A/N: Um... yeah. Sorry about the long wait for this next chapter. We in the US have entered the magical season known as marching (not football) season, and I am the choreographer for two different schools, so I'm basically teaching dance outside on a football field from 8am to 8pm. Did I mention it's 100 degrees outside? Anyway, it leaves me exhausted, but here it is... the next installment for all of my faithful readers!

Severus let out a groan after Beatrice had fled upstairs, and hoped that he hadn't fouled up even worse with his speech. He slunk into the kitchen and had sat at the table, where he then buried his head in his hands. His hair covered his face like a greasy curtain, and he took a rare moment to mope.

Unfortunately, his misery was broken by a quiet pop. Severus lifted his head and glared. Dippy was standing in front of him, wringing her hands.

"What do you want, elf?"

"Can Dippy get master anything?"

Severus felt his lip curl. "No, you blasted creature."

To his consternation, Dippy ignored him anyway, and a cup of coffee appeared at his elbow. His first urge was to dash the china against the floorboards, but his traitorous hand reached out and snatched up the cup, bringing it to his lips. The damned elf had even prepared it just how he liked it.

"Dippy," Severus called after a few fortifying sips. He gave the elf a sly look. "What is Beatrice doing upstairs?"

Dippy cocked one floppy ear towards the ceiling. "Mistress has the water running."

Bullocks. That didn't give him any useful information. He tried again with a different tactic.

"It would be a shame if your mistress were unhappy here." He took another sip of his coffee.

He watched as Dippy seemed to wrestle with herself, alternately hopping from foot to foot or wringing her massive ears, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the elf finally broke down and gave him what he wanted.

He could barely hear the first whisper, "Dippy has heard mistress..." Then Dippy let out an almighty yowl and flung herself at the cabinetry. "Can't... share... secrets..."

Severus gave a hasty glance at the ceiling and stood from his chair. "Hush, you bloody elf!" he snarled.

"Bad..." Wham! "Dippy..." Wham! "Bad..."

He reached out and snatched Dippy by the neck of her patchwork toga.

"Silence!" Dippy looked up at him with wide eyes and gave an almighty gulp. "Now listen here, you sorry excuse for a dishrag, I'm trying to help your mistress. You are not telling a secret if it's something I can plainly see with my own eyes.

"Now, tell me."

His twisted and faulty logic seemed to satisfy Dippy. "Mistress is... sad when master leaves, but..." Dippy paused to gaze fearfully up at the wizard holding her by her neck. "...but not happy when master is here. And..."

"And what, elf?"

"Mistress is angry with master."

Obviously. This line of questioning was getting him nowhere. Severus dropped the house elf, and she contrarily landed on her feet. He stood and walked towards the back window, clasping his hands behind him. "Elaborate."

"But, Dippy can't..."

He turned and glared, crossing his arms in front of him. Severus spoke like he was talking to a particularly slow Gryffindor. "I'm trying to help."

Severus was surprised when Dippy turned his own glare on him. Arms akimbo, she asked in her squeaky voice, "How come you don't make babies?"

"What?!"

"Dippy has eyes and ears; master leaves mistress all alone at nights. You can't make babies with only potions and hand holds."

Of all the... Severus couldn't believe he was now getting this speech from his house elf. Why was the whole bloody world so concerned with his erm... passion, or lack thereof? It was his own business what he did or didn't do, and no megalomaniac elves or Dark Lords were going to tell him otherwise.

"Listen here, you impudent little..." He grabbed her once more by her scruff.
"Severus, what are you doing with Dippy?"

Severus turned his head to the kitchen door and found Beatrice standing there with a cross look on her face. He dropped Dippy like a piece of refuse.

"Discussing the decor," he replied.

"Really?"

Gone was the stuttering mouse of the morning, and in her place stood a witch, sure and able. Her arms were crossed, and Severus couldn't help but follow his eyes down to where those arms intersected at her breasts. She had changed robes into a set that were far more close fitting than anything that he had seen on her before. There was more than a handbreadth of skin visible beneath Beatrice's collarbone, and her folded arms brought into focus the fullness of her bosom. Each breath she drew brought his eyes back to the smooth flesh displayed there. He had never seen so much skin on her before, and it distracted him from a properly scathing response.

"I..."

"I will not stand for you mistreating my house elf."

House elf. He was so busy staring that he had forgotten about that blasted creature. Severus peeled his gaze away and glanced down at the elf currently trying to hide behind a kitchen chair. "Dippy, leave us."

Dippy popped out of the room, leaving Severus and Beatrice alone.

They stared in silence for what seemed like ages. Beatrice was the first to look away. Severus sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for his wife to join him.

"I believe we have some things to discuss," he began smoothly.

"Yes."

It seemed that he only rated one word responses today. Though it rankled on his nerves, he supposed it was fair after the way the morning had progressed; it's not like he expected outright forgiveness. "I want my bed back," he began.

"I want to leave the house," she countered.

"Leave the house?" Severus was perplexed. "What in the—it's not like I chain you to the wall!"

Beatrice crossed her arms and gave a sneer to match his. "But you never encourage me to go anywhere."

He felt that that was a load of thestral dung. "Madam, you can go to the devil if you want! Just don't—"

"Don't what?" she interrupted, inflamed by his suggestion.

"Don't... don't tell anyone that you are married to me."

"Oh, why is that? You wish to share my bed, but not give me the right to use your name. I see how it is."

"No!" he snapped. More quietly, "No, you don't see. It's just not safe for you to do so."

Her voice was incredulous. "I don't see what my safety has to do with anything. If anything, it just feels like a matter of your convenience. For all I know, you may have a mistress for how often I see you."

It was his turn to be incredulous. "How little time I spend with you? Have you not listened to a word I've said? That's for your benefit, you hopped up little princess! And you know very well that there is no other woman," he hissed.

Beatrice stood and strode angrily to the back door. "I don't believe you." She knew that she was tempting his rage. This time she was prepared; she welcomed it.

"You don't need to believe me, I'm telling you the truth," he spat. Severus stood and stalked after her. He refused to be ignored by her. He grabbed her by the arms and spun her about. "Why would I need anyone else? I want you."

He missed the gleam of triumph in her eyes. "What?" she breathed.

"I. Want. You."

Silence greeted his declaration. And with this silence, they realised how close they were to one another. Severus stood there, clutching Beatrice by her arms, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her low cut dress. Their chests heaved with unspent emotion, and it felt as if there was not enough air to breath in the room. The air they did breathe escaped in little puffs onto the lips of the other.

"I want you," he murmured.

Severus leaned his head forward and brushed his lips against her waiting mouth. A frisson of desire shot through him, and he pressed his lips more firmly against hers. She gave a moan; he pulled back and watched as her lips followed him back. He gave a sly grin at the way her eyes dilated with pleasure. He firmly decided that he wanted to hear more of her delectable sounds and gave her another kiss, more passionate than the first. He could feel her melt under his touch and he pushed her back against the door before pulling her hips tight against his.

Beatrice shivered at the intimate action, but did not pull away as she was wont. Instead, her arms crept about his neck and tugged at the locks of his hair; her reward was his own answering gasp of pleasure. Her breasts were mashed against his lean torso, and she could feel the buttons of his robes through the thin material of her own clothes. The feeling of his roaming hands was at long last welcome and titillating as they rubbed her hips through her skirts.

His heavy robes engulfed them both in a wall of black wool, secluding them from the world. Severus could almost forget about his surroundings, his responsibilities... He felt a sharp nip at his lower lip and pulled away. This time, he was greeted with a mischievous smirk that he gladly returned. He pulled Beatrice in close again and rested his face against her neck, causing her to giggle at the feel of his breath and lips on her sensitive skin. He revelled in the softness he found there. The foreign sensation of someone carding their fingers through his stringy hair startled him and tickled the nape of his neck.

How he wish he didn't have to play this charade. At this point he would give anything to just come out openly with their arrangement, but it was too dangerous. He still had his role of Death Eater to play, and if the Order were to know of his bride, they would surely dash the entire thing to shreds. What if Beatrice were questioned by either side? No, it was better for her to remain a secret, and he told her as much. He still didn't know what he wanted, but he was already in danger of becoming attached to her.

"Beatrice," he said quietly. "It is too dangerous for others to know about our arrangement. I am constantly watched." He gave a dark laugh and remembered Moody. "Oh no, Dumbledore has eyes everywhere, and I know a few Aurors who would love to ah—dissect you if they knew about you."

He picked up a curl of her dark hair and wound it sensuously around his fingertip. "Besides," he purred. "Don't you think seeing that Dark Lord's gift might make him a little... suspicious of my just being a potions master?"
As he murmured that last word, he felt Beatrice's nails rake against the back of his neck and her lips part with want. He had never realised the effect of his voice on her before.

"You don't have to tell him..." she whispered.

"That would be worse if he were to find out." Struck with inspiration, he asked, "I have to head back to Hogwarts soon, would you care to spend the day together?"

"But you just said that no one could know..."

"You're speaking with a potions master."

Strangely, it didn't bother him when she giggled.