A/N: Hello lovelies! This chapter might be my favourite. It gets a bit mature. I wasn't sure if I should include it, so massive thanks as always to Becs/Crowded Angels for helping me sort this one through in my head.
10
The Undocumented Risks of Protection Spells
It took certain members of the Order of the Phoenix quite some time to warm to Hecate Hardboom. Her reputation for being an unyielding disciplinarian proceeded her unfavourably. While initially no one in the Order but Albus Dumbledore knew of her connection to Severus Snape, she has always been heavily influenced by his opinions of the various members of the group. She is suspicious of Remus Lupin, barely contained her disdain towards Sirius Black while he was alive. She rather liked Minerva McGonagall right from the start, although this was a fact she held tightly, unwilling to show any alliance to particular members. Albus had known her well enough that he could have smoothed her path, but Albus was notably absent from almost every meeting they had in the period between her joining and his death. He attended her first meeting, provided the introductions. In the subsequent two meetings she had found herself wishing Albus was there to provide some kind of moral support, in the quiet way he always managed. She quickly learnt not to rely on his presence.
Hecate found her feet, eventually. Slotted into the proceedings, found her place in the resistance. The Hogwarts alumni were, and often still are, both bemused and envious of her alternate school of magic, particularly of her ability to transform into another's appearance without the rigmarole and unpleasantness of a Polyjuice potion. There is never genuine affection between all the members of the Order, but there is a camaraderie that develops between them through their common goal. While, in the beginning, the Hogwarts alum were reluctant to let her do anything that required trust between the members, now she is included routinely in their dangerous missions, and the fact that she has no public alliance to Dumbledore is a great asset to them.
Tonight Hecate and Kingsley Shacklebolt are disguised and in pursuit of Fenrir Greyback. The werewolf has been on what Severus has told her Greyback refers to as a 'recruitment drive' – a targeted series of attacks on children of blood traitors, who are then indoctrinated into Voldemort's ways. Hecate has never looked less remarkable, with a mousy brown bob, flat hazel eyes, and olive skin. She's avoiding any reflective surface, lest she react visibly to her new countenance. Kingsley is disguised as a short, middle-aged white man. He is inconspicuous in every way, and almost as uncomfortable as Hecate is with walking the world in an unimpressive skin.
The pair of them wander along, play acting a casual conversation while they quietly discuss strategy. Greyback is targeting three siblings at Amulet's Academy. Hecate and Kingsley have reached the parkland near the bounds of the Academy, picking their way through the trees and approaching the magnificent hedge that surrounds the expansive Georgian mansion. They are trying to assess the site, sorting out the entrances and weak points in the perimeter of the school. Having satisfied themselves that there are only two places, aside from the main entrance, which is far too obvious, for Greyback to enter the school, Hecate and Kingsley separate, secreting themselves in the trees to observe the comings and goings. Hecate is perpetually vigilant, like a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from its hole. She does not notice the change in the air, even in her state of heightened alertness. She does not know that their plans have been sniffed out by the Death Eaters, without Severus discovering the Death Eaters' plans.
Hecate first becomes aware that they've been intercepted when the cruciatus curse hits her in the back. She cries out in pain, before summoning all her strength and shaking off the curse. A stunning spell crashes into her right side, making pain shoot through her ribcage. Hecate manages to raise a protective spell around herself a moment too late to prevent an incisiorus curse colliding with her body. There are spells coming at her from three angles, but she can't be certain there aren't more Death Eaters in the trees. She throws a confounding charm at her attackers, and stumbles out of sight as her transformation spell fails, revealing the body she ordinarily inhabits. She is too weak to hold another form and keep her organs functioning.
Behind a majestic oak, Hecate is clutching her ribs, crouching in pain, trying to breathe, trying to formulate a plan of action to get herself back into a fit state to continue on her mission, to find Kingsley. But she cannot summon any useful ideas, and the pain in her ribs is becoming more than even she can handle. Every breath feels like she is warring with herself for oxygen. She fears she is losing to the pain. She can't calculate how much blood she is losing.
The normally steely Hecate Hardbroom is, if she's honest about it, only moments from fainting. What seems like the exact second she acknowledges this fact, Hecate feels a hand wrap around the hip below her aching ribs, another curl itself around her own free one, which is reaching in front of her in the hope of softening her landing when she soon crashes forward into the ground.
A voice she knows better than her own breathes "Cate," in her ear. She had known it was him already from the feeling of his hands on her. There is no one in the world who has ever touched her with such reverence. He sounds stressed, tense. She does not usually hear such clear anxiety in his tone. Just as her vision is beginning to narrow, Hecate feels as if she is being forced through a very tight rubber tube, as Severus apparates them away from the danger.
They are suddenly back at their cottage, the first time either of them has set foot in it for months on end. Severus hadn't hesitated a moment before choosing this as their destination. It is too dangerous for him to be seen openly at Grimmauld Place now, and much too dangerous for her to be seen with him.
Half holding Hecate in one arm, Severus waves his wand and clears the table in their kitchen, laying her semi-conscious form on it.
Her breathing is becoming shallower. Touching her torso softly, Severus notices, for the first time, a shining wet patch blooming over her intricate brocade dress. He silently cures the garment for concealing her bleeding. He could have stopped it outside Amulet's.
He murmurs her name without thinking, as if about to ask where else she's hurt, what spells were cast against her. Instead he waves his wand over her rapidly failing body and murmurs a detection incantation to diagnose her injuries. She has a perforated spleen, internal bleeding, and three broken ribs on top of the flesh wound.
He has healed worse injuries before. He has never had to do so for the woman he loves. He is afraid his emotions will render him incapable of the task. She bites back a cry of pain, and Severus collects himself forcefully. Knitting bones together is routine. The spleen is not beyond repair. He will manage this for both their sake.
She murmurs his name, and he looks up from her injuries to her face - so familiar but etched with such unfamiliar anguish. There is terror in her eyes. It is second only to his own.
Severus curves his left hand around her searching fingers, squeezing reassuringly, but remains focussed on his task. She looks as if she is about to offer him some kind of parting words, and he can't let her. He deals with her flesh-wound first, stemming the bleeding and watching the dark liquid that fuels his wife recede from her dress back to where it belongs. He then turns his attention to her spleen, murmuring a healing spell and beseeching a force he could not name if asked to help him save her. He cannot be responsible for losing her. She is too important. She sucks in a deep breath, then winces as her ribs protest at her lungs' expansion. His fingers tighten around hers anxiously, but he knows from the colour returning to her face that his spell is working, that she is mending. He completes his spell, and analyses her expression carefully. Finding her improved, Severus turns his attention to knitting the bones of her ribs. They knit quickly and easily, and when Severus turns back to his wife, he finds her face free from pain for the first time this evening. She looks exhausted, yes, but when she opens her eyes and meets his gaze, he no longer expects her to offer him a final goodbye. He performs the diagnostic spell again, and is relieved to find her satisfactorily healed. Her lips quirk weakly, the shadow of a reassuring smile. It is her turn to tighten her fingers around his.
"Are you in pain, my love?" He asks her gently. Her answer will inform how he transports her to bed.
"No." She says with a miniscule shake of her head. Severus breathes a sigh of relief, and thanks the unnamed higher power. Severus runs his free hand over her forehead, pushing back the tendrils of hair that have escaped from their normally regimented bun. The kiss he places on her forehead is emphatic.
With one clean movement, Severus draws her into his arms and carries her into the bedroom they once shared every night, laying her gently on the bed. Severus is flooded with happy memories of the two of them in this room, this house. Severus longs for the days he woke with her in his arms each morning, drowning in the smell and feel of her against him. He longs for lazy mornings of her propped up over his chest debating the issues of the day with him, her long curls tumbling over both of them.
"You need rest." He says definitively, hand cupping her cheek.
"I won't break, Severus." She says. He almost flinches at the memory of the first time she said those words to him, the first night they spent together, her body beneath his and her mouth leaving a trail of kisses over his neck and jaw. He shakes his head internally at how complicated life seemed in the early days of their courtship, when falling in love seemed highest risk thing he would ever do. Their life has rarely been so simple since then.
"You very nearly did." He counters, removing her boots with a wave of his wand and drawing the bedclothes over her.
He summons a sleeping draught and offers a portion of it to his wife. "Severus, I do not need – "
"Hecate." He chides. His gaze is firm and his tone professorial. Severus takes the responsibility of having a wife rather seriously. His need to care for her is has become a fundamental building block within him.
He softens after a moment. "I am only proposing a few hours of rest, Hecate. It will do you good." Hecate's mouth purses grudgingly, but she takes the little glass Severus has offered to her and drinks it.
"Thank you." Murmurs the perennially strict potions master in a tone so soft his students might think Hell had frozen over. He strokes her face again, her hair. The tension in his chest loosens a little as she drifts to sleep. Severus is taken by her deep and even breathing, once so familiar to him and now such a luxury to witness. One of his hands settles on her ribs, taking comfort in the soft expansion and contraction of them. Severus swipes angrily at a tear that has escaped his eye, trying to calm his own breathing, trying to return his body to its normal resting state. But the anxiety he feels at having almost lost her is still threatening to overwhelm him. Severus watches her for two hours, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed they once shared, his wife's hand clasped softly in his own, before he decides to make tea and see if there is any food left in the cottage. He expects she will be hungry when she wakes.
Hours later, when she has fully recovered from her injuries and the sleeping draught releases her back to the waking world, Hecate is not awash with relief or affection, or even hunger, as Severus would have expected. In fact, once she's conscious again, Hecate is nothing short of enraged.
"Why in Merlin's name would you risk exposure like that?" Hecate snaps at him furiously upon entering the kitchen.
Her eyes are filled with storms, and Severus wants to fight back, or to relent, to do anything other than what he chooses, in the end. Which is tell her the truth.
"A relatively simple reason. I was terrified."
"How – how could you even have known I was…?" She demands, eyes boring into his unblinkingly.
Severus has expected this question. He has been weighing up how to tell her that he once observed a spell at St Mungo's – a medical monitoring spell, designed to alert the mediwitches and wizards to a patient's vital signs taking dangerous turns, and their location in the hospital. He had researched it carefully, modified its intention slightly to apply to a broader geographic area. The most inexcusable part of the tale is that he took the opportunity to covertly apply it to her while she slept.
"Analytica Infirmia." Severus says, still holding his wife's gaze. He understands she will be angry, but he does not regret his decision. He does not regret anything that will allow him to protect her.
Hecate wishes she had something in her hands, a sheaf of papers or suchlike that she could toss across the room to emphasise her anger. She is, unfortunately, empty-handed. Hecate is the niece of a mediwitch. Severus has miscalculated how quickly she will piece this all together.
She is so tight with barely-contained fury that Severus thinks she may inadvertently set something on fire. Her voice is dangerous and low. "You cast a spell to monitor my vital signs without my knowledge."
"Yes." Severus does not flinch from the truth, and Hecate isn't sure if this should make her more or less angry with him.
"So you could endanger yourself and undermine the work of the Order in one fell swoop?" Severus thinks about her body crumpling into his arms, thinks about the pain on her face, the moment she tried to offer him a final goodbye, and Severus in no way regrets any decision that leaves his wife snarling at him in their kitchen rather than being lowered slowly into the earth.
"You know, Hecate, that my loyalty to the Order is unquestionable. And my life is a small price to pay for yours."
Hecate, while admittedly a little moved by his words, is predominantly angered by them further. She thunders at him, giving him no credit for his confession. "Your work for the Order will be a key determinant in our success or failure in this war and you would gamble with your life for something as stupid and sentimental as – "
"As the woman I love." Severus is firm with her, his anger flaring in response to her absolute dismissal of their relationship. He has never been more wounded by her than in this moment.
"You can't let the world fall because of love, Severus. You know that as well as I."
"I would not. As we have discussed time and time again." He holds her gaze forcefully. "I judged that the two things were not mutually exclusive and I was correct."
"As far as you know!" Hecate snaps. "You could have been exposed. You still might be!"
"That is a risk I take every day of this assignment, Hecate."
Hecate has no reasonable retort for this. "You must have faith in the Order to perform whatever repairs are required on me. And I am perfectly capable of keeping myself alive without you, Severus."
"I have never doubted that, Hecate."
"Then why – "
"I have told you why. The idea of losing you is terrifying to me. And I suspect you are unleashing this tirade on me for much the same reason." Hecate blinks, coming up short all of a sudden. There is a sharpness to his idiosyncratic drawl that Hecate has rarely heard directed at her, and it gives her pause.
She had thought, in her unchallenged internal monologue, that her anger stemmed simply from his undermining her by behaving as if she could not be trusted to keep herself safe. Severus is, of course, correct. She is angry at him for putting himself at risk to save her. She is angry at him for making her this frightened for his safety. She is afraid of what the consequence will be for the man she loves when he has to return to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
When she speaks again her tone is calmer, softer. "It seems you are correct, Severus."
Severus holds her gaze and reads both her unspoken apology and her fear. He reaches for her hand before slowly drawing her into his arms. He never feels as centred as when he holds her. He brings one hand to the back of her head as she buries her face in his shirt. The smell of him washes over her, calming her more effectively than the sleeping draught did earlier. Severus can't find the words to tell her how profoundly he fears losing her, in the same way he will never be able to articulate precisely how much he loves her.
Hecate can feel all this running through his body. Without reading his mind she knows how deeply his emotions flow within him. But for the few moments of insecurity earlier in their courtship that all seemed to centre around Lily Evans, Hecate has never doubted his love for her. She turns her face upwards towards his, her eyes silently requesting the attention of his mouth.
He obliges her, and her lips part eagerly for him. It has been months since she saw him at Grimmauld Place, but the period of this separation has been shorter than the last. Their kiss increases in pace, and it takes Hecate longer than she would care to admit to realise how normal a reaction to near-death she is having. In fact, she isn't really sure of it until she has finished unbuttoning Severus' shirt and has moved onto his trousers.
"Cate…" He growls softly, pulling back to meet her gaze. She trails her sharp nails over his cheek, his throat. The need in her gaze makes him acutely aware of how much he has been longing for her body for the last eight and a half months. Hecate pulls him towards her by the waistband of his trousers and draws them both back until her legs hit the kitchen table. She summons her skirt upwards with a wafture of her fingers before Severus lifts her onto the table.
A little cry of pleasure escapes from the back of her throat as he enters her. She has been craving his body, craving the intimacy of joining with him like this. He hisses softly as her nails bite into the skin of his back, urging him on. Severus hasn't even let himself dream of being inside her again. He has been preparing for the worst. The feeling of her, after all this time, is overwhelming to his senses. He works his mouth against hers as much as possible, trying desperately to commit every sensation of her to memory. He swallows almost every sound she makes, fancying he can feel them flow through his body and into his chest. He feels as if he's been torn from a delicious dessert when she moves her mouth to his neck, sucking and nipping at his skin. When she reaches his trapezius, she sinks her teeth into his flesh. The action is not wanton. She wants to brand him, as he avoided doing her the last time they saw each other. Severus groans and pulls her closer to him by her knees, sinking impossibly deeper into her. Hecate soothes the wound diligently with her tongue, softly growls "I love you" against his stinging flesh. Severus sucks in a sharp breath and comes apart inside her. He uses his years of learning the secrets of her body to tease her precisely the right way and bring her with him.
He loves the sounds she allows to escape her lips when she falls over the edge with him. He loves the moments neither of them feels the need to be in control.
Their hearts are racing in frantic synchronicity. Hecate fancies that she can hear his pulse speeding through his veins. Severus winds his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, wishing they could remain like this, wishing there was a path for them that allowed the unchecked pursuit of pleasure rather than duty. He does not want to part from her. He is tired of making himself do so.
Hecate kisses her husband's neck softly. The faint trace of sweat leaves a salty tang on her tongue. She trails the tip of her nose up the length of his throat.
"I must return to Grimmauld Place." Hecate says softly against his jaw. Her legs remain wound around his hips, and she is giving no indication that she will move.
"Unless I am mistaken," Severus murmurs, shifting his head so he can brush his lips against hers. Hecate's eyes narrow at his tone – the one they use whenever they are about to enter into a furious argument about the most effective method of brewing whatever potion is currently on their minds. "If the Order is unsuccessful at recovering a missing Member within the first hour, the protocol is to reconvene at Headquarters until eight hours have elapsed." Severus lifts the watch that hangs between their bodies, presses the little button to open its case and studies it ostentatiously. "It appears only six have passed."
Reading him perfectly, Hecate smiles, purrs the words "And what did you have in mind for the remaining hours?"
Severus cradles her face in his large hands, kisses her thoroughly. Hecate is expecting him to suggest they return to their bedroom. She is not expecting him to say "Breakfast."
Hecate scoffs. His lip twitches almost imperceptibly, pleased by her ill-concealed disappointment.
"I delegate full responsibility to you, darling." She says, pecking his lips before pushing him away and sliding off the table, making her way to the bathroom to wash.
Hecate returns to him wrapped in a black silk robe, shot through with a faint silver cobweb motif. Severus is lazily pointing his wand at a cauldron of porridge. Hecate is surprised to see a bowl of freshly picked blackberries on the kitchen counter.
"While you were sleeping." He answers her unasked question.
"I had assumed you'd summoned them, my love. I'm quite impressed." She says, running her hand tenderly down his chest and stomach, kissing the side of his neck. Satisfied that the porridge is sufficiently cooked, Severus conducts it into bowls, waves the blackberries over the top. They form a perfect circle. Hecate smiles at the symmetry.
"I decided you were worth the effort."
They sit at their kitchen table, Hecate in her robe with her hair hanging damply down her back, and Severus in his rumpled white shirt. It has been so long since Hecate saw him without the midnight blue coat that forms his everyday armour. She crosses her legs and he is rewarded with the expanse of her milky flesh coming into view. He trails his fingers lightly over her leg, and enjoys watching the little shiver that passes over her body.
They spend thirty minutes in a state of absolute normalcy, eating an early breakfast and chattering – somehow finding normal things to chatter about. Hecate gazes at her husband calmly and happily, succeeding for the first time in longer than she can recall to push all the impending darkness away, to live purely in this moment.
In the course of their chatter, Severus makes an offhand quip about Alastor Moody and Hecate laughs. Severus hasn't heard his wife's laughter in the best part of a year. He will have to spend considerable effort patching up the crack in his armour that the sound has caused.
When they have finished their food, Hecate lets their conversation reach a natural end, before sighing softly. She rises from her place, moving around the table to kiss him tenderly. She draws him into her arms, runs her fingers through his hair as he rests his head against her breasts.
"I have to return to Grimmauld place, Severus." She whispers against the top of his head. His hands tighten around her hips against his will, but Severus forces himself to release her, to nod in agreement.
"I see no medical reason to detain you further." He says, rising to his feet so he feels at less of a disadvantage.
Hecate clicks her fingers and all at once she is standing in her usual brocade dress, her hair dry and coiled into its customary bun.
"I shall be the subject of deep suspicion for this disappearance." She tells him, but the smile on her lips is dangerously approaching smug.
"Unfortunately, Cate, in this instance I am unable to provide you with an alibi."
She smiles in earnest now, dark eyes gazing into her husband's darker ones. There is a whirlpool of emotion swirling in her chest. After all these years, she is still dizzy with her love for him.
Severus, feeling the emotion radiating from her, drops his head and kisses her.
"Please be safe." He murmurs. "You are precious to me."
"I would never do anything that might jeopardise my coming home to you when this ends, Severus."
He knows. He already knows. Of course he does. "I love you." Severus says evenly, not losing contact with his wife's gaze.
"I love you, too." They remain where they are for an infinite moment, hands on each other's bodies, eyes trying to read the other's soul. Severus is considering telling her that, one way or another, the war will soon be over. She has transferred out of his arms and back to Grimmauld place before he has found the words.
Unfortunately for Hecate, Alastor Moddy sights her first. "Where in Merlin's name have you been, girlie?" He stomps over to her with his uneven gait. "D'you not realise we could've been killed looking for yeh?"
Hecate draws herself to her full height and gives Alastor the gale force of her glare. "I would suggest, Alastor, that, should you value the use of your remaining leg, you refrain from using terms such as 'girlie' when addressing me."
"Forgive me for not minding my manners when you've put the whole Order at risk with this little disappearing act!"
Hecate walks past him, her neat, clipped strides a stark contrast to his loud, lumbering ones. "There are procedures in place for members of the Order disappearing." Hecate pushes her way into the kitchen. Minerva is sitting with a cup of tea before her, looking tight. Of everyone in this resistance, she has the best idea of where Hecate may have found a safe pair of arms in which to recuperate. Minerva only half looks at the pair as they enter the room, taking Hecate in cautiously. Kingsley's account of the incident made it seem that she would be half dead. "I was attacked by Death Eaters. I sought the assistance of the Cackle's nurse to prevent my own death. I altered her memory - which, might I add, is unnecessarily complex in your brand of magic – and returned within the required time for anything but an initial search by the Order to have occurred. Overexaggerating the situation demeans us both."
The Scottish witch is now openly watching the exchange. Hecate's lie about Cackle's is simple and safe. She doubts many in the Order, but for the most paranoid, will question her.
Minerva muses that they will likely think her returning to Cackle's is the most natural response of any. We are programmed to return home in moments of peril. Hecate has done exactly that, but not to the home she is claiming. Minerva is also weighing Alastor's reaction. As one of the aforementioned most paranoid members of the Order, Minerva is certain he won't believe a word of this. But more interestingly, Alastor is disused to people responding to him with the kind of sharp calmness Hecate turns to in these moments. Alastor is thundering and clattering and testosterone when pushed. Hecate is precisely aimed arrows. Minerva has always rather liked it about her. Alastor, conversely, is not coping.
He sputters, fumbling for a retort, for another reason to rail against the outsider in their group. Minerva is seeking a reason to intervene, but suddenly Kingsley pushes through the kitchen door and pulls Hecate into a hug that, had her ribs not already been healed, would be agony. Hecate remains as stiff as a board in his arms, while the wizard babbles apologies for losing her.
Gathering her small resource of diplomacy, Hecate lifts a hand and pats Kingsley on the back twice. Minerva wonders if Severus could determine her motive as kindness or a desire to end the contact, because she herself cannot. The thought makes her lip quirk ever so slightly, and she resolves to relay the moment to her rival head of house the next time she has cause to speak to him on Order business.
After what Hecate feels must be approximately an hour, Alastor grabs Kingsley by his rich royal blue robes and shoves him out of the kitchen, barking "Stop yer simpering, Shacklebolt, we've got strategy to discuss."
Hecate visibly relaxes when the two men exit the kitchen and crosses to the stove to make herself a cup of tea. She is glad not to have anyone but her husband making physical contact with her.
"Are you alright, Hecate?" The Scottish witch asks her, somehow both firm and gentle.
"Yes." Hecate says, turning over her shoulder to meet Minerva's gaze. Instinctively, Hecate is brewing enough tea for two. Minerva's cup has long gone cold.
"He managed to heal all your injuries, then?"
"He seems to have." Hecate's voice is careful, guarded. She sets two mugs of tea on the table before taking a seat opposite the elder witch. In part she is paying credence to her need to spend some time at Headquarters following her absence, but mainly Hecate doesn't feel like being on her own yet.
Minerva senses this, and knows Hecate well enough to understand the younger witch doesn't want a lot of chatter. Luckily, Minerva only has one question left on her mind.
"Is he alright?"
Hecate hesitates, waving her finger absently and making her mug do slow pirouettes on the table. "He seems to be. I cannot sense any greater damage in him than the wound caused by Albus' death." Minerva's face closes before Hecate's eyes. Alastor thumps across the floor upstairs. Hecate changes tack. "I can only hope his interrogation on returning to the Death Eaters is no more rigorous than mine." The witches' lips quirk, the gesture minute in each of them, but meaningful nonetheless. Minerva lets the conversation fall away, not wanting to press Hecate for further details of the increasingly rare time spent with her husband. Hecate is relieved Minerva leaves her to her own thoughts, which have flown quickly back to spending a morning in her kitchen with her husband.
Hecate longs desperately for a time when breakfast with Severus is a normal part of her life again, not an absolute luxury.