A/N: Hello there! Long time no see, huh? I didn't realize how long it had been since I updated, but, wow, it's been a while. Funny how time gets away from you like that. In my defense, I would have to say that this year has been one of the toughest I can remember for me and my family. I won't elaborate 'cause I wouldn't want to bore you, but let me just say it's hard being a parent, let alone the parent of a teenager with coping problems.
So, anyway, I think I may have lost a few readers due to my lack of posting, but if you're still with me I want to thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this. I wrote it in bits and pieces, so I hope it has some consistency and good flow, but it could probably be better. Just remember please that this is unbeta'd (I don't think that's a word, but whatever), and I'm an amateur. Don't expect perfection, and be kind if you review 'cause I'm a big softy.
Warning: This chapter has moderate descriptions of rape and torture (NOT HERMIONE - DON'T WORRY), so be forewarned if you're sensitive to that kind of thing. Voldemort is one baaaad dude. And, as always, this is for mature readers only. I've been known to be graphic in my descriptions of mature themes. (Remember this story can be found on Fictionpad, too. Just in case.)
Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, setting, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Eight: It All Started With A Little Kiss
"If you plan on attending your first class, you should make an attempt to remove yourself from my bed."
"Oh!" Hermione's head popped out from the cozy den of covers she was burrowed under. "What time is it?" she asked reflexively, looking around to find her new husband standing next to her bedside — fully dressed, with his hands clasped behind him.
"Late," he responded coldly, looking down his long nose at her. "You'd better hurry if you don't want to miss breakfast. I do not wish to receive another summons to the hospital wing because you've neglected yourself again."
She propped her upper body up on a straightened arm and swatted her messy hair away from her face. "Okay," she conceded through a sleepy yawn, barely registering what she was agreeing to — only that he seemed annoyed with her even though she hadn't been awake long enough to displease him yet.
"I have a faculty meeting this morning," he told her perfunctorily. "I trust you can find your way up from the dungeons by yourself."
"Yes. I think so," she replied, not sounding too sure.
"Very well." He swiftly turned away from her and strode toward the door, obviously intent on leaving her there without so much as a 'have a nice day.'
Hermione was confused. Being awakened as she was, she barely had time to get her thoughts in order, let alone understand what was going on between them or what could have caused him to become unexpectedly cross with her. Last night as she lay in his arms, she felt that there had been some small and tentative bit of progress made between them, and she had resolved that starting today she would use her mother's suggestions and begin her campaign to win over his affections, but he was leaving her before she was even coherent enough to form a cohesive sentence. How was she to enact her mother's sage advice if he wouldn't stay put?
"Sir…" She called out to him softly, tucking her feet under her as she moved onto her knees to sit on her heels near the edge of the bed.
He paused with his hand on the knob, his posture stiff and his bearing aloof, turning hesitantly to look over his shoulder at her. She recognized the expression he wore; It was the familiar, impassive mask of her heartless Professor. She realized that the man she had seen a glimpse of the night before, the one who had given her a small kernel of hope, had completely vanished with the dawning of the new day.
"Yes?" he asked condescendingly. "What is it?"
"Um… I was…" she mumbled, twisting her fingers nervously and looking beseechingly at his face — willing him to show her a tiny measure of compassion.
"I don't have all day," he snapped agitatedly.
She was disappointed but not really surprised by his change in demeanor. Of course, she had let herself hope, as was her nature — to think the best of others, but she had observed how closely he guarded himself last night, quickly closing off that tender part of himself that she had only briefly glimpsed.
At first, after he had withdrawn himself from her body, he had behaved almost chivalrously toward her. Realizing she was too fatigued from their vigorous activities to tend to herself, he had gently lifted her from the bed as if she weighed nothing and carried her to his en-suite bathroom where he placed her in his shower and focused on cleansing and rinsing her body. All the while, he was conscious of her wobbly legs and kept a supportive arm around her, but not once during the execution of that considerate task did he let his eyes meet hers.
Though he had been gentle and attentive as he patted her dry with his fluffy, green towel and helped her into his bed, his movements had only been purposeful with seemingly robotic intent, as if he were dutifully accomplishing a required chore. And when he finally came to lay beside her and noticed her shivering, he had opened his arms to her and allowed her to nestle into his side and share his warmth, but still he had remained silent and un-engaging. She knew then how difficult it was going to be to get past his defenses, but based on that one fleeting look she had into his exposed heart as he chased his release inside of her she had resolved to at least try to break through his armor.
And now, as she mustered all her Gryffindor courage and surged ahead awkwardly with her plan, she held that image of him looking down at her longingly in her mind like a powerful talisman that would protect her as she went into battle.
"I … I was wondering if I might kiss your cheek before you go?" she asked quickly, blurting out her request before she could lose her nerve.
He turned to face her fully, his head tilting to the side with his customary scowl firmly fixed, and looked at her as if she had just asked him to dance a jig.
"You see, I know you said that there wasn't to be any … affection between us," she explained, rambling nervously, unsure of whether the look on his face was one of anger or merely distaste, "but my mother always kisses my father goodbye, and I always hoped to do that, too, when I married because she said it was to show him how much she honored and respected him — like to pay him a compliment. You see, it wouldn't be like … romantic or anything… just because I appreciate all you've done for me. You know, keeping me safe and all…"
His eyebrows drew together as he stared at her in obvious consternation and deliberated for what seemed to her like an excruciating eternity until, finally, he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, appearing to relent to her small request if only to shut her up so he could make his exit.
"Very well," he said impatiently, approaching her bedside once more. "Make it quick."
Both relieved by his assent and cautiously determined, Hermione rose up fully onto her knees in front of him and lighty placed her palms on his chest to steady herself. Her professor held himself completely still, his demeanor wary — like he was bracing for a curse instead of a kiss, with his hands again clasped behind his back as his dark eyes looked down at her expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward against him, stretching up to place her lips to his cheek, but even on the high bed she was slightly too short to reach him. Undeterred, she cautiously slid her hands up from his chest, over the smooth material of his black robes to his shoulders, then slipped the fingers of her right hand through the silky hair at his nape and cupped his neck. With a gentle pulling motion, she silently requested he bend to meet her.
She watched as his eyes darkened and held hers as he slowly leaned down to her, and she felt his warm breath on her face as his spicy, herbal scent engulfed her. Tilting her head to the side, she swallowed back her fear and brought her lips to his freshly shaven cheek where she placed a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.
Severus felt the moist warmth of her soft lips on his face and tensed, holding his hands clasped firmly behind him for fear of touching her. He had already spent the hour since waking struggling to regain his equilibrium and reign in his traitorous desires, having lost himself last night somewhere between the girl's passion and her sweet innocence so that he didn't even know himself this morning.
He had sworn to himself only yesterday that he would put an end to this ridiculous preoccupation with the girl, thinking that it was her novelty that captivated him and that he would lose interest if he had bedded her more than once, but his plan had backfired. This morning, he wanted her more than ever. He didn't understand how she was doing it, but she made him feel things that he hadn't with any other lover. Worse yet, she made him feel, and he knew how dangerous an occupation that was for a man in his position.
Before leaving her side that morning, he had watched her sleep serenely, lying across his chest, and felt himself on the edge looking over a precipice onto that treacherous slope — the one Lily had lead him careening down so long ago. One misstep and he would be in danger of forming an attachment to the girl, something he could not afford to do — for her sake as well as his. He already felt he was too indulgent with her, allowing her to now offer him an innocently devoted kiss when he should be keeping his distance. The purpose of their marriage was for her protection alone and in order to do that he needed to remain focused, not to allow himself to become distracted by his suddenly very active libido.
Did she not realize as she knelt undressed before him, pressing her soft flesh against him and looking as if she'd taken a tumble, with her bed-tousled hair and hooded eyes, that all he wanted to do was push her back onto his bed and spend the whole day teaching her how to pay her compliments to him properly? No, of course not. How could she? She was little more than a child. So, it was he who would have to act with appropriate restraint and stave off his baser desires. He simply wouldn't let himself jeopardize all he had worked for by losing his focus in the arms of an inconsequential, little bookworm.
Straightening to his full height, he broke the connection between them, causing her to sit back on her heels with her hands skimming down to settle lightly back on his chest.
"Now," he said, his tone unintentionally softening at the sight of her shyly keeping her eyes on her fingers as they fiddled with the buttons on the front of his robes. "If you have nothing further with which to delay me, I will take my leave."
"Well," she replied, then bit her lower lip and looked up at him with those big, brown eyes. "I just wanted to tell you that I had a good time last night." He raised his eyebrow at her forwardness, causing her to look back to her fingers nervously. "I mean, um … you were really … um … wonderful. Great, really … yeah."
He stared at the top of her head disbelievingly. It was one thing for her to say such things in the aftermath of their passion, but his suspicious nature wouldn't allow him to accept her unprompted praise without thoroughly uncovering the motive behind it. After all, he wasn't to be made a fool of by the silly chit. But when her eyes returned to his, he saw nothing but sincerity there, and he couldn't help but be moved by her extolment. She was so much like Lily in her generosity of spirit. As a Slytherin, he thought it was quite a foolish trait to have, but he couldn't help the bit of pride that swelled inside of him at her admiration for his sexual prowess.
"It is said," he replied without forethought, "that practice makes perfect."
"Oh… I see." She dropped her eyes from his and momentarily stared at her fingers that had stilled on the front of his robes, but not before he saw the flash of hurt in their depths. "Right. You must have had lots of other witches…"
Removing her hands from him as if his robes were a lit flame, she started to scoot away from him with her shoulders slumping dejectedly. He hadn't wanted her curiously intimate touches, but as she drew herself away, he felt oddly bereft in their absence. And, the disappointed look on her face — the same one she wore yesterday when he simply reaffirmed his promised indifference to her — struck his conscience sharply. What had he said this time? She was a complete mystery to him; one that he had an unprecedented compulsion to sort out. All he knew was that he didn't like it when she retreated from him like she was doing now.
Forgetting his earlier disinclination to touch her, he pulled a hand from behind his back and gently cupped the girl's chin, stilling her.
"Look at me," he ordered, keeping his tone as gentle as he knew how.
She hesitated and then reluctantly brought her eyes back to his. She was obviously attempting to hide it, but everything was right there for him to see in those too big, expressive, doe eyes — hurt, insecurity, … jealousy? Could that be right? Was she jealous of his other lovers? He felt both strangely flattered and concerned at the revelation. In the past, no one had ever thought enough of him to care what he did or with whom, and yet, if it caused her to think herself inferior to any of those whores and gold-diggers, it was unacceptable to him. She was his wife, after all.
"I have had other witches," he admitted, looking unapologetically into her eyes, "but, as my wife, you are the only witch of consequence to me."
He watched as his words sunk in and her countenance transformed, her eyes filling with relief and her posture swelling triumphantly at his words.
"Really?" she asked, that same damn, radiantly happy smile spreading across her face, causing that same damn, disconcerting constriction in his chest.
"Yes. Really," he assured her, feeling surprisingly pleased with himself at handling the girl's mood so expertly. "Now, get moving. You've delayed me long enough, wife."
"Yes, sir!"
Hermione watched her professor leave the bedchamber with a giddy expression on her face. She had done it, and it had worked. Her mother was right — "Men need constant physical reminders of your sexual intimacy," she had said. "Incorporate small, intimate touches into everyday interactions, and then reinforce them with praise," she had said. Hermione had been extremely skeptical at first, with some of the directives sounding more like instructions on how to train a puppy than insightful advice on how to capture her husband's affections, but now she was grudgingly coming to accept that maybe her mother might know what she was talking about. Her Professor had responded just as she had predicted. It may have been only a small reassurance from him — one that soothed the confusing and unexpected ache inside her as she wondered how much of a disappointment she must be compared to all the other witches who had previously shared his bed, but she couldn't argue with success. He had said something nice to her, and that was something he had never done before.
After a hurried morning routine which included getting turned about in the labyrinth of dungeon corridors for a bit, causing her to be further delayed and miss her customary morning walk about the school grounds, Hermione entered the Great Hall feeling refreshingly optimistic about things in general. Albeit, her situation wasn't ideal, but it had taken a dramatic upturn since only yesterday, and that was enough to cheer her considerably. Plopping down at the Gryffindor table in a vacant spot next to Ginny and Dean, she began intently doling a hearty serving of eggs onto her plate, her appetite having returned along with her optimism.
"Hey, Hermione," Ginny greeted cautiously, surprised to find a faint smile lingering at the corners of her friend's mouth. She had been worried about Hermione since her collapse in the Gryffindor common room on Saturday, and visiting her in the dungeons yesterday had only marginally eased her mind. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Ginny," Hermione replied brightly. "And you?"
"Um … I'm okay. Listen…" Ginny paused until Hermione looked up from her plate. "I need to warn you. McGonagall called an emergency house meeting last night to talk about the Marriage Law and …"
"Wait," Hermione interrupted, her smile fading into a frown of vexation. "Why wasn't I informed? I should have been included. I am a Prefect and a Gryffindor…"
"Because the meeting was about you and Snape," Ginny interjected, heading off any further indignant ranting on Hermione's part. "McGonagall said Dumbledore is going to make an announcement about your marriage today, and she wanted to make sure that your fellow Gryffindor's weren't caught unaware. She wanted us to be prepared to support you."
Slowly, Hermione let her gaze drift over the length of the unusually quiet Gryffindor table and suddenly realized that she had become the center of attention. All eyes were on her and, judging by the looks of horrified pity and revulsion, Hermione wasn't sure how much support her fellow Gryffindors would actually be. She had been too caught up in her own personal drama to even consider how her classmates would react to news of her marriage. And if her own house was so appalled by her choice in groom, she couldn't imagine how the students in the other houses would react. That notion brought to mind one specific student that she hadn't given more than a passing thought to since Friday — Draco Malfoy.
To her dismay, Hermione realized that since leaving her new dungeon chambers this morning she'd been uncharacteristically self-involved and unusually unobservant. Much like Ron on any given day, she had taken little notice of anything other than her own thoughts and her rumbling stomach. How could she be so careless? After having spent this past week avoiding Draco, she had let herself assume that everything would suddenly fall into it's correct place simply because she had made the necessary sacrifice and married Professor Snape. She knew Draco was still unaware of her new marital status and would be thinking that he had only one day left to convince her to accept his petition. If anything, she should have been being more cautious, not bumbling though her morning so pleased with the success of her first attempt at handling her new husband that she was unaware of even her own surroundings.
It was an oversight she quickly thought to remedy by glancing across the cavernous room to the Slytherin table, her eyes seeking out the young wizard who had recently set his sights on acquiring her. They were immediately met by Draco's own brooding gaze. He had been watching her, and the smug expression he had been wearing the last time she had dared to look into those cold, grey eyes during their encounter in the DADA classroom was absent. Instead, he was looking at her menacingly, his expression icy and foreboding, causing goose-bumps to rise across her skin. She could tell that he was not pleased by her failure to accept his petition or her skillful avoidance of his attempts to speak to her — or, more likely, to threaten her — over the last week since she had received her second offer.
Though, until this minute she hadn't really believed that he meant her true harm. She had still been thinking of him as the eleven year old boy she had first met upon coming to Hogwarts — the one who had teased and tormented her mercilessly but had still been only a boy. But the way he was looking at her now, she didn't recognize him. There was such unbridled hatred and contempt unmasked in his expression that it went beyond the realm of schoolyard rivalry or bullying. It caused her to doubt her own judgment and reluctantly begin to believe what Professor's Dumbledore and Snape had been saying all along. Sitting across the Hall from her was a very adult wizard, looking just angry enough to do her a serious injury.
At that same moment as Hermione found herself caught in Draco's menacing gaze, Severus entered the Great Hall behind his fellow professors. On any given day his general disposition was acerbic, but if anyone were to note the state of his temperament as he approached his chair at the head table then they would discover it to be especially sour, as evidenced by the extraordinary scowl he wore. He had experienced a trying morning — to say the least.
Upon waking, he had determined that if he couldn't control his lustful thoughts and actions toward his young bride then he should at least remain detached emotionally from her. Yet, before he had truly even begun his day he had already failed in that endeavor. A seemingly innocent request for a goodbye kiss on her part, coupled with her feminine wiles, and he was helpless to refuse her, his steely determination to keep her at arms length disappearing as if she had banished it with a flick of her wand instead of a coquettish bat of her eyes. Add to that the fact that he was so distracted by the disconcertingly triumphant sensation that overtook him upon being bestowed that damnable, radiant smile of hers that he didn't even realize how he had been manipulated until he was halfway ascended from the dungeons, a revelation that made him feel quite the fool. But, he could have recovered from that small setback in dealing with the girl if only the rest of the morning had not further tried his patience.
During the customary weekly faculty meeting, the Headmaster had wasted no time in announcing his marriage and the identity of his bride to the remaining staff who were not members of the Order. Of course, Severus was aware that his marriage was to come to light this morning, as was the plan from the beginning — to make the announcement after it was consummated and irrefutably recorded in the Ministry records, but he was unprepared for the reactions he received from the other professors. Some of them he had worked with for many years and may have even come to mildly respect, so Severus was greatly disturbed when they greeted the news by spending the entire hour in his company vacillating between showering him with astonished well wishes to his face and murmuring suspicious doubts as to the appropriateness and honorability of his intensions toward the girl behind his back.
Being the object of any form of whispered gossip immediately returned Severus to his adolescence, a time when he routinely felt inadequate and ostracized — the butt of many a teenage joke. It was that very same feeling of inadequacy and disconnection that had played a large part in his becoming a Death Eater. Logically, he knew he was no longer that misfit young wizard in need of a place to fit in, but somewhere buried deep within him there was still a piece of that lonely teenager feeling the sting of his peers ridicule, an emotion he thought he had left behind with his youth.
Then, in addition to his feeling made the fool by his bride for his inability to refuse her whims and by himself for assuming that his peers were more mature than the students to which they endowed their knowledge, the final remnant of his good humor was completely obliterated by the most interfering and irritating wizard of his acquaintance — Albus Dumbledore.
The meddlesome Headmaster had been watching him speculatively all morning. Initially, Severus assumed the old wizard was still concerned about how he and the girl were fairing after their rough start on Saturday that landed her in the hospital wing, but he soon realized it was more than that. The bothersome fool had been finding amusement at his expense with comments on how well rested he looked and how this marriage business may turn out to be just as beneficial for him as for his bride. What utter nonsense!
Although, he did feel unusually energized for a Monday morning, causing him to concede to himself that having the girl in his bed at night was not wholly without merit. In general, she was a nuisance, but the convenience of having a sexual partner there to meet his needs couldn't be denied. Sexual release had always relaxed him for days afterwards and allowed him to focus his mind on concealing his true allegiance and concentrate on disposing of the Dark Lord — a fact that attributed to his regular visits to the whores of Knockturn Alley. He had to admit that sharing his bed was a small price to pay to receive such alleviation. After all, Hermione was rather soft, and he had experienced worse things than having her supple body pressed intimately against him all night.
If only he could manage to leave things on a purely physical level with the girl… then the arrangement might not turn out too badly. But, so far she had claimed far too much of his attention out of the bedchamber for him to think that the arrangement was going to be good for him in any way. Between his own incompetence in dealing with her and the sting of his fellow professors censure, combined with the mirthful ribbing of the Headmaster, he was ruing the day he ever laid eyes on the little chit. Speaking of which…
As he seated himself and placed his napkin across his lap, Severus surreptitiously scanned the Gryffindor table for her mop of bushy hair, barely pausing at the sight of her but feeling an unwelcome relief at finding her present and safe. He told himself that he was only fulfilling his duty as her protector. As such, he needed to keep track of her whereabouts at all times, and the fact that he could still feel her moist kiss burning upon his cheek like a brand was of no consequence at all.
Satisfied at seeing her unharmed, his gaze traveled full circle only to be met by the merry blue eyes of the Headmaster, who was himself observing Severus and wearing a very annoyingly knowing smirk. Severus returned it with a scowl of his own and redirected his attention to his plate. Blasted old wizard!
"Attention," the Headmaster's booming voice Drew Severus' eyes up once more from his unappealing breakfast as he stepped up to his podium at the head of the Great Hall and addressed the student body. "Good morning. I have a few announcements before we begin our day. As you may or may not be aware, the Marriage Law has claimed several more of your fellow students over the weekend, and we are obliged to offer them our congratulations." Severus wondered if offering condolences would have been more appropriate. "The circumstances of their unions may not be ideal," the Headmaster continued, "but we can never dismiss the potential for greatness when two lives are united together. So, join me in wishing the newlyweds the best of luck as they begin the rest of their lives together. Would the following couples please stand …"
Severus' sat stoically, his breakfast abandoned in front of him as he watched the Headmaster introduce all the newlywed couples. Some of the unions were expected because the couples had been involved romantically before the Marriage Law was passed, but there were also a few surprise unions between rival houses that caused the students to murmur to each other behind cupped hands.
After the reaction his own colleagues had given him earlier, Severus anticipated a similar response from the students when his name was finally announced along with his unlikely bride. He braced himself for the worst as the short list of couples drew close to completion and let his eyes once again seek out his young wife, giving her more than the cursory glance he had previously graced her with.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed she looked rather pale and was staring across the Great Hall, a shocked expression frozen on her face. Something had upset her, and a lump formed in the back of his throat at the thought, his primitive protective instinct rearing up unexpectedly. He followed her gaze until his eyes discovered the source of her anxiety seated amongst the students of his own House. Damn it! In all the morning's occurrences, he had momentarily forgotten about Draco.
Severus was suddenly furious with himself. How Draco would react when he learned of being thwarted in his attempt to seize the girl should have been the day's first priority — not the girl herself, or his colleagues, or the Headmaster. Unfortunately, he knew Draco would not take the news well. No Slytherin took well to being slighted, especially not a Malfoy. It had taken Severus weeks of well placed sympathetic overtures, but he almost had the young wizard in his confidence before this whole Marriage Law nonsense started, and now he wasn't sure Draco would ever let him guide him in his assigned Dark task, let alone protect him from it. The prideful, young Slytherin was determined to go it alone — to prove himself to his father and the Dark Lord, and this news would only alienate him further.
Before Severus had time to consider how to manage Draco, his wife's name and his own were echoing out loud and clear across the Great Hall. Their marriage had been announced, and he would have to scramble to do damage control as best he could.
As instructed, he rose from his seat to acknowledge the Headmaster, as did Hermione. After which, there was a long moment of shocked silence before a cacophony of gasps and appalled chatter rippled through the Great Hall.
It was in that moment of quiet, as Severus and Hermione stood — him feigning impenetrability and her appearing as if she were going to faint — that Draco also flew to his feet with an expression of rage twisting his features.
None of the other students seem to notice him, their attention too focused on the scandalous news of their dark, surly professor and his child bride to pay him any attention, but Severus watched as his protégé's indignant anger morphed into righteous determination before he stalked off down the length of the tables and exited the Great Hall.
There was nothing Severus could do but follow.
Climbing the final step up into the Owlry, Severus found Draco staring out across the foggy distance, watching his owl fly away. In keeping with the shite day he was already having, Severus had made another small miscalculation in assuming that the disgruntled young wizard would storm off to his dorm room and pout. Instead, the spoiled Slytherin had shown a surprising amount of balls, wasting no time in stirring up trouble.
Severus had no doubts that the message the boy had just sent would have him on his knees in front of the Dark Lord before the day's end. He had hoped for a longer amount of time to prepare, but perhaps it was for the best. There really was no way to ready one's self for such a confrontation. The Dark Lord would kill him or not. Either way — better to have it over with.
Draco heard the footfall behind him and turned to find his Head of House, the man he had always looked to for guidance and protection, standing silently behind him. "You were a fool to cross me," he spat angrily, the betrayal he felt evident in his tone.
"How so?" Severus queried calmly.
"She was to be MINE!" Draco shouted, causing the owls to startle and take flight.
Severus' didn't even flinch at the boy's outburst, only letting his impassive demeanor slip slightly as the corner of his mouth turned up in condescending amusement. "Like your father, you presume too much, Draco," he replied coolly. "She was never to be yours, nor will she ever be."
The mention of his father struck a already sore spot for Draco, inadvertently provoking him into a full-on childish tantrum, complete with stomped foot. "I trusted you," Draco accused, feeling doubly abandoned — first by his father and now by his mentor. "You knew my father had petitioned for her on my behalf, but you took her anyway."
"Enough!" Severus roared, abandoning his unaffected demeanor completely. He didn't have time for this. If the boy wanted to play at a man's game, then he would treat him like one whether he acted like a three year old or not. Besides, the girl was his, and it irked him that Draco would dare to lay claim to her. He crossed the small space in three strides to lean menacingly into Draco's personal space. "You wanted to bear the mark? To be treated like a man? Given a man's task? Then stop acting like the spoiled prat you are!"
Startled and intimidated by his looming professor's unprecedented censure, Draco shrank back until he was halted by the stone edge of the windowsill and reflexively sought out the pocket that contained his wand.
Severus' eyes caught the movement. "Don't even think about it," he warned, then considered Draco thoughtfully. "What did you think was going to happen, Draco? Did you honestly think that Dumbledore would let his little Gryffindor princess marry the son of a known Death Eater? That, considering your history with the girl and her friends, he would allow you to abuse and degrade her right under his nose?"
Draco huffed, appearing as if the thought of Dumbledore interfering had never even occurred to him. He was too used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it that he hadn't even considered being denied.
"Now, thanks to you and your scheming father," Severus continued, "Dumbledore has saddled me with the little chit."
Draco laughed derisively. "Oh, don't even act like you aren't enjoying it," he scoffed. "I know what she's hiding under those robes. An old geezer like you, how could you not like getting your dick wet in her fresh, tight pussy …"
Severus didn't even let him finish before he lost what remained of the tenuous reign he had on his temper, gripping the front of Draco's robes in his hands and pushing him dangerously far into the window's opening.
"What … what do you think your doing?" Draco asked, panic-stricken. His hands instinctively clutching at Severus' forearms as his eyes darted between Severus' face and over his shoulder to ground hundreds of feet below.
"You watch your tongue," Severus seethed, shaking Draco until he held his gaze. "Madame Snape is no longer your concern. Find yourself a pretty little witch to marry — one plenty stupid enough for you to control — and forget about my wife. She is no longer your concern. You have other tasks to which you need to attend. Or, have you forgotten?"
"I haven't forgotten anything," Draco defended instinctively, then appeared confused. "But why then?" he asked. "If you don't want to fuck her, then why agree to marry her?"
Severus smirked as if the answer should have been obvious to a simpleton.
"Because I have an illusion to maintain," he replied, patronizingly. "Unlike some young wizards, I don't bully or threaten. I know how to use finesse in my manipulations, and I can see beyond myself and my own frivolous desires. Hermione is of no concern to me, but Dumbledore thinks I'm doing him a favor, saving her from a terrible fate with you, and it only benefits me to let him. I've spent years meticulously ingratiating myself into the old fool's trust for the Dark Lord's benefit — something you would do well to remember when refusing my aid. Our Lord will not tolerate failure. You would be wise to let me help you."
"I don't need your help," Draco replied rebelliously. Even when the necessary assistance was offered to him on a silver platter he refused it, opting to struggle alone over admitting his shortcomings. Such stupid Malfoy pride.
Severus stared at the obstinate boy and realized he would make no progress with him if they continued to argue. He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure and letting his anger slip away. He usually never let it get the best of him like that, but when the boy had spoken of his wife so crudely…. It was all he could do not to pitch him out of the window.
It took a great deal of effort, but eventually he managed to pull Draco in from the windowsill and let his impassive facade slip seamlessly back into place. "We shall see," he commented as he removed his hands from the front of Draco's robes and smoothed the lapels as if he were smoothing away the tension that coursed between them just moments before. "Now, I'm sure you have a class to attend," he added dismissively.
Draco wisely took the opportunity to quickly sidestep around his intimidating professor and stride toward the stairs to make his escape, only hesitating for a second to look back over his shoulder. "This isn't over," he promised, then fled down the stairs.
"No," Severus agreed to himself. "For me, it never is."
For Hermione, the staring and whispering started immediately after the marriage announcement, and she had scarcely left the Great Hall before the gossip began to escalate into outright teasing and taunting.
It seemed that by marrying Professor Snape she had set herself up as a target for the whole student body's ridicule. Of course, she could easily understand a certain amount of interest due to the unexpected nature of their union. It would only be natural for the other students to wonder about her circumstances, knowing that neither she nor her husband were popular among the student body in general and that they were certainly an unlikely pair — she was awkward and bookish, while he was churlish and aloof. She could see how uncultivated minds could dwell on such a novelty. But her peers weren't just being curious, and their discourse had quickly progressed beyond mere gossip — they were being cruel, using foul words and going as far as making lewd comments about her and her husband's intimate relations.
Her friends tried to shield her — Harry most of all, going as far as forcefully shoving one fifth year Ravenclaw into the wall when he made a vulgar gesture as he passed her in the corridor, but her friends weren't in all her classes and couldn't be with her in the hallways every second. She had to bear weight of the mockery alone, barely making it through her morning classes without being brought to tears.
During her lunch period, she chose to hide in the library, but even in her sanctuary she heard hushed voices and snickering behind the bookshelves. By the time she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon, she was at her wits end, plunking her satchel down on the floor as she sat in her customary spot between Harry and Ron.
"All right, 'Mione?" Harry asked, noticing how frazzled she looked.
"Yeah, I'm all right," she replied wearily, letting out a long frustrated sigh as the speculative chatter around them increased.
"Just ignore them," he told her, joining her and Ron in pulling out his parchment and quill to make ready for class. "They'll get bored with it after a while."
As if to contradict his prediction, Hermione was suddenly struck in the back of her head by a small hard projectile that magically burst into a foul smelling vapor upon impact. "Ow!" she cried, rubbing the back of her head and turning along with Harry and Ron to see who had launched it. The only clue to the perpetrator's identity was the howling guffaws coming from the group of Slytherins seated — Draco at their center — at the back of the room.
"You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" Ron warned him threateningly, standing up and posturing for a fight while Harry made ready to follow suit.
Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. Ron hadn't said two words to her that morning, keeping a purposeful distance from her while letting Lavender Brown fawn all over him. Surprisingly, she found she wasn't jealous of the other girl at all, but lately Ron's behavior in general just seemed to annoy her — like now, as he demonstrated the juvenile impetuousness that she had always found so off-putting. She supposed most girls would be flattered to have a boy coming to her defense, but she didn't like fighting, and, besides, something about Ron being the one to defend her honor didn't feel right. She was someone else's wife now, and it wasn't Ron's duty to step in and protect her like that.
She knew she was being irrational — that the baser, feminine part of herself that she usually paid no heed to was to blame, but she found herself wistfully imagining it was her mature and capable husband, in whose arm's she'd slept so securely the night before, swooping in to come to her defense. It was a ridiculous notion, but it still made her resent that she'd ever imagined a future with the puerile boy standing at her side performing her husband's duty for him.
She could see the folly of her previous infatuation with Ron now that she had some distance and a new perspective. Her hopes for a happy future and the right to defend her honor now belonged to Professor Snape whether he wanted that privilege or not, and she felt an odd mixture of longing for him to claim that right and disloyalty to him for letting Ron champion her against Malfoy in his stead.
As if thinking of Professor Snape could summon him, he chose that exact moment to sweep into the classroom with his usual abruptness, stopping short as his gaze took in the scene he was interrupting. "Is there a problem, Weasley?" he asked condescendingly.
Before Ron could make a reckless reply, Hermione instinctively put her hand on his arm to get his attention. "Just let it go," she whispered, unintentionally falling back into the habit of being the voice of common sense amongst her friends.
Professor Snape's eyes tracked the movement of her hand. "Madame Snape," he addressed her crossly, his piercing gaze focused on where she was touching Ron. "Is there something you wish to contribute?"
She hesitated, momentarily stunned by the hostility he was directing at her. It took her a few seconds for her to adjust her thinking in regard to him and put aside the foolish hope that she had let run astray the moment she saw him enter. She realized quickly he had reverted back into himself again, resuming the persona of her cold, unfeeling Professor — not the man who had said a kind word to her that morning, and most definitely not the man her over-active imagination had just pictured coming to her rescue.
"No, sir," she replied, drawing back her hand along with her unrealistic expectations.
His emotionless gaze met and held hers. "Then don't interfere," he warned. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your meddling."
The Slytherins in the back of the room chuckled in amusement.
"But…" she began to protest the unjust penalty, but then she heard Draco snicker and say, "Her own husband doesn't even like her," as more laughter spread throughout the room.
"Weasley, sit," Professor Snape commanded sharply, either not hearing or simply choosing to ignore the insult directed at her as he headed to the front of the classroom to begin the lesson.
Ron reluctantly took his seat, exchanging a disgruntled look with Harry while the Slytherins in the back of the room continued to chuckle.
A heated blush spread over Hermione's face as she opened her book to the appropriate page and inked her quill, preparing to take notes, but she couldn't pull her gaze up from the blur of words on the parchment or find it in her power to listen to the lecture. She was too humiliated. Not only had she suffered the mistreatment of the other students, but now she was feeling doubly foolish for once again thinking charitably of her husband. She knew he must have heard what they were saying and seen how they had been behaving, but he just let them carry on without rebuke — like always.
Previously, he had often ignored the misbehavior of his own House when it had been directed at her and her friends, but things were different now — she was his wife now, not just some insignificant school girl to be overlooked. Perhaps she was only disappointed that he hadn't lived up to her girlish fantasy of a knight-protector, but, even so, hadn't that been the reason she'd wed him? Hadn't he pledged to protect her from the very same Slytherin he had just allowed to belittle her?
An indignant anger ignited within her at his neglect, burning away any remnant of the embarrassment she felt at the hands of her classmates. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that if she confronted him she would probably be sabotaging her own burgeoning endeavor to become more than a simple nuisance to him, but that was of little import to her at that moment — she was too angry. He had promised only one thing when they wed — his protection, and she would see to it that he held up his end of the agreement. Steeling her resolve, she determined that she would have to speak to him about it after class.
Severus proceeded with his lecture in his customary manner, giving no indication of the emotions churning chaotically under his usual apathetic exterior. His lessons were so well prepared that, although he was barely aware of the subject matter he was imparting to his students, his practiced facade never faltered. All his mind could focus on was the fact that his wife had been touching that Weasley boy.
The sight of her hand on his arm immediately brought back memories of his youth and the pain associated with the first time he realized his beloved Lily had betrayed him. Remembrances of waiting outside her classroom with plans of walking her to her next class, only to find her walking arm-in-arm with James Potter — his tormentor, assaulted him, quickly followed by the memories of having to watch her constantly sneaking off with him to secluded corridors without giving a thought to Severus' feelings, leaving him only the echo of her girlish laughter and the bitter taste of his unreturned affections.
It was not the first time since Severus had wed that his young bride had brought back the long forgotten and unwelcome emotions of his youth. He knew that he shouldn't have been so affected by what he had just witnessed between Hermione and the Weasley boy, that the fidelity charms bound into their union would prevent her from physically acting on any feelings she may still harbor for the dimwit, but that knowledge didn't forestall the irrational anger he felt at what he perceived as her obvious infatuation. The fact that she may still have any feelings for the boy at all stabbed at his heart in a way he hadn't assumed possible.
He told himself that it was only due to the fact that she had given her word that she would behave appropriately at all times so as not to cause him any embarrassment, and that it wasn't seemly for her to be touching another wizard in public, but he couldn't put aside the deeper feelings her casual familiarity with the boy provoked.
The thought of her sharing any intimacy with the boy that should be reserved for only him as her husband infuriated him beyond reason. He wouldn't tolerate having another witch thoughtlessly push him aside for the attentions of another — even if he didn't hold any expectations of forming a relationship with her himself. She had given her word, and he would see to it she held up her end of the agreement.
"Madame Snape," he addressed her sharply after dismissing the rest of the students. "You will remain behind."
In response to his mandate, a new batch of snickering and derisive comments were hurled at Hermione by the other students as they exited the room. She did her best to ignore the taunts of: "Ooooo, you're in trouble now," and "Make sure you cradle his balls, Granger," but she didn't think she could tolerate much more of their immaturity. Only Harry, sensing her distress, lingered and asked if she wanted him to wait for her. She declined his offer, not wanting him to be late for his next class on her account, and watched as he hesitantly left through the classroom door, leaving her alone with her husband.
After everyone else was gone, she finished packing away her supplies, slung her satchel over her shoulder and approached the front of the room where her husband sat making notations on his parchments. His elevated position behind his tall desk at the front of the classroom and his staid demeanor caused the ire and indignation that had fueled her determination to speak with him about his unfulfilled responsibilities toward her to quickly dissolve. So ingrained in her psyche was her deference to her instructors that she found herself hesitant to interrupt him, let alone condemn his previous behavior. As her professor, he was to be awarded the utmost respect. She had to remind herself that right now she would be speaking to her husband, Severus, not Professor Snape.
"You wished to speak to me," she said, rather pleased that her voice did not falter.
Severus lifted his gaze to the girl and set aside his quill before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yes," he drawled, looking down his nose at her. "I wanted to ask you if you forgot the discussion we had prior to your acceptance of my marriage petition, Madame Snape?" His lips twisted with an extra bit of venom in his pronunciation of her title.
"No," she replied, unfazed. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, finding her courage at his broaching the topic of his negligence for her. "In fact, I remember it quite well."
"Then can you tell me why you have chosen to violate our agreement?"
"Ma … Me?" she sputtered, astonished. "I haven't done anything wrong. You're the one who isn't keeping his word."
Severus scoffed and dropped his palms to the desk surface, finding her counter-accusation ludicrous. "And how, pray-tell, have I failed to keep my word?"
"You said you'd protect me, and yet you let the other students attack me right under your nose."
"I'm sorry," he apologized with all the scathing sarcasm he could muster. "I wasn't aware a few humorous comments at your expense constituted assault. There was no harm done." He waved his hand at her person as if her standing there before him only proved his point.
"No harm?" Hermione's voice rose an octave in disbelief. "They pelted me in the head with… with… Well, I don't know what it was, but it hurt." She lifted her hand to rub the back of her head, flinching as she touched the sore spot. "And it left a bump," she added pitifully.
Severus' expression lost some of it's hardness at the girl's obvious physical discomfort, but he wasn't moved enough to admit any wrong doing. "I saw no projectile," he stated.
"It was… before you entered the room," she admitted reluctantly, her shoulder's sagging slightly as she realized he couldn't be held accountable for what occurred in his absence.
"Well, then," he replied smugly, taking advantage of her confession. "I certainly can't be expected to defend your person from alleged attack if I don't see it, now can I? But…" he continued before she could answer, "I was present for that little amorous display you put on with the ginger dullard you always chase after."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione was genuinely confused as to what he was referring — Ron having been displaced from her mind immediately after Severus entered the room.
"The Weasley boy!" Severus all but shouted at her, launching himself up from his chair and pounding his fists on the desk as he hovered menacingly above her. "Don't play at being stupid. You were hanging on his arm like some two knut floozy. It's obvious you have feelings for him."
Hermione quailed, instinctively removing herself from his arm's reach. She had never seen him display such violent emotion before. He had always remained so condescending and unflappable in her presence that it was a startling and frightening experience to be on the receiving end of his loosed temper.
"I do not," she admitted cautiously, taking several slow steps back and turning, making ready to flee if necessary. "He's simply a … a friend."
"A friend?" Severus queried skeptically.
At her seemingly forthright assurance, he regained some of his composure and became aware of how he had once again caused her to retreat from him — something that he was finding increasingly disturbing. He hadn't realized how incensed he had let himself become until he had to pull himself back from his threatening stance above her. It seemed the mere thought of her caring for another had made him see red.
For the second time that day, he had been on the verge of physically demonstrating his fury. These momentary losses of control were unprecedented, but then the feelings he had been dealing with since wedding the girl were also new to him. Never before had his emotions floated so close to the surface, or had he reacted so passionately to a threat to their wellbeing. Even when he had watched Lily give herself to another, the ache had only been a slow, dull agony, not the all consuming, excruciating pain he just experienced. Of course, he would have forgiven Lily anything, which made him wonder what hold his young bride was beginning to have on him. The loss of restraint he experienced whenever his claim over her was threatened was simply unacceptable. He had to get a hold of himself!
Once her husband was again standing upright behind his desk and not looking as if he were going to launch himself over it and throttle her, Hermione's fear of him was quickly replaced by her growing outrage at how he was behaving and his determination to turn this conversation against her when he was the one not keeping up his end of their bargain. She had done nothing wrong and his efforts to intimidate her only added further insult to the many emotional injuries she had already received that day, causing her patience to snap. "What do you care anyway?" she spat bitterly. "You've made it clear you have no interest in me."
"No, I don't," he replied automatically, using the excuse of bending to retake his seat to prevent meeting her gaze as the words left his lips. It occurred to him that maybe that statement was somewhat untrue. Obviously, he wouldn't have gotten so agitated if he didn't feel something for the girl, but he told himself it wasn't the girl herself causing these fits of emotional upheaval he had been battling. He wasn't prepared to admit to himself or to her that though he hadn't chosen to feel anything for her — hadn't even thought himself capable of it — it was happening anyway.
When he finally had his mask of indifference back in place, his eyes returned to hers and looked down at her reproachfully. "My only interest is in maintaining my reputation," he stated firmly, perhaps more for his benefit than hers. "As my wife, you will refrain from touching other wizards. I can't…" He faltered, unintentionally letting a slight pinch in his brows reveal his inner distress as he corrected himself. "I will not tolerate it. Am I clear?"
Hermione heard Severus' hesitation, noting the momentary break in his expression and the distinguishable quaver in his voice, and her keen abilities of observation, along with her rarely used feminine instincts, told her that something wasn't quite right with him. After the brief demonstration of his fierce temper, he returned instantly to his normal unaffected and domineering self, but she sensed an almost imperceptible hint of insecurity in the way he stumbled to express himself. And she couldn't accept his "damaging his reputation" rationale, either. Everyone knew she had been friends with Harry and Ron for ages, and although she may have previously harbored an ill-conceived attraction for Ron, there was nothing remotely intimate about the way she had touched him today. Severus' overreaction to the innocent contact was completely irrational. It was almost as if he were … jealous.
That's it!
Suddenly, his behavior made perfect sense to her. In fact, it was blatantly obvious now that she looked at things from the new perspective of his wife instead of as his student — he was jealous! It was now obvious that he was doubting himself where she was concerned just as she had done with him that morning. Astounding. In that instant of realization, his covetous burst of outrage — though somewhat frightening at the time — now seemed to erase all the damage done to her feelings that day by her fellow students and caused her heart to swell with pride. No one had ever been jealous over her before, and the natural feminine reaction that bubbled up into her chest was to feel pleased and flattered.
Instinctively, she understood that on some level he must desire her affections for himself, and even her astute logic indicated that if he was concerned enough about where she placed her esteem to so ardently demonstrate his disapproval, then there must be a part of him that saw her as more than a burden. At least, that's what she hoped. Or, on the other hand, he could just be a possessive jerk that didn't like to share his toys — as he would most likely prefer her to believe. She knew she may have been being naive, but she couldn't bring herself to think that of him, not after what she had seen in his eyes the night before.
If her assessment of his behavior today was correct, and he truly was envious of what he wrongly perceived as her romantic attachment to Ron, then she knew in her bones that somewhere underneath that ill-tempered exterior was a wizard that wanted to give and receive love. He might not be aware of it himself, or perhaps he simply didn't know how to accomplish it, but, fortunately for him, she had been given one of the best example of marital bliss to emulate, and she had her mother's tutelage. She had all the tools she needed to unlock her husband's well concealed heart, and she rededicated herself to not letting his reluctance or his temper come between them. She had a plan…
"Oh, you are crystal clear," she finally answered with an grin that seemed a little too triumphant for her husband's liking.
"Good," Severus replied suspiciously, disarmed by her strange reaction. He had watched as the girl's expressions betrayed her thoughts, flickering across her face — frustration, anger, confusion, curious suspicion, and then unexpectedly … joy. Her emotions were easy enough for him to read, yet she still managed to confound him. Happiness was certainly not the reaction he expected from his decree. His Slytherin instincts surmised that she was up to something, but he couldn't fathom what was going on in that silly, little head of hers, or why that damn smile, no matter how impish, made him feel so discombobulated.
Again, he felt that same compulsion to puzzle out the inner workings behind her odd behavior and why she affected him so extremely, but the students for his next class were starting to filter into the room, and the sounds they made broke his silent contemplation. He shook off his momentary reverie and cleared his throat. "We'll continue this discussion later," he returned his gaze to his parchments and resumed his markings, "I have another class to attend to. Run along." He flicked his hand at her as if he were shooing a pestering insect.
Hermione hesitated. Although she was unable to remove the smile from her face, feeling almost giddy with the notion that her husband might care for her in some small way, she still wanted some sort of reassurance from him in regard to the mean-spirited conduct of the other students and his dismissal of it's import. They may only be cruel words, but they still hurt her as surely as being pelted by one of Draco's vaporizing spitballs. But, she had to agree that maybe that conversation would be better had at a more opportune time, like tonight when they were alone and she could touch him…
"I look forward to it," she replied with a slight inflection of innuendo that was not lost on her husband, confirming in his mind that she was definitely up to something.
When her back was turned and she retreated toward the door, Severus lifted his gaze to discreetly watch her go. He noted the spring in her step and the lift of her chin, and, although he didn't recognize the emotion for anything more than curiosity about what she was up to and how their little battle of wills would play out, he agreed with her final assertion — he was also looking forward to it.
The late afternoon sky above Malfoy Manor was ominously and unnaturally dark as Severus Apparated just outside it's gates. Pausing for a moment to get his bearings, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He found that clearing his mind and letting go of all his tumultuous thoughts prepared him better for dealing with the Dark Lord, a skill he honed as a young child as a means of survival. His father had been much like the Dark lord. He too had taken a perverse joy in tormenting any soul that showed fear, and both his father and the Dark Lord could smell that emotion a mile away.
Once he felt he had his emotions suitably in hand, he entered the property and strode down the long, gravel drive toward the Manor house, hastened by the insistent burning of the Dark Mark branded into the inside of his left forearm. His Master was summoning him, and he had no doubt on which topic he wished to discuss. In fact, he was surprised it had taken as long as it had to be called. Draco's missive was sent first thing this morning, and news traveled fast amongst the Dark horde. He had been expecting this moment of reckoning; His only concern was how thoroughly his lord would punish him for acting of his own volition and taking the girl for his bride without first seeking his approval.
As he approached the grand portico, the large, black lacquered doors swung open in anticipation of his arrival, and upon crossing the threshold, he was greeted and directed to the Manor's ballroom by a dirty, ragged-looking house elf. His purposeful footsteps echoed down the long, main hall until he stood outside the designated door, from behind which he heard the muted screams of a woman. Yes, the Dark Lord was in the mood for torture today, and that did not bode well for him. He didn't pause before entering, knowing that keeping the evil wizard waiting would only raise his ire.
"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, his serpentine voice emanating from the opposite end of the cavernous room as Severus entered. "So nice of you to join us."
The ballroom at Malfoy Manor had once been the location of lavish parties and marvelously sumptuous balls, but since the Dark Lord had commandeered the Manor for his own personal use it was barely recognizable. In fact, the whole house had lost it's once opulent appeal. Nowadays, it resembled a grandiose tomb more than a palatial home. The polished white marble walls now only seemed grey; the finely decorated halls seemed barren and desolate with their furnishings and art having been sold to finance the Dark campaign; and the dark clouds that perpetually loomed above added to the overall funereal gloom. But, it was the ballroom where Severus stood now that he disliked the most. Directly across the expansive room from where he stood in the entranceway, the Dark Lord sat on a raised stone platform, like a king on a throne, overseeing a plethora of horrors enacted solely for his amusement.
"The pleasure is mine, my lord," Severus replied, bowing stiffly.
"Come, Severus. See what fun we're having today." The Dark Lord gestured his hand in invitation at the scene playing out before him.
Severus did as he was entreated, leisurely crossing the room's considerable length and examining the inhabitants along the way. Sweeping his eyes to the right, he noted a Muggle man hanging naked on a rack, his wrists and ankles magically bound, and his body covered by small, round burns. He paused only a moment to watch as a levitating, red-hot poker was intermittently pressed to the poor soul's seared flesh before his eyes sought out the next act of depravity to his left. A young girl of no more than ten years of age was hanging upside down with her head being repeatedly submerged in water as she gulped and sputtered for air. Back to the right — another woman being whipped. To the left — another man being cut. And so on, and so on. When he had finally crossed the distance and stood before his master, his eyes were once again on the evil creature reveling in the pain and anguish of the Muggles at his mercy — Lord Voldemort.
"My lord, you have outdone yourself," Severus said evenly, not betraying a hint of the revulsion churning his stomach.
"And you, my old friend. You have been busy, too." The Dark Lord's eyes danced with a malevolent glee, and Severus felt a lump of dread rising in his throat. "I hear you've chosen a bride."
"Yes. As you decreed, I have wed, my lord." Severus attempted to make himself appear humble and subservient. "But, I did not have the luxury of choosing my bride. I fear she was thrust upon me."
Voldemort made a commiserative tutting sound, then stood from his make-shift throne and moved menacingly toward Severus. "You fear?" he queried skeptically. "I did not know you were capable of fear, old friend. So, tell me…You did not want to marry the young, nubile school girl?"
"No, my lo…"
Voldemort cut him off before he could finish his reply. "And, you haven't enjoyed her freshly ripened, adolescent body?" He took a step down from the platform to threateningly punctuate his question.
"Well, yes. But…"
"Nor have you taken advantage of the situation for your own personal gain and made a decision about my enemy's inner circle without first consulting me?" Another step.
"My lord, please allow me to explain."
Voldemort descended the final step, and, although Severus was taller than the Dark Lord, he held himself diminutively before him.
"I'm listening," the evil wizard replied, as he began to slowly circle around Severus predatorily.
"I was asked to marry the girl by Dumbledore."
The Dark Lord's head tilted curiously. "Go on," he said.
"A petition was sent to the girl on behalf of Draco Malfoy, and Dumbledore suspected, no doubt accurately, that the Malfoy's meant her harm. He sought me out, my lord. My only thought upon agreeing to the marriage was to keep myself in his confidence — to better serve you, my lord."
"Well, this is not the way I heard it," the Dark Lord replied, his tone indicating that he was not yet ready to believe the wizard standing subservient before him. "Bella told me you had long coveted the girl, and a marriage to her was to serve as leverage to gain my favor." He came around to face Severus, his gaze penetrating.
"Do I not already have your good opinion, my lord?" Severus questioned deferentially, but still managing to appear dignified. "Bellatrix, no doubt, learned of my nuptials from her sister, and Narcissa's understanding of the situation has come from Draco — the rejected suitor. Obviously, with no intention to deceive, her telling of the situation would be at odds with mine, but even if she were correct, I do not need a child bride to prove myself to you. You have my unwavering fealty. Look for yourself…" Severus returned his master's gaze invitingly. "My only wish in taking the girl was for you. I swear it."
The Dark Lord didn't hesitate to accept Severus' invitation to probe his memories, his wand appearing out of nowhere in front of Severus' face. "Legilimens!"
Severus staggered back as Lord Voldemort brutally entered his mind, using none of the subtlety and finesse of which he was capable. The serpentine wizard delved and pried, looking through every interaction Severus had shared with Dumbledore, as well as all his interactions with the girl, looking for any indication that Severus was not being forthright in his account. It was only Severus' innate ability to spin the truth into a different light, ingrained seamlessly into his psyche from birth at the hands of his abusive father, that allowed him to conceal his real emotions and loyalties from his master.
When he replayed the memory of Hermione crying outside his classroom because of Draco's immature attempts to intimidate her, he emphasized his own contempt for the girl. When Voldemort witnessed Dumbledore asking Severus to marry and protect the girl, instead of seeing the composed Headmaster explain the advantages of the union, he saw a feeble wizard desperately beseeching him for his aid. And, when his evil master finally came to Severus' memories of his sexual interactions with his young bride — too fascinated by their couplings for Severus' liking — Severus eagerly offered up the moments that he knew would please the evil creature searching his mind.
He showed him their wedding night — how she had trembled in fear, and how she had cried out when he had penetrated her. He showed him how pitiful and abused the girl had appeared as he carried her back from the hospital wing, and how she had grimaced and moaned when he took her so savagely only the night before, knowing that his master's mind could not discern that they were cries of pleasure not pain. No, he knew his master well enough to know that he wouldn't be able to understand the complexities of intimacy because how could someone understand what they had never experienced. All his master knew was anger, rage, and misery — those he could understand. So, that's what Severus gave him.
Voldemort withdrew from his mind as abruptly as he had entered, leaving behind a revolting, slimy residue of sensation that crawled across Severus' skin — like the demented wizard had literally slithered through his being, then he stepped back from his servant, eying him speculatively.
"You are my most trusted follower, Severus." The Dark Lord spoke with an edge of warning in his voice. "But even the most loyal of men can have a weakness for his family. It is good to see that Bella was mistaken and that this … Hermione has not captured your affections. As you well know, our weaknesses can so easily be used against us. Just look at Lucius and Narcissa and how they scramble to find a way to protect their son — simply pitiful."
"Yes, my lord," Severus agreed. "I assure you I have no compassion for my bride. I admit I do enjoy using her body, but there is little else to recommend her — except that keeping her unharmed allows me to remain at Hogwarts as your humble servant."
"Oh, that's right," Voldemort acknowledged regretfully. "I don't suppose you can truly enjoy the benefits of marriage until after I have killed Harry Potter and we are all freed from our current constraints." He sighed disappointedly. "What a shame. And, I had prepared a wonderful little surprise wedding gift for you and your bride."
"A surprise, my lord?" Severus asked. Though his instincts told him that anything that the Dark Lord had planned in his current frame of mind was not going to be pleasant, he still thought it best to discover what had originally been planned for them, especially since it was still unclear where he stood with the Dark wizard.
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to show you. After all, I worked so hard on it — we wouldn't want it to go to waste. I'm sure you'll like it, and when I've done away with Harry Potter, we'll make sure your bride gets to experience it too." The Dark Lord smiled wickedly, then called out to one of his henchman. "Greyback?"
"Yes, sir," the werewolf replied gruffly, entering through a concealed servants door at the side of the room.
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes, sir. Just as you requested."
"Then bring her in," Voledmort impatiently commanded to the fierce looking lycanthrope, before he turned to climb the steps that lead back up to his throne. "Come, Severus. Stand next to me. The best view is from up here, and you're not going to want to miss a moment of this."
Severus highly doubted that, but he didn't betray thoughts. For appearances sake, he raised the corner of his mouth into his best attempt at a smile — something that did not come naturally to him — to feign his eagerness and appreciation and followed Voldemort up onto the platform, taking the position indicated at his right. He watched as the werewolf and three other snatchers returned to the center of the ballroom directly in front of them with a naked woman held in their midst, her identity hidden by a grungy, burlap sack placed over her head, and he heard the evil wizard beside him chuckle in amusement as she stumbled and tried to free herself by tugging her arms rebelliously away from her captors as they dragged her along.
Severus painted on an eager expression as the men brought forth one of the unused contraptions on the ballroom floor, a wood and metal apparatus that resembled something he had seen on the Muggle playgrounds as a child — a jungle gym, only on a smaller scale. They bound the woman to it with leather straps until she was suspended helplessly from it's iron bars like a marionette on it's strings while she struggled and made grunting and whining sounds that did her no good. There were straps attached to her wrists and ankles, knees and elbows, as well as around her waist, chest and neck. The way the contraption was designed, she could be manipulated against her will into any position they desired. When the men were done securing her, they stepped back, forming a semicircle around her as they awaited further instructions.
"Why don't you do the honors, Severus," Voldemort said with a hint of evil mischief in his tone, handing him a vial containing a blood-red potion. "Go up and remove her head covering and administer this. I've found it makes this whole experience that much more entertaining."
Severus took the vial from his master, hesitating only a second to make sure he had a firm lid on all his emotions before determinedly approaching the woman and pulling off the dirty sack to expose her head. He couldn't repress the small gasp of surprise that escaped his lips at what he saw. At first, he thought it was the girl — his own Hermione — because she looked so similar. The bushy brown hair; the big, brown eyes; and the girl's age — she couldn't have been any more than seventeen herself. It was clear to him that she had been chosen for these very similarities. His master was making a point.
Severus recovered quickly from his surprise, and completed his assigned task without hesitation, grabbing the unfortunate girl roughly by the hair, pulling her head back, and removing the gag from her mouth so that he could pour the potion down her throat. Of course, she looked at him beseechingly and begged him for mercy, but to show reluctance would only raise suspicion that he could not afford. At the moment, he was already walking a fine line with the Dark Lord, and he knew that the girl's fate was already sealed. Resigned to do what he must, he hardened himself to the desperate look in the girl's eyes and banished all thoughts of how much she resembled his innocent, young bride from his mind before he forced her to swallow the potion. When he had completed his abhorrent task, he vanished the vial and returned to his master's side, seeming completely unaffected.
The Dark Lord observed him carefully, obviously considering if he was as unmoved as he appeared. "It won't be long until the potion takes affect, and then the demonstration can begin," he commented, apparently satisfied with Severus' indifference.
"An aphrodisiac?" Severus queried casually. He knew by the color and odor that it was some form of sexual stimulant, but none with which he was familiar.
"Why yes," Voldemort replied, impressed with Severus deductive abilities. "But it's my own special formulation. You see, the potion acts on the body but not the mind. I developed it in combination with the performance apparatus you see now for the express purpose of quelling the resistance of the Mudblood wives of my followers — like your own Hermione. It uses the power of humiliation and degradation to the fullest advantage."
"How so?" Severus inquired with keen interest, though his gut was filling with dread for the awaited answer.
"Well, while her mind will be horrified by what is being done to her, her body will be enjoying every second of it. Against her own will and in front of any audience, her body will respond positively to even the most depraved sexual act. If done with finesse and patience, she will become so broken emotionally and filled with self-loathing that she is quite malleable. In fact, most of our test subjects eventually surrender their minds and no longer even wish to resist their husbands will. Ingenious, really."
"Yes, ingenious," Severus agreed, but as he stood there nonchalantly discussing the technicalities of the bound girl's abuse and debasement he knew that he would never forgive himself for what he was about to let happen. He knew this because although he had been present at many of the Dark Lord's revels and witnessed many perverse sexual atrocities he had never felt so personally connected to a victim as he did now. He also knew that was what the Dark Lord had intended by choosing this particular Muggle girl to suffer in Hermione's stead, so that every time Severus looked at his wife's face he would see this scene before him. He wanted to show Severus how easily it would be to break him if he let himself care for Hermione — a very extreme slap on the wrists for his wedding her without his master's prior consent.
Only Severus' years of practice at hiding his true feelings from one form of monster or another, quelled the righteous anger brewing in his chest. He didn't let his outrage erupt to the surface, even though all he wanted to do was raise his wand and put an end to the events playing out before him. Holding him back was the knowledge that if he moved to oppose his master in this moment he would not only be forfeiting his own life, but, as a result, he would also be forfeiting the life of his own bushy-haired young witch — the one whose eyes so resembled the girl looking to him now for help he could not offer.
He knew that if he died today, Hermione would be married off to another Death Eater before he was cold in the ground, and his moment's rebellion would cause more suffering than it forestalled. So, he held himself still and let the poor girl who had the misfortune to resemble his wife suffer in her place. He watched as she was raped by the werewolf and all three snatchers. He was made to listen as she cried in anguish and unwelcome release. And he was made to wish, not for the first or last time, that he had never let himself be so deceived by the sadist sitting next to him, relishing in her pain.
By the end of the demonstration, the image of the unfortunate Muggle girl hanging limp, smeared with blood and ejaculate, was branded into Severus' mind, and he knew what he had to do. His first inclination when he awoke that morning had been correct — he couldn't let himself become attached to his bride. He had already let himself become distracted from his responsibilities by her feminine appeal, but now he could see an even greater danger — she could so easily be used as a weapon against him. If he became enamored with her and then lost her as he had his beloved Lily… What wouldn't he do to prevent that from happening to him a second time? — Nothing. He would give Voldemort the world on a silver platter to not feel that kind of pain again. If he was to truly protect Hermione, then he must never give cause for anyone to suspect he felt anything but indifference or, better yet, malice toward her.
"Ah, sweet love," the Dark Lord lamented as his henchman removed their semi-conscious victim from her restraints and began cleaning up the mess of their heinous activities. "This Marriage Law is going to bring everyone such joy. Don't you agree, Severus?"
"Indubitably, my lord."
"I really have enjoyed our visit today," Voldemort observed, his mood lighter after witnessing the evil that was his favorite entertainment, "but I shouldn't detain you any longer, my friend. We wouldn't want you to be missed by your young bride, now would we?"
"No, my lord," Severus replied, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. It seemed his master was finished with him for the day, and he would live to see another.
"You are dismissed," Voldemort said, punctuated with a disinterested flick of his wrist.
"Thank you, my lord."
Severus struggled to descend the few stairs to the ballroom floor and stride across it's length toward the exit without appearing as if he was fleeing. He tried to remain numb and unmoved for just a few minutes more. If he could just make it out the door…
"Oh, and Severus?" The Dark Lord called out to him just as Severus lifted his hand for the door-knob that gave means to his escape.
"Yes, my lord," he replied, freezing in place with his back still turned to the evil wizard and the room full of woe.
"Crucio!" Voldemort cast a well aimed curse into Severus' back.
Severus fell to ground writhing in pain, all thoughts of anything but his own agony expelled from his mind. Voldemort let him burn from the inside out for several long, excruciating minutes, branding today's warning into every nerve ending in his body. When the torture finally ended and an indeterminate amount of time passed before Severus found the strength to open his eyes, Voldemort was standing above him, his wand pointed dangerously close to his face.
"Don't ever cause me to question your loyalty again," Voldemort warned. "Next time I won't be so forgiving."
Severus couldn't speak, only managing to jerk his head up and down in the semblance of a nod. Voldemort took the motion for agreement before he turned and slinked away, leaving Severus to slowly wipe the drool from his chin, pick himself up from the floor onto trembling legs and stumble out the door.
Severus leaned heavily against the desk in his private office, propping himself upright on a locked arm as he used his other hand to remove the vial of potion from the top right-hand drawer and pop the stopper off with his thumb. After gulping down the viscous, purple concoction, he shuffled over to the sideboard that housed his alcohol and sloppily poured himself a generous amount of Minerva's gifted whiskey and made his way to his fireside chair with a steadying hand on the edges of the furniture along the way. He seated himself heavily, wincing as his body protested the jarring movement. Only then, settled in his chair and beginning to feel the effects of the muscle relaxing potion, was he finally able to let himself relax, his head falling back against the high chair-back and his eyes drifting closed to the sound of wood crackling in his hearth.
The Dark Lord had been generous with his discipline today, and Severus was having trouble recovering his physical strength as well as his mental composure. It took a great deal of fortitude to interact with his master on a good day, and after the day he'd had… Every portion of his psyche was shaken by the days events — from his interactions with Dumbledore, Draco and Hermione to his confrontation with the Dark Lord, his touted ability to remain focused and unaffected was finally beginning to fail him. At the moment, he felt as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he wondered how long he could carry such a burden.
As soon as he thought he could control his trembling hand, he brought the whiskey to his lips and drank heartily, desiring nothing more than to escape his new reality and settle into a well-earned, intoxicated stupor. As usual, what he desired most wasn't to be. Instead, his respite was interrupted by a knock at his door.
"Sir?" Hermione's soft voice called out. "Are you in there?"
His initial gut reaction to being disturbed in his private study would normally have been to snap at her and tell her to go away, but he caught the chastisement on his tongue before he voiced it. An unexpected sense of relief filled him at the sound of her voice, and it caused him to pause. Although she was interrupting his precious solitude and he had been given his fill of all the consequences that marrying her had brought to him that day, he couldn't find it in himself to dismiss her. Perhaps it was because he was too tired. After all, his first day of publicly being her husband had been fraught with irritation and conflict from the beginning, and by the end it had damn near cost him his life, but … it had also illustrated to him how vulnerable the girl truly was, and, after what he'd witnessed in the presence of his master — what he had seen befall another sweet, innocent girl — he wanted to set his eyes on his pestiferous bride and know that she was unharmed.
"Enter," he replied, his strained voice lacking it's usual biting tone.
Hermione opened the door, peeking her head into her husband's study before taking several determined steps inside. Her gaze drifted from his desk where she had expected him to be and scanned the darkened room until she located him sitting in his chair by the fire. Upon seeking him out, she had intended to give him a piece of her mind. Being well past midnight, she had been waiting patiently for him to return all evening. She had things she wished to discuss with him — important things, and she wanted to employ some of her mother's advice… But now it was terribly late, and she was tired…
All those thoughts flew out the window as she took in her husband's appearance.
He was slouched in his chair with his long legs bent and parted leisurely. His shirt was untucked at his waist and unbuttoned at his chest, falling open to expose the center of his lean and defined pectorals, and the cuffs of his sleeves were left open and pushed up to display the corded muscles and veined length of his forearms. His dark hair was unusually tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it, and she had never seen him so … casual. Combined with the way his black, menacing eyes were shadowed in the firelight and how they were returning her appraisal intently, she was struck at how dark and dangerous he appeared — how unbelievably feral and sexy. The ultimate bad boy.
Knees suddenly weak and the warm ache of an unexpected desire for him throbbing low in her belly, she simply stood there gawking at him like the inexperienced adolescent she was. She wasn't even able to form an intelligible thought, her physical reaction to him catching her so off guard. She forgot all the things she had intended to say and the reasons she had been annoyed with him. For once, she was speechless, until a flicker of movement on his left forearm caught her attention and she gasped.
Severus had forgotten about the Dark Mark, with its skull head and snake body undulating on his forearm, a constant reminder of where his fate lie. It had faded in the years that Voldemort had been weak and forced into hiding, but with his master's renewed strength the brand was as clear and vibrant as the day it was placed. Only now, in the presence of the idealistic young girl he'd wed, it no longer filled him with pride as it had done on that fateful day so long ago. He was not ashamed of his past or of the Mark, but he still set his drink on the small table by his chair and drew his wand, pointing it at the Mark and casting a glamour to conceal it from her eyes. He didn't like that the sight of it caused her to fear him, and he could see by the way she paled and took a step back toward the door that she was indeed frightened.
"What is it you need, Hermione?" he asked as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
"I … um … Well, I …" Her carnal reaction to him had evaporated, but she was still unable to gather her thoughts and recall all the reasons why she had disturbed him in the first place because it had been instantly replaced by the adrenaline of her fear.
"You have something you wished to show me?" He indicated the small scrap of parchment she held tightly in her grasp.
Hermione looked down at her hands in front of her, belatedly remembering that she had made notes on all the topics she wished to review with him so that she would not forget anything important — which suddenly seemed so silly when in the presence of a Deatheater or former Deatheater, as which one he was had yet to be established, and actually seeing the proof of his questionable history made her rethink the timing of her intrusion into his privacy.
"I … It's nothing that can't wait." She took another step back toward the door.
She was retreating from him again and Severus was growing to detest that look of apprehension she wore when in his presence. She had come to him tonight in her purple flannel robe and fuzzy pink slippers, looking as young and naïve as he knew she was, and an overwhelming desire to preserve that purity in her consumed him. Images of the other Muggle girl's face, contorted in agony, flashed before his eyes, and he felt sick at the thought that it could have been his Hermione suffering in her place. He knew he could be callous and uncharitable at times, but there was no satisfaction for him tonight in frightening his bride. He realized he much preferred when she bestowed him that radiant smile of hers, though he was unsure of what to do to garner it.
"Show me," he commanded gently, extending his hand for the paper being crumpled in her nervous grip.
Hermione hesitated, still uncertain in the knowledge that at some point in his life he had been in allegiance with the Dark Lord, but told herself that even though he had a questionable history he was trusted by Professor Dumbledore with her safety, and she reminded herself of the alterations she had noticed in his behavior over the course of the last two days. In that short amount of time, he was already beginning to change toward her. They were small, barely perceptible changes that would have gone unnoticed by an unobservant witch, but she had always been keenly perceptive. The way he had looked at her longingly the night before, the way he touched her when they shared their marriage bed — both gently and passionately, and the obvious jealousy for her affections he had displayed that very day — these things all pointed to a man who was not as cold hearted as his countenance and history would have her believe.
And her own feelings for him had begun to change subtly as well. She was nowhere near the point of liking him yet — he was a virtual stranger and could be quite cold and unsympathetic, but there were a few things about him that she found appealing. At this point, the majority of them were physical in nature. She found him attractive in the way he carried himself with self-assurance and how intelligent and enterprising he appeared, always taking control and doing whatever needed to be done in regard to her — that was a welcome change from Harry and Ron who always followed her lead. And, as her reaction to him only moments before had proved, there was an abundance of newly discovered sexual attraction toward him. But she wanted more than just physical gratification with her husband. If she was to be tied to him for the remainder of her life, then she longed to make some form of intimate connection with him, and if she was to do that she had to place her trust in him.
Still fearful but resolved, she tentatively crossed the distance between them and held the folded parchment out to him.
"I waited up to talk to you," she said softly, "but you never came to bed."
"No," he agreed and reached out for the excessively creased scrap of paper she offered, "I didn't."
"It's not really for you — it's for me," she explained, pointing to the parchment now in his possession. "You see, it's just a list of things I wanted to discuss with you, so I jotted them down so I wouldn't forget."
Severus slowly unfolded her list with noticeably shaky hands.
Standing closer to him in the dim room, Hermione was better able to see the details of his face and also noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the grey pallor of his skin. "Are you all right?" she asked, instinctively stepping closer and lifting her hand toward him as concern swept over her. She could now see that he was unwell…
"I'm fine," he snapped, raising his eyes from the short list of topics scratched sloppily in her handwriting and glaring at her, his cold gaze emphasizing that she should not question him further about his state of being.
Hermione didn't miss the warning in his tone, but expecting her not to question further when there was an obvious riddle to fathom out was a notion he should have realized was ridiculous.
"Where were you?" she asked, undeterred.
"Out," he replied. This time without looking up from his reading.
"Out where?" She pressed.
Severus sighed heavily at her determination to pepper him with inane questions.
"I was out completing an important and confidential errand for the Order that is none of your concern," he replied, hoping that in mentioning the Order he would appeal to her sense of discretion and she would cease her inquiry. Instead, he lifted his gaze to find her looking from his eyes to his arm where the Dark Mark was hidden from her view and back again. He should have known that she was much too bright and inarguably too observant not to instantly connect the facts together.
"You went to see He-who-must-not-be-named, didn't you?" she asked in an small, panicked voice, instinctively stepping forward to close the last foot or so of space left between them and stand between his parted legs, her fear of him forgotten in her concern for his wellbeing. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, her voice quavering as tears started to fill her eyes. Her worried hands fluttered out to make sure he was truly unharmed, but she didn't know where or if she could touch him.
Startled by her unexpected invasion into his personal space, Severus captured one of the hands she was waving hysterically in front of him in one of his own, stilling her. He looked up at her face and at the stray tear that had escaped her now watery eyes, rolling softly down her cheek. He was astonished to see that she was genuinely upset at the idea of any harm befalling him. Him, who had shown her so little kindness. It spoke volumes about the kind of person his bride was that she instinctually cared for his wellbeing as another human being despite his former treatment of her, and he wondered when was the last time anyone else had showed an ounce of concern for his welfare, let alone shed a tear for him. Never before, he was sure. Until now. Until her — his annoying, little know-it-all.
Severus was weak and sore, but seeing the girl so upset on his behalf overshadowed any irritation he may have felt at her intrusion into his private chambers or his personal space. Contrary to his generally fractious disposition, she was inspiring an unusual compassion in him tonight. He attributed it to his recent visit with the Dark Lord, but he knew that there was more to it than simply feeling responsible for her safety. He had been softening toward her since their first night together. Much to his chagrin, her guileless nature and luminous demeanor beguiled him from the start. And now that he had witnessed how easily she could be taken from him and ruined, he realized just how precious her untainted heart was and that his own pitiful heart yearned to possess it. He attempted to ignore the covetous emotion surging within him. He hadn't known himself still capable of such depth of feeling, but he couldn't help the tenderness her concern stirred in him.
"I am unharmed." He reassured her, tugging gently on her hand. He pulled her closer and guided her onto his lap, seeking a diversion to her worried expression and his own traitorous feelings. "Let's discuss what's on this parchment that has you up so late waiting for me."
Hermione gave in to his prompting, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand and sitting stiffly on his thigh. She was still cautious of him and unsettled by the tone of voice he was using with her — deep and soothing, like he was trying not to frighten her. It was very out of character and made her feel as if she was in the presence of a different man.
He draped his arm loosely around her, resting his hand on her hip, and although the gesture seemed innocent enough, like she was a small child sat upon Santa's lap, she couldn't ignore how it made her feel — safe and secure when she was over-tired and the thought of him or anyone else she knew in the clutches and at the mercy of He-who-would-not-be-named were overwhelming her.
With his long fingers curled around the girl's soft, fleshy hip and the tangible weight of her body upon his leg, Severus found himself comforted by her proximity and the light feminine, floral scent of her bushy hair. Perhaps it was the potion and alcohol cocktail affecting his judgment, but he had an inexplicable desire to keep her there with him for a little while longer, even if it meant feigning interest in discussing the topics on her silly list.
"Well, I see you are unhappy with your curfew," Severus observed, as it was at the top of her short list. "You waited on me this evening, not knowing when I would return. How did that make you feel?"
"I didn't like it," she replied softly, followed by a small sniffle and swipe of her nose.
"And neither would I if I thought you might come to harm," he commented. "You are mine to protect now. So, you see why I have set your curfew as such?"
"Yes, but it's so early," she pointed out. "One of the reasons I married you was so I could stay at Hogwarts and finish my education unimpeded, and most of my activities run late. I have Prefect's duties, and I need time for study in the library and to attend all my club meetings and House events. How am I to do those things when my curfew is so early?"
"Well, what do you suggest then, Mrs. Snape?" he asked as he watched her chew nervously on her pink lower lip, awaiting his response. "How shall I know when to fear for your safety if I don't know when to expect you?"
"Um…I could give you a copy of my schedule," she proposed. "Then you would know where I am and when I'll be expected to return. And if I'll be late at the library or with my friends, I can always just tell you before hand."
Severus was hesitant to agree to her proposition. He liked consistency, order and control, but what she suggested was a reasonable solution. He would always know her whereabouts and as long as she returned to his bed at a decent hour each night, then he couldn't object to it.
"Very well," he replied grudgingly. "I shall expect a copy of your calendar on my desk first thing in the morning, and I have the right of refusal. I won't have you out doing Merlin-knows-what at all hours."
"Yes, of course," she agreed eagerly, an astonished smile spreading across her face at his easy surrender.
And, there it was again — that damnable smile that made Severus' chest constrict. It gave her face a radiant quality that wasn't there the moment before, and her big eyes seemed to brighten as she returned his gaze. When she smiled at him like that he thought she transformed before his eyes, becoming almost … pretty. He cleared his throat and looked back to her list, thinking that it must be the alcohol muddling his brain.
"What does 'Respect in public' refer to exactly?" he queried about the next topic on her list.
The smile fell from Hermione's face as she looked away from him down to her hands and began twisting the sash of her flannel robe nervously. She was afraid to broach this topic with him because he had made it so abundantly clear before they wed how little value he placed on mutual respect, but she couldn't help recalling how hurt and betrayed she felt when he censured her so harshly in his classroom in front of her peers.
"I … I … I know you don't care about my feelings, but today when you disciplined me unjustly in front of the whole class …"
"You think I was unjust?" He snapped before he could censor himself, piqued by her accusation.
Hermione flinched, once again startled by his fickle temper and reflexively made to remove herself from his lap.
Seeing her alarmed expression tempered Severus' irritation, and he halted her escape by tightening his hand on her hip. He had scared her again, damn it! He looked away from her and took a calming breath, forcing himself to loosen his threatening grip on her. "Do you think I was unjust?" he repeated in a calmer, more objective tone, returning his gaze to her face.
Hermione warily watched as he reigned in his temper. She hesitated to answer, afraid that if she answered him honestly he would become angry again, and he was quite dangerous looking in the dim firelight when he was angry.
"Tell me," he prompted, gently squeezing her hip reassuringly.
Hermione pulled her eyes away from his probing gaze, returning them to her hands and mustering her Gryffindor courage.
"I think you punished me for interfering when you were really upset with me about something else," she said softly. "So, yes. I think you took away our House points unjustly."
"And what do you think I was really upset with you about?" he asked.
She looked back up into his eyes when she answered. "I think you were angry that I was touching Ron."
Severus' ire returned tenfold. She presumed to know his feelings and motivations. She was nothing more than a silly little pest — a pest that had somehow burrowed her way under his skin and into his sympathies. He didn't know whether to throttle her or to kiss her.
Hermione saw the darkening of his expression and doubted her own reasoning where he was concerned. He was so mercurial; She didn't know what to think as she waited for his reply. Was she always to fear his reaction when she tried to discuss their problems?
"As my wife, do you think it is acceptable to touch other wizards in public?" he countered with deceptive reserve.
"No," she admitted, looking shamefully back to her hands. "I'm sorry. That was a mistake. I wouldn't like it if you touched other witches in front of me, but I would discuss it with you in private, not punish you and your Housemates for it in front of everyone."
Severus could see the validity of her point — that is, if he admitted to himself that he cared about who she touched in public or otherwise.
"Besides," she continued, "when you berate me in front of my classmates you encourage them by example to treat me disrespectfully. I'm your wife now. I thought that meant you would protect me, not throw me to the wolves."
Her turn of phrase returned Severus' memory to what he had witnessed earlier in the evening when another young, innocent girl had been brutally assaulted by none other than a real wolf — a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback and his fellow snatchers. The recollection sickened him, and he unconsciously drew his young bride closer on his lap, possessively encircling her waist with his arm.
That was not the reaction Hermione expected to her criticism. Finding herself drawn into her husband's firm chest, her shoulder molded snugly into the depression beneath his pectoral, she wondered at his strange behavior. How she went from making ready to run from him to being drawn protectively into the warmth of his body was a mystery to her, but she didn't fight him on it. She knew that something she had said had caused him to become upset, but she couldn't imagine what that could have been. She only knew that she liked being held close to him like this, and she was too tired and overcome by her long, stressful day to offer any resistance anyway. Instead, she let her head fall intimately onto his shoulder where she could be lulled by the rise and fall of his breathing and let his spicy, masculine scent envelope her.
The involuntary panic and despair Severus felt as the image of Hermione's smiling face superimposed itself into the memory of what befell the abused Muggle girl faded as he drew her soft malleable body close to his own. She was here in his arms and safe. Sighing heavily with relief, he set aside the scrap of parchment on the small table to his right and lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, finishing it in two gulps and returning it to the table.
"I cannot treat you differently than the other students," he commented after a few long moments of gazing into the fire thoughtfully. "It would draw unwanted attention to you. It would be dangerous and they would be even more cruel in their harassment of you if they thought I favored you over others because you are my wife."
"I would never ask to you to favor me," she replied softly — beseechingly, looking up at his profile. "Only to be fair to me."
"Fair…" he said absently, continuing to stare into the fire as if chewing over the concept in his mind. It was so foreign to him — Slytherins never played fair and he had certainly never been treated with such.
Hermione waited for him to respond, but he was lost to her in thought, seeming so distant and far off — disconnected. She decided now was a good time to use her mother's trusted tactic to bring him back into the moment with her. Tentatively, she raised her hand to play at the exposed hair on his chest and slowly lifted her head to place another gentle kiss on his cheek. "Please, Severus," she whispered against his scruffy skin. "I'll do my best not to embarrass you again. Just please, don't chastise me in front of everyone like that again."
Feeling the tickle of her soft moist lips on his face and hearing the gentle tremor of insecurity in her plea, Severus was touched in a way that broke down the final remnant of his fragile composure. He carried more heartache and responsibility than ten wizard's could bear in one lifetime, and here with him was his unwanted bride, willingly in his arms and giving him a sweet and honest reprieve from his burden. When everyone else he encountered that day had gone out of their way to make his life more difficult she offered him concern, apologies and compromise and made him feel … considered.
Perhaps it was because he was in a weakened physical and mental state, or maybe it was that special something about her that had been drawing him to her from the moment he saw her walking toward him on their wedding day, but he was powerless to resist her. He wanted to indulge in her and be indulgent with her, to do what ever it took to make her grace him with that incandescent smile, even if it led to their ultimate ruination. He turned his face toward her and brought his hand up to sink into her hair, cupping her neck and holding her still.
"Perhaps we both made an error in judgment today," he conceded, looking into her brown eyes and brushing his lips against hers lightly.
Hermione could only nod her head slightly in response, understanding his comment for the apology and concession he was too proud to give. She couldn't utter a word as she stared back into his dark gaze, becoming hypnotized. And as he brought his lips to hers once more, she let her eyes drift closed. He kissed her gently but thoroughly and she became lost in the sensations he provoked, becoming all gooey and weak inside. She wondered how she would ever be able to protect her heart from this experienced, masterful wizard. He stole her will completely when he kissed her, and she too was helpless to resist.
"It's late," he said, still looking deep into her eyes. "We should go to sleep."
She gave him a sweet little smile at how domestic he sounded, causing his brow to furrow inexplicably, and nodded her agreement. She was pleased by the small bit of progress she'd made with him tonight. There was still issues for them to discuss, but they would keep.
Easing herself up and off his lap, she reached out to hold his hand as he stood from his chair, unwilling to break contact with him completely.
Severus stood up on shaky legs and said, "I'm afraid I haven't recovered all my strength yet."
Hermione's face fell in concern, and she immediately tucked herself into his side, draping his arm over her shoulder. "You can lean on me if you need to," she offered, looking up at him earnestly.
"I'm beginning to see that," he commented to himself under his breath, and they made their way slowly from the room and off to bed.
