon to be family… Well, no matter what she could wish for, this year, she was staying with her husband, the father of her child, to spend most of Christmas in the castle. Her mind turned to their living arrangements: Would they be living in his quarters after the baby came, or would they get a house in Hogsmeade? Maybe he'd renovate his house, Apparating in at Hogwarts every morning? Would she be alone, confined in a Muggle area with a small child?
She shuddered, already feeling an acute loneliness, as the last of the carriages with students disappeared behind the trees. Now, she was alone at Hogwarts, without her friends as support and comfort. The grounds had never seemed more desolate, and the pale sunlight glittering in the frost seemed cold and cruel, giving off no warmth.
Suddenly, he was beside her, huffing at her in his deep, sneering voice, sounding just like he would when berating someone in the classroom: "You'll catch cold, standing outside like this without your cloak, you silly girl. Have you no sense at all? How many times must I remind you that you are a witch? You could at least cast a warming charm for yourself." His actions were confusing though, as he draped one, long arm around her shoulder, encasing her into the warmth of his long, black robes, his arm heavy and comforting around her.
"Come," he said after a while. "It's time for the teachers' Christmas lunch. We're celebrating the students leaving. They're expecting us, both of us."
She made a small sound, something between a sigh and a snort, and they turned to go inside the castle. He led her up to the corridor on the fifth floor, and behind a tattered tapestry of the Egyptian Frog-goddess Heqet, there was a large but unremarkable oaken door.
Entering, they were enthusiastically greeted by Dumbledore and McGonagall, and Hagrid was beaming at them. Hermione noted that most teachers looked stiff and uncomfortable by the sight of her. Astronomy Professor Sinistra, Arithmancer Vector and Muggle Studies Professor Burbage cast angry glances at Severus, but when their eyes turned to her, the looks were pitying.
Feeling her anger start to rise, she tried to distract herself by observing the room. She noted there were several unknown adult witches and wizards attending, and she nudged her husband, asking in a hushed tone: "Who are they?"
"Husbands and wives," he said, equally quiet.
Hermione blinked, having never seen nor heard that any of her teachers were married.
"Do they stay in the castle?" she asked.
"No, most live in Hogsmeade," he replied. "In fact, the only teachers living in the castle are the Heads of Houses and the Headmaster."
"Oh," she said with some surprise, having never thought much of the personal lives of her other teachers. She sipped at a cup of tea presented to her by a House-elf, and accepted a ginger bread wizard with a pointed, glazed hat. The staff room was cozy, with a large fireplace, large, airy windows and small sofas and comfortable armchairs, interspersed with small, oaken tables for tea or drinks. On the wall opposite the fireplace, there was a large, colourful woven tapestry of the four founders, with the castle visible in the background. Salazar Slytherin was slouching against a tree, scowling at Godric Gryffindor, who in turn was polishing his sword with an ominous expression. Rowena Ravenclaw was sprawled on the lawn, reading a parchment with obvious delight, while Helga Hufflepuff was whistling, idly flipping a small, golden apple between her hands.
The people in the room looked happy and relieved, and she felt a small twinge of disappointment. Was it really necessary for the teachers to be that happy about the students leaving? Rationally, she knew this was silly, as the teachers would look forward to the holidays too. Still, there was a wedge of hurt in her emotions, like the teachers somehow had not lived up to her expectations, like they had shown a lack of dedication.
Hermione was introduced to the husband of Ancient Runes Professor Babbling, a handsome wizard, easily Babbling's junior by twenty years or so. The man seemed nice, treating her like she was an adult, not a school girl forced into marriage, and Hermione very much appreciated the fact that he didn't seem to pity her. Severus whispered in her ear as they moved on: "He's a Curse-breaker. They fell in love over a case involving Runes, where Batsheda acted as a consultant."
On the other hand, Professor Burbage's husband, a middle-aged, portly wizard, gave her a troubled glance, asking with concern: "How do you really do?", and Charity Burbage took her arm and led her to a nook by a window.
"My dear Miss Granger, how are you?" she asked, repeating her husband's concern, worry tinging her voice.
Hermione stared at her, realizing this was a genuine anxiety for her wellbeing on the Professor's part, but still, it made her angry. No adult witches or wizards had stepped up to save her and everyone else from that blasted Marriage Law. No one had been able to protect her and her parents against Death Eaters. No one had any solutions on how to get out of the havoc wreaked by Voldemort. The only solution that had been offered her to keep her alive and well, was Severus Snape. And this woman had the audacity to ask if she was alright, almost two months after the fact of her wedding?!
Pressing her lips together, she said between gritted teeth: "I'm fine, and it's Madam Snape, Professor."
Tutting, the short Muggle Studies Professor said: "Now, now, to me you'll always be Miss Granger. This marriage of yours simply shouldn't be, poor thing."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, straightening her back, and said slowly and with dignity: "I am fine, Professor, and while I share your sentiments on the law, I'm quite happy. I wish you would refrain from pitying me."
Burbage muttered: "Has he gotten to you to such a degree, child? Please, when you need help to get away from him, you can always come to us."
Hermione felt like stomping her foot, and said angrily: "Don't presume to know my life and my sentiments, Professor. You're making a fool of yourself. Severus and I did what was best for us, with Dumbledore's support. Don't question things you know nothing about!" Turning on the spot, she marched off to her husband, who was talking to McGonagall in front of the fireplace.
He slid an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him with a possessive glance down at her, and she sighed, feeling his presence calming her. Sniggering to herself, she thought: I must be the only person in the world to find myself calmed by Severus Snape.
Professor McGonagall looked at her with an odd expression, and she said stiffly, almost whispering: "Congratulations. Severus told me the news."
Blinking, she said "Thanks." Turning to her husband, she said sternly to him: "Who else knows? I haven't told anyone, yet."
He shrugged, idly stroking her shoulder, as he said: "Only Minerva and Albus."
"Right," she said, suddenly becoming aware of McGonagall making strange, hiccupping sounds. It appeared that her Head of House was trying to force down a laugh.
The old witch wheezed: "Severus, you've met your match. I've never seen anyone giving you a glare like that – gods, this is priceless. The two of you deserve one another! I wish I could be a fly on the wall to your home life."
They both stared stonily at McGonagall, before looking at each other. Seeing Severus' mouth twitch, Hermione felt a giggle bubble up in herself, and suddenly, she just couldn't hold back the laughter.
Xxxx
They had been working for hours on her Occlumency, days on end, before he threw up his hands: "I don't think this will work. You are admirably strong in hiding your memories, but your construction of false memories is awful at the best. The Dark Lord won't be fooled for a second."
Furrowing her brow, she said slowly: "We still have more than a week left."
He shook his head, dark hair swaying around his face, and said: "This is difficult, Hermione, and you are very far from making a workable, false memory. We'll have to improvise."
"You want me to construct a memory where you treating me badly to convince him," she said. "Maybe I can't do it because I don't believe you'll do something like that?"
"Maybe, though that's hardly the case," he said, looking uncomfortable. "You can call up memories of any number of our … encounters … that would translate into abuse."
"Nonsense," she scoffed, before amending: "Maybe a few."
He sneered at her: "Yes, a few. You'll have to use that, offering up those memories to him, but I'm afraid he might expect it to be even worse."
Blanching, she said shakily: "Does he expect you to hit me?"
He looked ashamed, but said softly: "Yes. Something like that. To subdue you, to make you submit to me."
Feeling nausea roil in her stomach, she pressed her eyes shut. If she wasn't able to create those memories, it could result in her death – her CHILD's death – and his punishment. She HAD to find a solution.
Opening her eyes again, she said hollowly: "Maybe we could enact something?"
"What? I beg your pardon?!" he said, seeming flustered and a little wild-eyed.
"Let's pretend you need to punish me, and then you can backhand me, or something."
He looked shocked, pulling his fingers through his greasy hair, eyes shiftily avoiding hers before he said: "I do not want to do this, Hermione. You don't deserve that. Merlin, even I don't deserve it!"
"My child does. My child deserves to live," she said, much more callously than she felt.
His mouth opened and closed, and he looked deeply disturbed. "It'll hurt, Hermione."
"It's supposed to, and that's why the Dark Lord will believe it," she replied, feeling an odd calm settle around her.
He kept still for a while, still combing his fingers through his hair, before he growled at her: "Don't look so bloody calm! I don't want to hurt you, and you're shrugging it off like what you are suggesting is a normal thing!"
"It's not," she said, still wrapped into that strange calm.
"Hermione, I am not a man who hits women!" He was almost pleading with her, and she wondered why he was so upset. This was an act to stay alive, wasn't it?
He glared at her, before saying haltingly: "I don't want to be like my father. I will not be a wife beater."
"You're not," she said simply. "We're going to enact a scene to avoid being killed. There are no similarities to what you experienced as a child."
He groaned, eyes swiveling, before he firmly said: "No. I will not backhand you or hit you."
Impulsively, she said: "Instead of you backhanding me, you could spank me. Would that be enough, or maybe easier for you?"
His mouth opened and closed, before he slowly said: "Yes," looking at her with those inscrutably dark eyes, a slight colour rising in his sallow cheeks. "Would you prefer me to spank you? It takes more time than a quick blow, but it may not be as painful."
She nodded quickly, a blush rising in her cheeks as a quick tremor went through her lower belly – something she didn't want to acknowledge.
Musing, he said: "It makes perfect sense, too. He would know I can't risk visible marks on you for anyone to detect, but I could spank you every night with no one the wiser as to the marks on your arse."
Xxxx
"Are you ready?" She said brightly, happily, as they were getting ready to leave for the Burrow on Christmas Day.
They had spent the morning in bed, opening their presents, and he had Summoned a House-elf with breakfast. The potion for her morning sickness worked wonders, and she had wolfed down tea, scones and crumpets with butter and jam, plus a selection of sliced fruits and another gingerbread wizard. Looking at the small, glazed figure, resplendent with a pink hat and long green beard, she muttered to him, lazily waving the figure: "I hope you'll never decide to grow a beard."
He had almost snorted his tea out of his mouth, laughing at the very idea. "Merlin, girl! I promise I won't. Can you imagine how inconvenient a long beard would be, dipping into my cauldron all the time?"
She had smiled back at him, enjoying his good mood, and she was pleased to know that he seemed to enjoy his present. Resting his head against the headboard as he ate, he had idly leafed through the book she had given him, the author claiming it to be a breakthrough in the theory behind Shrinking or Vanishing objects. Because really, where did the molecules go when you Vanished or Shrunk something?
Hermione, on the other hand, had been reading the book Harry and Ron had gotten her on Arithmancy, while idly fondling the present from him, the beautiful, large emerald teardrop now nestling between her breasts, dangling on its silver chain.
"Very beautiful, but oh so Slytherin," she had said with a smile as she opened the box.
He had given her a smirk, before placing it around her neck, rumbling into her hair: "You look good in green and silver. In fact, you look good in my colours."
Something about the way he said it made her blush, and she had thanked him with a peck on his mouth, something that had both surprised and pleased him, before he could hide the reaction behind his Occlumency shields. She kept fiddling with the emerald, noting that the length of the silver chain would make the emerald nestle into her cleavage, but it would still visible when she wore her dress robes. The Malfoys had given her a silver bracelet, and Severus had thrown a series of detection spells at it, before declaring it harmless.
But now, he was sneering at her, looking sharp in his frock coat, their suitcases in hand as he replied: "Ready? Never. I've never voluntarily spent time with the Weasleys."
She shook her head, stepping in front of him to the Fireplace, tossing the Floo powder in as she shouted: "The Burrow!"
They emerged from the Floo into the kitchen at the Burrow, into a bustling throng of people, some busy preparing food, others chattering or playing chess.
"Hermione!" George yelled, seeing her stumble out of the fireplace, closely followed by Severus.
More people shouted "Hermione's here, they've arrived!", and Molly Weasley turned around, coming towards them with a big smile.
"Hello, you two! I'm so pleased you could make it. Severus, welcome to the Burrow, please feel like you are home."
Severus stiffened beside her, but he politely replied: "It's an honour, Molly. Please accept this bottle for your hospitality." Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened, as she saw the bottle of a fine, red, aged Tintagel wine.
"Oh, Severus, you shouldn't, this must have cost a fortune!"
"I'm sure it will compliment your delicious cooking, Molly," he said suavely, "after all, there's hard to find a wine good enough to match your cuisine."
Hermione was almost gobsmacked, both by her husband's cajolery – who knew the man had it in him? – but also by the way Mrs. Weasley blushed, clearly flattered by his blandishments.
Then she almost turned cold with dread, as Fred and George came up to them, faces lit up with mischievous smiles, grins as wide as the Cheshire cat.
"Professor, how lovely to see you in our home," Fred and George greeted him. Gods, they weren't about to try some of their tricks on him, were they? Because if they did, his control might snap and make him lash out like he could do in his classroom, and she wanted this to be a nice evening, and…
She broke off her musings, and her shoulders sagged a little as Fred continued: «Professor, we rather hoped you could look at some of our inventions. Frankly, we're a little stuck, and we can't see what's lacking."
Severus said a little stiffly: "I trust you are not foolish enough to ask about products that might be utilized by students or children?"
The twins shared a look, before saying: "No, not really. These are more along the adult line."
Hermione saw her husband's black eyes glint with cruel amusement, and he mockingly raised his eyebrow, saying drily and quite loudly: "I had no idea you had expanded your enterprise into making wizarding porn."
"What?!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, coming towards the twins at full speed. "Are you developing and selling porn? You little rascals…! Filthy things, in my house!?"
Hermione saw Severus smile, and she said softly to him: "Nice set-up, though they were begging for it."
"Exactly," he said, mouth still quirking, watching Molly berate her sons with a very satisfied expression on his face.
Mr. Weasley showed them to a guestroom, Charlie's room if she wasn't mistaken, looking slightly uncomfortable and a little stressed by the shouting still coming from the kitchen. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only a single bed underneath the window and a night stand.
Not looking at Severus, Mr. Weasley said: "I suppose you can Transfigure the bed to a size of your liking, Severus. Molly and me, we're never been much at Transfiguration, and I know you're quite proficient."
"I'll do that," Severus said courteously in his deep voice, putting his arm around her shoulder possessively, making Mr. Weasley almost squirm. She realized, her husband really enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Such a Slytherin, she thought, and oddly enough, that thought was fond.
Then Severus said to Mr. Weasley: "If there's anything else you'd like a hand in Transfiguring, just ask. I might not be as good as Minerva, but I would like to help you in exchange for your hospitality."
"Oh, yes, it would be lovely, thank you," Mr. Weasley babbled, looking surprised, before he cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to get … settled in, then. Come down whenever you're ready."
At that, the man reddened slightly, and he hurried out the door.
Turning to her, Severus said: "He really believed I'll be all over you as soon as the door closed behind him."
"Yes," she said with a small smile. "For now, I'll go find Harry and Ron."
Xxxx
Harry, Ron and Ginny had drawn her away from everyone, leaving Severus to the hospitality of Arthur, and the four of them were clustered in Ginny's bedroom.
"You coming here for Christmas is brilliant, 'Mione!" Ron said, beaming at her.
Harry snorted, and said darkly: "It would be better if you hadn't brought him. I can't really say spending Christmas with Snape was on my wish list, though."
"Harry!" Ginny scolded, "you can't say things like that about Hermione's husband. He's going to be around, so you might as well accept him. Don't make things any harder for Hermione, right?" The little red-head had planted her fists into her hips, staring at Harry with a determined expression. Hermione almost giggled, because Ginny looked exactly like a younger and slimmer version of Molly.
"Sorry," Harry said looking slightly abashed, but he muttered: "I don't have to like him, you know."
"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said, giving the other girl a smile.
Ginny said carefully: "It looks like it's better between you these days."
Hermione nodded, saying: "It's ok. It just took some time getting used to it. But now, well, I'm still adjusting." Adding thoughtfully, she said: "And so is he."
The tip of Ron's ears flared red, but awkwardly and bravely, he asked: "He's good to you, then? Not forcing you to do anything you don't want to? We'll help you with anything, just ask, you know, even though it would be something from your … private… life."
She arched an eyebrow to him, saying pointedly: "No, Ron, he's not. I'm not complaining."
Both boys looked somewhat sick, and Harry groaned: "Ron, please don't ask her anymore questions about her sex life. I can't stand thinking about that."
Ginny laughed, and gave both Harry and Ron a shove. "The two of you are such virginal, prudish prats! I'm sure Hermione gets Snape off every night, and that he returns the services."
Hermione gasped in mortification, and the faces of the two boys exploded into crimson. Ron said, embarrassed and angry: "Really, Gin, do you have to be so crass about everything? Just because you let Dean stick his prick into you at every opportunity, doesn't mean you know everything and…"
Ginny shrieked in rage, and swatted Ron with a pillow, feathers exploded all over the room, and Ron pulled the duvet from underneath Ginny, causing her to fall off the bed and onto the floor. Through the ensuing chaos, Hermine saw Harry looking despondently down into his lap. Oh, she thought, that's the way the wind is blowing, is it?
Xxxxx
She was standing in their room, nervously twiddling her hair, butterflies somersaulting in her stomach. Her hair was still damp from her quick shower, and she was staring down at the suitcase on their bed. She was about to dress for Christmas Dinner, but… would she dare? He'd probably think her to be stupid and silly, but then again maybe not. Gods, she was a Gryffindor. If she had packed the damned things, then she could very well wear them!
Opening her suitcase with determination, she plucked out her black, lacy lingerie, the one with the open crotch on the knickers and the brassiere with an opening for her nipples. He had picked the lingerie out himself. That had to mean he wanted to see her in it, didn't it?
Swallowing, she grabbed the items and put them on. The lingerie magically shrank until it fitted snugly around her hips and breasts, her nipples poking out, his gift, the emerald teardrop, being framed by the swell of her cleavage. Conjuring a large mirror, she took a long look at herself. She had to admit, it looked kind of sexy. Feeling a little more certain of herself, she fished out her stockings, and pulled them up her legs to the top of her thighs. The stockings kept themselves up magically, and she put on her black shoes with a small heel. Setting one foot on the edge of the bed, she angled her hips to see how much of her private parts the open crotch would reveal. Oh, it revealed more than she had imagined, she thought, feeling a little panicky.
At that, the door opened, her husband entered and they both froze. He recovered first, slamming the door shut behind him, his eyes never leaving her.
A blush rose in her cheeks, as his eyes roved over her, black fire burning at her, feeling like little licks of flame swept over her body. Her nipples hardened, and she felt herself flush with heat. Swallowing deeply, he moved slowly forward, until he stood right behind her. Raising a hand to brush lightly over her breasts, he whispered: "Do you want to skip dinner?"
Smiling, pleased at his reaction – her daring had paid off, didn't it? – she shook her head. "I hadn't planned for you to see this until afterwards."
"Oh," he said silkily, "now I have. And I'll be thinking about it all night." He stepped closer to her, grabbing her hips, grinding himself into her, his cock already a hard bulge against her back. Nuzzling into her hair, he growled: "And I'll be thinking about your bare slit underneath your clothes, or if the fabric of your dress will chafe at your nipples, making them stand out like hard, little pebbles, and I'll think about how I will throw you on the bed and ravish you when the night is over. My little wife, we'll make it a very, early night."
His hands slid down, parting her folds, and he rubbed at her, saying with a pleased, but surprised groan: "You're all wet for me, already, gods, Hermione…"
A shout from downstairs broke through their moment, and they heard Bill yell: "Will you leave off spiking the mince pies, George! How old are you – fourteen? If your mother saw you, you'd be sorry!"
Severus shook his head, still rubbing her sex gently, and he said: "They will never, ever grow up."
She nodded in agreement, smiling ruefully.
As he retreated to dress himself, she asked him as she took her dress off the hanger: "Did they show you their products?"
At that, he grinned evilly, and nodded. "I pointed them in the direction of some improvement. They will work it out, eventually."
Frowning at him, as she pulled her dress down over her head, she said: "What do you mean? Did you trick them?"
"Can't spoil all the fun, now, can I? But unless you're not aiming to live a short stint as a canary, don't try their cream biscuits."
"As a canary?" she said weakly.
"They were aiming to cram a Love Potion into a cream-filled biscuit. Quite a good idea, actually, except for them having trouble to get a strong enough brew for such small doses."
"And now people will end up as canaries instead?"
"Yes," he chuckled, "or rather George and Fred will. As I understand, they always test their stuff on themselves. You see, if you substitute rose thorns with canary claws, the potion will turn you temporarily into a yellow canary."
"They might sell that, too," she said doubtfully.
"I'm sure they will. But as they're testing it tomorrow morning, I'll get to see their shock and disbelief. I asked to be registered for a five percent revenue on the sales, and they agreed to it. It'll be a hit for the students, don't you think?"
She stared at him. Had he been drinking? Seriously, did Severus Snape, mean Professor extraordinaire, just help the Weasley twins invent a joke product that would become popular among the students?
He chuckled even more. "Don't look so shocked. Did you think I went into Potions just to brew poisons or antidotes? Potions offer a wide range of possibilities and impossibilities, and I have invented quite a number of brews."
"Joke brews too?" she said, skepticism heavy in her voice.
"That too. Under a different name, of course, and Zonko's is the source of one of my best revenues." Giving her an appraising look, as she was pinning her hair up, he continued: "I hold, currently, 193 patented potions. Around 140 under my own name, the rest under various other names."
Staring at him in surprise, she said: "You must be rich! All those patents… "
Pursing his lips, he shrugged, giving her a speculative glance. "Do you care?"
There was something odd about his posture, like this was a trick question. Then it hit her. He had grown up in poverty. Money would mean something to him, but she was willing to bet her right arm that he wanted her to not care. He would want her to care for him, not his money, because deep down, he'd always be afraid that people would think he wasn't worth anything himself, without wealth, position and his power. No wonder, as he had grown up in Slytherin, she thought.
She shrugged too, saying: "It doesn't change my opinion about you. I have never doubted your ability to provide for me and my … our … child."
It was the right thing to say, she saw immediately. His shoulders straightened, and in two steps, he was beside her. Tentatively, he stretched out his hand to caress her belly.
"My … our … child," he murmured. "He or she won't lack for anything, trust me."
There was a knock on their door, and Mr. Weasley's voice came through: "Hermione? Severus? Dinner is almost ready, if you'll come down…."
"Alright, Arthur," her husband's deep voice replied, "we'll be down shortly."
Xxxx
Dinner was a complex affair, with lots of side dishes for the roast turkey. Hermione avoided drinking the wine Mrs. Weasley had forced upon her ("you are of age, Hermione, and you deserve a glass of wine for tonight, dear,"), and she ate sparingly. After all, she wouldn't want to be burping the rather heavy food all night. Her digestion just wasn't up to par at the moment.
Sometime during the meal, she became aware of Mrs. Weasley's rather sharp glances at her, flitting from the untouched wine to the food on her plate.
In a lull of conversation, she leaned over the table, whispering quite loudly to Hermione: "Are you pregnant, my dear?"
A stunned silence fell over the table. Hermione swallowed, glancing at Severus. He gave her an imperceptible nod, and she said stiffly to Mrs. Weasley: "Yes."
For about two seconds, the room was quiet, faces filled with shock, and then Mrs. and Mr. Weasley both shouted at the same time: "Congratulations!"
"This is wonderful – a baby!" Mrs. Weasley sniffled, "to think our Hermione is having a baby! Oh, Severus, you must be so proud and happy. Merlin, Arthur, I miss babies, don't you too?"
"Quite so, my dear, but not as much as you," Mrs. Weasley said stoically, before extending a hand to Severus across the table, not quite managing to reach the other wizard's hand, before he mumbled: "Oh bugger, this calls for a celebration!"
Mr. Weasley rose from his chair a tad unsteadily, and came around the table to where Severus was sitting. Hermione stared wide-eyed as her husband rose too, and then Mr. Weasley patted his back and hugged Severus. The rest of the Weasleys and Harry was staring open-mouthed at Mr. Weasley, and she just knew that they all thought Severus would hex him to Camelot and beyond.
But her husband patted Mr. Weasley's back too, and said calmly: "Thanks, Arthur, I suppose you'll have to give me advice on handling this."
The remaining Weasleys scrambled up from their chairs, to shake hands, hug her (and not her husband, she noted), Harry and Ron was staring pale and ed wide-eyed at her, and Ginny was squealing. The next fifteen minutes was a confusing chaos of hugs, shouts, questions and whispered advices, and Severus had to partake in several toasts to themselves and their baby. After the meal, Harry and Ron snagged her up, pushing her towards a nook by the fireplace.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry said accusingly.
"I would have," she said, "eventually. It's still very early, and it still feels unreal."
"Still," Ron said, "now you won't have to have sex with him. At least, that's a good thing, right, 'Mione?"
He gave her a tremulous smile, and Harry nodded vigorously.
Shaking her head, she told them: "You must stop saying things like that. This marriage is for life, as you know. I have to care for him, and he has to care for me, or else our life will be hell. There's no middle way."
Harry shuddered in disgust, sighed and said: "I can see that. I just don't have to like it. This is fucking awkward. Snape, of all people, knocking you up. You, Hermione, you, who should have the brightest career this side of Voldemort, and now you're going to be house-wife to the greasy git, mothering his babies. I can't fucking believe it."
Ron, on the other hand, shrugged. "It's not that bad, Harry. Hermione will manage, and if anyone can become Minister of Magic with a toddler on her hip, it's her."
She sniffled, almost tearing up again, and fought hard to regain control over her emotions behind her Occlumency shield, just saying weakly: "Thank you, Ron, that was sweet of you."
Ron just nodded, and then he said slowly: "Seeing you both here, outside school, make you seem more of a regular couple and less like teacher and student. He's attentive to you, even polite, and you smile at him and touch him voluntarily. If I didn't know the facts, I'd believe you had gotten married the usual way."
"The usual way?" she asked dumbly, feeling her shields waver again.
"Yeah, like falling in love. You know, those things that people do, Hermione," Ron said, laughing at her moonstruck face.
It became too much for her, and she threw her arms around Ron's neck, sobbing. Love? It was not for her. He loved someone else, this dead witch, not her. She would never experience something like that.
"There, there…" Ron said, patting her back, and she could only imagine the horror on his face, as he, in all probability, silently mouthed his shock to Harry.
After a few moments, she felt familiar arms taking hold of her, turning her around, and she hid her tear-streaked face into the comforting embrace of her husband.
Xxxx
A few hours later, they were alone in the bedroom. "What was that about, Hermione?" he said, both worry and curiosity tinging his voice.
She had cried for a while, and after cleaning herself up, she had excused herself to everyone by saying her pregnancy hormones had gotten the best of her, there was nothing to worry about. Mrs. Weasley had told her was perfectly normal, and that she had been a crying mess in at least three of her pregnancies. Gratefully, she had accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Weasley, while her husband was offered a Firewhisky from Mr. Weasley, with the sage advice of keeping quiet, always have a handkerchief ready and never ever disagree with a pregnant witch.
"I don't know," she said, not meeting his eyes. She couldn't tell him she had cried because he wasn't in love with her – that was tantamount to … what, exactly? Nothing good, she was sure.
"Hermione," he said, fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I don't understand why my wife was being reduced to a sobbing mess in Ronald Weasley's arms on Christmas Day for no reason at all."
Blinking, the fact slowly registered in her brain that this time, he hadn't gone off on a tangent in jealousy and rage, by seeing her in the arms of another wizard. Instead, he had come for her, comforted her and held her. She peered suspiciously at him, knowing that he, the consummate Slytherin, wasn't above to feign caring to lull the Weasleys into believing his good intentions, but even now, when they were alone, he was gentle.
Giving off a ragged sigh, she said, thinking she'd probably regret it: "Ron said we looked almost like a normal couple." Silently, she willed him to stop the questioning, but of course, he didn't.
"And…?" he said, black eyes drilling into hers.
Her voice very small, she closed her eyes as she whispered, a stupid tear escaping her eyelids again: "He said from the way we acted, we could have been a couple in love. But I know you'll never love me. You love her. I won't experience something like that, ever."
He stilled for a moment, before pressing her into his chest. His voice was ragged and broken as he replied: "I may not offer you love, but do not doubt that I will protect you with my life and take care of you. You deserve so much more than me, Hermione. You're too good for a grizzled, old Death Eater with too many sins to count. You should have had a young, handsome, brilliant wizard at your side, not being bogged down by a forced marriage to an old man, with a child you do not want."
She laughed bitterly: "I don't doubt that you would protect me, as you say. Most people would do that for someone they love, but you will do it because you are a honorable wizard. You may have done bad things, but you are not a bad man. You and me, we can make a good life together without love, but still, I can be allowed to miss it, can't I?"
He said nothing, and only the rapid beating of his heart told her he was agitated.
And finally, he asked, slowly and hesitantly: "Are you in love with Ronald Weasley?"
She almost rolled her eyes, but said firmly and decisively: "No." He had to ask, hadn't he? After that display of hers, throwing herself crying at Ron, it was no wonder that he wanted reassurance on that.
"Are you sure?" he said, still holding her to him.
"Absolutely." Clarifying, she said: "Before, I thought there was a chance for something between me and Ron, sometime in the future, but I don't love him like that. Besides, he's with Lavender Brown, and I think he's sort of happy. At least, most of the time. Now, he's simply my friend, the same as Harry."
The deep breath of relief that made his chest deflate touched her more than she was willing to admit. He cared. He didn't want her to love someone else. Severus Snape had feelings for her. It may not be love, but it was something. The thought made her heart beat faster, and she burrowed her head into his chest, as he stroked her back with long, sure strokes. After a while, her thoughts turned to her original plans for the evening. This night wasn't about crying. Her plan, as an extra Christmas present, had been to seduce him, showing him that she was capable of acting like an adult too.
Taking a deep breath, she moved away from him. Meeting his eyes, she gave him a wicked, small smile. Bending down to grasp the hem of her dress, she lifted it slowly upwards, pulling it over her head.
His eyes smoldered, and he licked his lips as she rid herself of the dress, now standing there in her stockings, her lacy lingerie with cut-outs and her shoes. Slowly, she let her hands trail from her thighs, over her hips, up her stomach to cup her lace-covered breasts. He made a small sound, eyes locked on her hands, and she twirled her escaping nipples between her fingers. Backing up to the bed, she kicked off her shoes, laid down on the bed, spread her legs, and sent her right hand down to caress her mound, finding the slitted crotch of her knickers, while the left hand still was pinching and plucking at her nipples.
He moved slowly after her, right hand palming his cock outside the placket of his trousers. His chest rose and fell, breathing hard, eyes with a deadlock on her body.
She challenged him with her eyes – not quite believing that she dared to do this – and she put her finger into her mouth to moisten it, before pushing it in between her folds, rubbing her clit.
He tore open his trousers, letting the belt and fabric fall down on the floor with a clang from his belt buckle, and fished out his member. Slowly, he fisted his weeping cock, watching her rub her slit.
"You look so good," he said hoarsely, "so delicious, so wanton, so hot laying there. You wet slit wide open for me, encased in that black lace, your tits so perky, with those hard buds peeking out at me." Drawing a ragged breath, he motioned to her: "Scoot backwards, make room for me." She wriggled herself backwards on the bed, and he followed her, bed dipping and creaking with his added weight, and he knelt between her legs, looming tall over her, so close, but not touching.
She stared up at him, that stern, forbidding wizard, the terror of Hogwarts, but all she could see was a man. His face was slightly flushed, his mouth half open, black hair hanging just above his wide shoulders, the smattering of black hair down his pale chest trailing down to his jutting erection, proof of his desire for her.
His gaze, fascinated, burning, lusting for her, stoked the fire in her, and she panted as her finger chased her clit, the throbbing, building up of need making tremors run inside her belly. He groaned, long black hair swinging as his hand moved faster, his large hand holding that big cock, the red, glistening head protruding between his fingers.
"Finger-fuck yourself," he panted, his voice somewhere between a command and a plea, eyes locked on her sex, and she gasped, "yes!"
The hand that had been busily frigging her nipple moved down to her mound, and she pushed one finger inside herself. She arched her back, saying with a high, breathy moan as his eyes darkened with desire: "Oh, Severus! Oh!"
His hand on his cock became a blur, his chest heaving as he crouched above her, and the sight of him combined with her own finger on her nub made her gyrate her hips on the bed. The friction was not enough, but oh so close, and she whimpered: "yes, oh, it feels so good…!"
He commanded her, voice rough and strained: "One more finger into your cunt, let me see you using two fingers inside your hole!"
She obeyed, feeling a wicked thrill by his command, and the tremors in her belly were coming faster. Her walls were filled up by her fingers, still nothing to the size of his big, swollen cock, and she ached for him, for his cock to fill her up. And now he was growling: "I'm going to come, let me come on your cunt, soaking your slick cunt, Hermione!"
As white liquid spurted out from his cock, landing on her slit in thick ropes, she arched up, belly clenching around her fingers, and she moaned hoarsely: "Seveeruuus!" Coming undone, she trembled, spasmed, thrust against her own fingers, feeling his seed splattering over her mound, her clit trembling and her fingers moving fast inside her as she convulsed around them, finishing with a stroke on her clit, rubbing his sticky seed into her folds. She panted heavily after the throes of her orgasm, and he fell down beside her, pulling her into his arms. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she listened to the thunder of his heartbeat gradually slowing to its normal rate.
"I'm amazed," he breathed into her hair. She stiffened, fearing he'd criticize her, telling her she acted like a wanton whore, before he continued: "I believed you had decided you didn't want to come for me. Now, I know you will, and you looked so good with your fingers inside you, I only wished for it to be my cock. Little witch, I'll make you come often, hard and in so many ways and positions. We've just gotten started."
Even though she was completely satiated, she felt her belly clench by his words. Was it wrong to look so much forward to next time?
A/N:
1) Finally…
2) I know, the Weasley twins invented the Canary Cream long before this. It just fitted into the story line like this. I love a secretly mischievous Severus.
3) I know, it's bad form to have sex when you're sleeping over at your friends and family. Then again, do you think Severus warded and Silenced the room? I'm not sure. *grins*
4) I know, some of you wanted to read about the party for the big, bad birthday boy. It's in the next chapter, I promise. And I so look forward to writing that.
