The most pleasant way to wake, Hermione decided, was to her husband's cock nestled deep inside her. Even so near to fifty, the man was insatiable.
When he sensed that she'd finally woken, his gentle rocks turned into hard thrusts. His fingers, which only moments before had been tender in their caresses, turned rough and demanding. He pinched and squeezed her nipples, delighting in the fluid that leaked out steadily. She was ripe - so deliciously full. Of him, for him... by him.
He was undone by her. With one final thrust, he spilled himself inside her, coating her inner walls with his seed.
Hermione made a small, distressed sound, and he chuckled darkly against her ear. "Oh, pet, I didn't allow you to come, did I?"
She shook her head slightly and clenched down on his still hard shaft.
"Don't pout, it doesn't become you. You'll come when I tell you to, not a moment before. Have I made myself clear?" He pulled out roughly, eliciting another displeased noise from her.
"Yes, Sir." Her voice was sweetened by sleep, and she turned her head just enough so that she might kiss him. "I love you."
"And I, you, my pet. Now, up with you. Draco is bringing the children back this morning. We've dallied long enough in bed."
She fussed again, bringing the luxurious sheets up over her head, and burrowing under her pillow. It nearly worked, until a series of sharp slaps rained down on her arse.
"I believe I told you to get out of bed, Hermione." He'd have sworn she muttered something foul under her breath, but she did manage to drag herself from under the covers. Shooting a nasty glare in his direction, Hermione flounced nude into the closet. And slammed the door behind her.
The vicious little bitch, he thought, whilst rolling up the sleeves on his oxford with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.
Five minutes passed, then ten more. Just as he was ready to go in and pull her out of the closet by her hair, she emerged. They'd been together for more than a decade, and still she managed to stop his breath in his chest. She was as beautiful as ever.
She'd selected a pair of those vulgar muggle trousers. Jeans. Damnable things. No self respecting witch should be allowed to go without at least fifty pairs. He adored them, especially the way they clung to the curves of his precious wife.
Lucius busied himself at her jewelry chest and rifled through the glittering contents. With a softly muttered, "ah," he plucked out a pair of earrings and presented them to her. The coral colored diamonds were the same shade as her blouse.
Her cheeks glowed pink and she smiled her acceptance as he threaded each of the teardrop diamonds through the holes in her ears. "You spoil me."
"Absolutely. They're a perfect match. Come, pet. The children will be here any minute for breakfast."
When they entered the morning room hand in hand, Severus nearly spilled his tea.
Breakfast, as well as any other meal taken at Malfoy Manor, was a traditionally formal affair. His austere black robes were only just considered dressy enough - but this was pure outrage.
The Lord of the Manor was clad in a pair of loose fitting trousers and a simple blue oxford - with it's sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his lady was no better. Muggle denim, in Malfoy Manor. Abraxas would have had fits.
"It appears that I've over-dressed for the occasion," Severus snarled over his teacup.
Hermione giggled prettily. "Still not a morning person, hmm, Severus? Breakfast is informal these days. We don't dress for family."
He had to admit, it pleased him that they thought of him as family. "I will change," he offered, grudgingly. When he stood, the dour potions master noticed that their feet were bare. BARE. Of all the absolutely vile things.
He would certainly not forgo footwear, even if that seemed to be the norm.
Lucius rolled his eyes. "Quickly! They'll be here soon." He could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of having all of his children home. They'd been away with Draco for far too long, weeks, at least.
"Three days, love. They've only been gone three days," Hermione reminded. She lifted up to her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his jaw, then she padded over to the large table to fix their tea. "Millie will have breakfast laid out by the time you're back, Severus," she called over her shoulder. With a forlorn parting look - cast in Lucius' direction - he shuffled from the room, muttering to himself about impropriety and the lack of footwear.
They had done it. They'd actually managed the kill the reptilian bastard. Severus was as gleeful as a schoolgirl – on the inside at least. It wouldn't do to show that level of excitement publicly. Someone might make the mistake of thinking him approachable, and that would be most unfortunate. For them.
He had only one particular goal: to seek out Lucius Malfoy, relieve him of at least one (better make it two) bottles of the '53 batch of firewhisky, and get rip roaring, balls out pissed. It had been years since he'd been able to relish in being drunk – what with the almost dying and the spying and nearly dying again. Though there was the once, when he'd gotten completely obliterated and ended up in bed with Bellatrix.
That had been a mostly enjoyable experience. She could suck the hell out of a cock, and that alone was worth listening to her bitch about her husband the entire time. She'd been a pain in the arse to get rid of afterwards, however, an encumbrance he hadn't anticipated. Who know the insane twat was a cuddler?
In any case, his mission was simple. Obtain libations and get well and truly smashed. Unfortunately, the keeper of the most excellent firewhisky in existence was nowhere to be found. He'd scoured the whole of Hogwarts (what was left of her) for his compatriot, and coming up empty handed, he'd returned to Grimmauld Place.
If Severus had to stoop so low as to pilfer some of Black's poorly hidden stash, he would. Perhaps there'd be something else hidden in that ridiculous troll's leg umbrella stand. Sirius had been known to smoke hashish from time to time.
When he apparated into the front hall of headquarters, he was met with an unexpected scene. Someone had had the infinitely wise idea to turn the Secret-Kept Black family abode into emergency triage for individuals wounded in battle. Bugger.
The delicious emptiness of inebriation would have to wait. Double bugger. He shed his constricting outer robes and rolled up the sleeves of his white oxford - and headed directly for the potions laboratory. Severus was surprised to find potions bubbling away on every available surface. Each cauldron was surrounded by a ward preventing not only the escape of noxious fumes, but any other cross-contamination as well. Hermione's work.
A cursory check of each cauldron confirmed that they were well kept and nearly finished. She was an efficient little witch, that was for sure.
Before he had the opportunity to do more than look, the woman in question hurried into the room.
"I'm brewing in the sink. I've run out of cauldrons and haven't got a choice. You may either help me, or move out of my way. I need botuber pus and lacewing flies."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Regrowing bones, Miss Granger?"
"Indeed, Professor Snape. We're doing all we can. Skelegrow is a quick brew, I just don't have the space down here for it."
Snape collected the requested ingredients from the stores and followed her to the basement kitchen of the dwelling. She'd been busy. More cauldrons lined the counters and table, and one side of the sink held a cooling blood replenishing potion.
Six hours turned into eight, eight hours turned into twelve. They brewed tirelessly, working together seamlessly. He was just finishing a new batch of Pepper-Up when the absentee Lucius showed up at the door to the kitchen. The wizard was as rumpled as he'd ever seen him, covered in blood and without his usual robes. Severus opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get words out, Lucius crossed the room to Hermione and placed his hands on the witch's shoulders.
"You need rest."
He watched as she swiped his hands away and shook her head. She continued to decant burn salve, much to the wizard's obvious displeasure.
"There's too much to do." She ladled the the last of the rapidly solidifying salve into jars. "And I don't see you resting."
He spun her around to face him. "The worst of it is over, Hermione, and proper Healers are scheduled to arrive shortly."
"You are a proper Healer."
Lucius chuckled and gathered the young witch in his arms. "Perhaps, but I was referring to ones with up-to-date licenses."
Severus snorted to himself. The blond might have thought he was fooling Hermione, but he knew better. Lucius kept up with his Healing licensure religiously, even going as far as to have his specialty certifications renewed and completing continuing education courses for new magical methods. He was, by all accounts, one of the best Healers in Scotland, possibly even the whole of Great Britain.
"You're being silly again," the witch was saying. "I know you've not let any of those prestigious licenses lapse."
It was time he cut in. "Enough. Granger, you've got to eat something and sleep," Severus found himself saying. "You've been on your feet for twelve hours since I've been here. Merlin knows how long you were up and about before that. I will take over here." He was, after all, one of the world's foremost Potions Masters, and that should count for something, godsdammit. He'd been bossed around by the wild-haired chit since he arrived at Grimmauld Place, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. She turned into a right harridan under stress.
"Fine," she snapped, tossing her apron and dragon hide gloves on the scarred table. "I'll make tea and some roast beef sandwiches. We all should eat."
When he finally stumbled into the upstairs library of the Black family residence, Severus was already well acquainted with his stolen (wasn't as if the mangy cur would miss it) booze. He'd drunk nearly half the bottle - really, it was to be expected as he'd had to wait nearly two days before they relocated the last of the recovering witches and wizards to St. Mungo's - and was almost too out of it to notice the pair entangled on the enlarged sofa.
Granger and Lucius. He bit back a harsh epithet. It wasn't as if they were doing anything particularly untoward. No, they weren't naked – he might have preferred that, come to think of it. It was the gentleness of it that bothered him. Lucius had his arms wrapped securely around Granger, and she was cuddled into his chest. His oversensitive nose detected the delicate scent of saline in the air. She'd been crying.
Again.
He'd prepared to sweep out of the room in the same manner and direction from whence he came, but something stopped him. Lucius moved, pressed a chaste kiss to Hermione's forehead, and locked eyes with Severus.
"She's exhausted."
Snape jerked his head in the affirmative. "I imagine so. We are all fatigued. Weasley was searching high and low for her."
Lucius grimaced. "Let him look."
"Will you always be here to protect her from them? She has to face everyone at some point." With that, Severus turned and left the room. If he'd stayed a moment longer, he'd have witnessed devotion and love enough to thaw his chilled heart.
When Severus returned (dressed as improperly as he'd dare, in crisp trousers and a tucked in, buttoned to the throat linen shirt), it was to a scene of utter chaos. They'd been descended upon by wild beasts, must have been, for all the cavorting going on round the breakfast table.
In Lucius' lap, a tiny, curly mopped creature licked jam off of her fingers, all the while shoving more toast in her perfect cupid's bow mouth. Severus felt an unpleasant stirring of paternal instinct – and promptly shoved it down, noting that the idea didn't make him nearly as nauseous as he thought it would.
Eyes as blue as the Indian Ocean opened wide when they landed on him. "Papa," she urged, tugging on Lucius' sleeve with one jam covered hand, "someone's here. May I invite him to join us for breakfast?"
Lucius appraised the five-year-old adoringly. "Of course you may invite your Uncle Severus to breakfast, Hera. We've saved a spot for him."
When Severus entered fully into the morning room, Draco stood and offered his hand. "Uncle Sev." He grinned. "I think the little bit has spoken. Join us, yeah?"
He nodded abruptly and returned to the seat he'd vacated earlier. "Thank you, Draco."
After everyone tucked into their food, Hermione began introductions. The wild-haired, jam covered girl child was Hera Adelaide. Lucien Apollo, except for the head full of curls, was was the spitting image of his father, and aptly named.
The older children were much quieter. Helena and Lysander both took after their mother, but were spared her uncooperative tresses. The pair of them had their noses stuffed into books that he prayed were spelled against sticky fingers. Knowing Hermione, they had been, but he was't keen on taking chances. A subtle charm on his part ensured their continued protection.
Apparently, he hadn't been as incognito as he intended.
"Mum and Papa wouldn't allow us books at the table unless they were shielded." Lysander looked over the top of his book, a treatise on restorative potions, and flashed a smirk that was all Lucius. "You needn't have worried."
He harrumphed into his tea, but nodded. "Desdemona," he began silkily, gesturing at the book, "was a drunken womanizer, but his notes on early restorative draughts are worth reading. If you're interested in other healing potions, you should consider Baythorne."
"I will look into that, Headmaster. Thank you."
"Perhaps in such an informal setting, you could call me Uncle Severus, like your brother."
Lysander mirrored Severus' earlier nod. "Helena, too?"
"And little Hera and Lucien, if they so wish."
"You know," the eleven year old (that seemed far older and wiser than Severus would have given him credit for) began, "Desdemona may have been a drunk, but Mum is convinced that he was gay."
Severus laughed loudly. "Your mother always was a bit contrary, young Malfoy." And that was putting it mildly.