These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.
Author's Note: For some reason, when I started this chapter, I had a craving for lemons. I have no idea why.. though I suppose all that balmy spring weather outside might have something to do with it. Lemons, however, were definitely on my mind when I was writing and it shows.
But lest any randy reader get her hopes up, I remind you that under the rules of this site , graphic sex and/or violence are expressly forbidden. The category "M" stands for "Mature" and includes mature themes and situations-- not scenes where intimate body parts and their functions are described in all their glory, or the ridiculous things screamed by characters in the performing of all those functions. Scenes like that are considered "MA" and have to be posted on an ADULT fanfiction site. If found here and reported on, such stories can be deleted. I don't want my story deleted, and I DO have an underage daughter who reads fanfiction... You understand my dilemma.
Now I am very much like Hermione in that I like to stick to the rules. And I did agree to those rules when I first posted this fic. So... When life hands you lemons, write lemonade. Just about everybody likes lemonade. It's sweet, better than pumpkin juice, and even if it may seem insipid at times, it is safe for the underage to imbibe. Cheers!
Chapter 25: Invitations
Snape eyed his reflection darkly, passing the magic razor over his black, morning stubble. He always looked his worst in the morning, though why that should be, when he was no longer up half the night spying, he didn't know. He swiped at some whiskers under his nose and frowned. That hideous proboscis seemed to get bigger every year! One's nose supposedly became larger with age, but how big could his get? Severus wasn't actually old... He hated to think what he would look like when he was.
He looked bad enough now, he thought sourly, as he finished the last of his shaving. He had never been attractive in any conventional sense, but time had only made things worse. The harshness of his features seemed to have only intensified over the years. His odd, down-slanting eyes had become sunken. His skin looked haggard. Lines and crow's feet were beginning to appear, and his hair was thin and limp. Well, his hair had always been limp... He should be thankful he wasn't also bald.
Mundane things like his appearance never used to bother him... much. In his youth, Snape had had far more important concerns. There was the struggle for survival at home, his burning quest for knowledge, the desperate game he played with the school bullies, and the trouble that came later when he had taken the dark mark. And he had never lacked for female bed companions no matter how he looked.
Of course he had hated the obvious comparison between himself and the Potter/Black pair. Those two had possessed enough charm between them to have Gryffindor voted "Handsomest Stud House" three years straight! It had burned that his enemies outshone him so effortlessly in that regard-- through no real merit of their own! And Hermione wondered why he questioned the existence of God... Life was full of habitual, random unfairness. James and Sirius had no problem being loved, where as he...
And Harry was a picture of his father's good looks, though without his father's poise. Good thing for that too. Besides having his mother's eyes, Potter's slightly guarded, reticent manner was the only thing that kept him from driving Snape over the edge, especially when he saw the boy with that red-headed Weasley chit. It might have been James all over again with Lilly, showing off his success, pointing out to everyone that he had something Snape lacked. Pointing out by comparison that Snape was a loser.
But, of course, it wasn't like that at all. Harry wasn't James. He was a completely different person, and Ginevra Weasley was certainly no Lilly. Snape was very thankful Sirius Black didn't have progeny at Hogwarts too. It really would have been too much to bear. An ironic thought suddenly occurred to him. For all James' and Sirius' cruel, swaggering success as boys, there was little to show for it now. Both were dead and only one had left a child-- a child who grew up not knowing him. He supposed it was poetic justice of a sort.
Well at least in Harry's time, Slytherin house had a specimen stud in Draco Malfoy. That boy was more than just the image of his father. He had the best combined features of both his handsome parents. He also wasn't the monster Lucius was-- not that he wasn't trying to be. Severus knew his godson revered his father and imitated his haughty, overbearing manner whenever he could. But it was just an act. Deep down, Draco didn't have the stuff out of which successful monsters were made. He only craved attention. Lucius had never needed attention. He had only wanted power..
There was something going on with Lucius, something seriously strange, and Snape had no idea what it was. Why was he marrying Muggleborn women, purposely getting them pregnant, and researching Muggle birth control methods? Severus had believed Malfoy's first unfortunate bride had died of foul play. But could it have been accidental? Could she have really died from pregnancy complications as so many other witches did? Heartless though it was, he could only wait on the fate of Malfoy's next victim, because short of asking him outright, there was no other way to learn the truth.
Which led to the next perplexing question. Why couldn't he get through Malfoy's wards? Lucius was a powerful wizard, but he had always been lazy. Snape, who hadn't been pampered, had worked harder with his magic and had grown stronger because of it. Under Malfoy's tutelage, Severus had striven to match and surpass him. By the time Snape had turned traitor to the Dark lord, he had long since learned how to get by any barrier Lucius could put up. It had been one of his jobs as a spy. Now he couldn't pass any of Malfoy's wards at all, and he really should have still been able to do so.
It was as though there were walls of iron around the Malfoy estate, magic of an alien feel to what the man normally used. That odd taint was woven all through the perimeter wards, as well as the seals on the gates, doors, and windows. It permeated the limited interior space Snape had been allowed in when he had visited Malfoy and drunk his wine. Why had Lucius' magic changed? How had he changed it?
Malfoy was as power-mad as wizards came, but the known methods for dramatically boosting one's power the way Lucius had seemed to have done, were all predominantly dark and, therefore, illegal. Snape wanted to know what illegality Malfoy was practicing but he would have to SEE what the man was up to to collect evidence-- and he couldn't do that without getting through those wards. The other method, slow infiltration by renewing their friendship, he found distasteful. But what, if anything else, could he do?
Finishing his shave, Snape peered again at his reflection with a rueful grimace. How irritating that Malfoy seemed to have aged so well! Years of soft living worked wonders, he supposed. Lucius was about five years older than he was, but it was Severus who looked the elder by at least fifteen. Malfoy appeared to have not aged a day over thirty. His skin was smooth and firm, with a rosy tinge beneath its pallor. His hair was lustrous. There were no crow's feet or lines about his eyes or mouth, and he was the picture of vigorous health and vitality.
Snape had heard of Muggles undergoing elaborate facial treatments, or even surgeries, to fool the clock of nature, and there were recipes for such things in the Wizard world as well. He wondered what fortune Lucius had paid, and what combination of treatments he had suffered to keep him so dazzlingly handsome. Again, it wasn't fair. Beauty owed those unfortunates who lacked it the compensation at least of fading with time. Standing next to Lucius made Severus feel even more ancient and hideous, just as the sumptuous Malfoy house made Snape's once comfortable dungeon seem desolate.
He glanced over at Hermione, herself a picture of blooming youth, carelessly pulling her lush hair into what she termed a "messy bun" and eying the results perfunctorily in the mirror. How beautiful she was! How absolutely breathtaking-- not only for her pretty features, but for her unconscious grace, and the disregard she seemed to have for her appearance as she finished quickly with her hair to turn to the morning mail. Only someone well assured of their good looks would take so little effort with them.
The fact that Hermione didn't spend hours staring at her face, looking for imperfections that didn't exist, or applying enhancing products that she didn't need, pleased Severus. His wife obviously placed value on more important things-- matters of the mind or possibly soul. Her brilliance was enchanting. The academic discussions he had had with her recently had been stimulating. She had beauty and brains in one luscious package... and here she was stuck with an ugly old rotter like him. Obviously it wasn't only his life that was unfair.
Studying her philosophically, he supposed not every man would consider her lovely. It was strange how men's tastes varied. He knew his wife's looks were not quite the conventional standard for beauty, but then he had always found those standards constricting. The average specimen deemed most desirable had usually looked boring and insipid to him-- or too much of a stereotype. So many of those famous beauties looked very much alike. And perhaps that was all part of their charm. Perhaps they were all interchangeable... and somewhat disposable as well.
Hermione, however, was unique. From her tumbled cascade of riotous curls, to her sweet serious mouth now frowning slightly over something she read, there was no one like her. He found every feature precious-- the curve of her cheeks, the shape of her eyes, even the gentle little cleft-like indentation of her upper lip. At that very moment she was sucking on her lower lip, concerned over something in one of her letters. Snape wanted to suck on her lower lip too-- and the rest of her as well...
Never, ever, had Severus wanted a woman the way he wanted Hermione. Women he had always been able to have. There had never been any real shortage of them-- from the "good" girls who had come to him in secret, to the bad girls shamelessly eager to seduce him. Sex had been a sport when he was younger-- a sport, unlike Quiddich and broom riding-- that he was good at. He had practiced it because he could, not only because it was fun. It gave him a way to prove himself.
Sex had given Snape a taste of power beyond magic. It had given him a chance to be something other than the ugly, bookish, pathetic loser James and Sirius went out of their way to make him look. When he was practicing his "sport" he felt desired, valued. And in those all too brief moments of passion, when his partners were being especially appreciative, the closeness had sometimes felt like love...
But of course it wasn't love. Those "good girls" at school had been only using him. He was an adventure, a way to gain experience, a chance to rebel. No one wanted him as person. No girl wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him, or appear at one of the school parties or balls hanging proudly on his arm. He was good for a clandestine roll in the hay, but never as soul-mate material.
That really hadn't bothered him back then, possibly because he hadn't then wanted to be anyone's soul-mate. He had had things to do, an agenda to accomplish, lots of scores to settle. He also hadn't found anyone of soul-mate caliber suitable for him-- at least not among the insipid "nice girls" or any of the jaded females who joined death eater ranks or were camp followers to them. Simple sex had been good enough for him at the time. He had done it for sheer animal satisfaction before moving carelessly on to more important matters.
How different when one was in love! Snape had deluded himself for years into thinking he didn't need love and didn't want it, but of course that wasn't true. Who didn't want to be loved? Poisoned experience, however, had taught him that the possibilities in his case were so negligible as to be nonexistent. He had never dreamed he would find someone whose love he would truly want, and certainly not that she would be one of his students-- a Gryffindor student and Potter's friend besides.
Yet it had happened. Despite his best intentions, he had found himself more and more attracted to sweet, serious Hermione Granger. There were so many ways that she was like him-- in her fierce intelligence, endless curiosity, and in her strength. He had come to realize that here at last was someone with the potential to be his soul-mate-- providing, of course, she did the impossible and fell in love with him... Naturally, when the Marriage Law had given him an opportunity, he had taken her.
And the sex had been more than satisfying. Severus found that "love-making" differed profoundly from any of his past conquests. He wanted to please Hermione more than any lover he had ever had, and each time he took her, evidence of her pleasure melted something frozen inside him. Snape hadn't known he was capable of such tenderness, but apparently it had been there all along, latent within him. But such emotions frightened him.
Feelings like these made him vulnerable, and they encouraged deeper yearnings that made him more vulnerable still. Because of that, dealing with his wife had led him into a sort of terrible dance where he turned alternately hot and cold-- acting gentle, almost kind, one moment, and then harsh and withdrawn the next. He wavered from closeness to distance, friendliness to irritability, his moodiness aggravated by the ghosts still haunting him from the past. The only successful constant in his marriage was the sex. It was the only way he could safely express himself to Hermione, the only way he could show her his love without exposing his heart to harm.
Because the physical was something Snape was good at, he could give his wife love under the disguise of lust and have no worries at all that he would betray himself. Hermione had come to him innocent. She hadn't the experience to tell passionate love from animal lust since she had never known any other man but him. And when he sparked a response from her, when she enjoyed his attentions, it was the closest he came to having her love. Every time he aroused her it gratified him. Every time her arms tightened around him, or she uttered sounds born in rapture, it made him feel-- for a moment-- that she wanted him, needed him, and needed only him... It was a delusion akin to a drug.
At that moment, Hermione was perusing a letter with a thoughtful expression, her brow furrowed in mystification. Severus wondered what she found so puzzling and who had sent her the letter. He also wondered if it was Victor Krum, who irritatingly still saw fit to write to her even though he knew she was married... but he decided not to inquire, however, since that would only lead to a fight. Hermione had pen-pals from all over the world. His jealousy would only make him appear stupid.
He continued to gaze at her thoughtful face. Curiously, her serious expression seemed more sexy to him than her smile. Anyone could smile, but not everyone could think deeply, or would care enough to do so. Severus suddenly wanted her and he swiftly calculated the time. By some trick of serendipity, neither he nor his wife had a class for another hour-- which was perfect. He could do a lot in an hour...
Snape walked over to her. She was all fresh and dewy from her morning shower and her clean smell was far more arousing to him than any exotic perfume. Hermione had got up and was packing books and letters into her bag when he pulled her to him. She looked up in surprise and made as if to speak, but he took her face into his hands and proceeded to kiss her, caressing her mouth sensually and sucking gently on her lower lip just as he had wanted to only minutes before.
"You smell good enough to eat," he murmured in her ear, tickling her earlobe with his teeth. She jumped an little when he did that and Severus couldn't help chuckling under his breath.
"We have classes this morning!" she almost squealed.
"No. Not for an hour we don't. That gives us plenty of time."
"But I'll have to shower all over again!" Hermione sounded a little indignant, but he noticed she wasn't really pushing him away so her protest was essentially empty. He chuckled again savoring victory.
"Oh, I'm very sure that you will," he replied softly.
She blushed a charming red and made a half-hearted attempt to withdraw.
"I was going to go to the library. I wasn't finished with my letters..."
He kissed her again, whispering pleasantly against her skin, "The library isn't going to disappear. It will still be there later, and so will your letters."
"The bed will be there later too! Why don't we wait till tonight?"
"No, no, no, Hermione," he chided teasingly, his lips playing with hers again, "You'll just hide behind a book again, like you always do, and keep me waiting till midnight! So provoking it is too. Late hours aren't good for me. Besides, I have rounds tonight, which will definitely get in the way of anything meaningful I wish to do with you..." He let his hands wander to places they would do the most good. Hermione's eyes dilated.
"But right before class?" she protested feebly.
"Everyone will no doubt wonder why you're smiling..."
He maneuvered her relentlessly to the bed, smirking himself at her scandalized expression. It was the face of a child doing something she thought wicked... something thrillingly wicked. He wasn't going to disappoint her. Snape undressed her slowly and deliberately, fingers and lips lingering over each newly exposed area, feeling her breath quicken and her body heat rise.
By the time her robes were a puddle on the floor, all her reserve seemed to have melted away as well. She climbed willingly onto the bed to wait for him, lying invitingly like a vanquished angel, white limbs gleaming against dark satin sheets, her abundant hair a curly halo on his pillow. Sweet Merlin she was exquisite! All his own, and a feast for the senses... He was only a moment behind her.
Morning passion had always seemed more poignant to him, perhaps because it was less conventional. Intimacy was meant to be hidden, after all-- tucked away into the least desirable hours of the day, relegated to darkness, and performed by tired people as very the last thing they did. To engage in it during waking hours, when presumably one had important things to do, seemed audaciously decadent. Doing it in daylight, when people one knew were up and about, led to a feeling of sinful vulnerability.
Severus enjoyed making Hermione feel vulnerable. He loved putting her under his control, bending her to his will, and making her enjoy it. When she gave in to him, it appeared she was actually willing, that she truly wanted him, and him alone. Snape savored that moment of surrender, surrender only complete if it ended in passion. And it would end in passion. He would make very sure of that...
Hands and lips played her like an instrument, creating symphonies of desire in her senses. He rejoiced in the feel of her, in the evidence of her growing hunger, the sounds she made, the way she moved, and the patern of her urgent, clutching hands as he proceeded to make his conquest. Every inch of him flamed with the sensation of taking her, while his heart reveled in her wild, rising delight. In moments like these she was his and his alone. Unfortunately, such moments were all too brief.
After their quick little storm of passion, Hermione lay silently a few moments. Then she jumped up and hurried into the shower. Severus didn't know if she looked so embarrassed because she just had sex with him, just had sex in the morning, or just had sex minutes before class and had to rush to get ready. He hoped it was the later. He arose himself, performed a cleansing charm, and put on fresh robes while feeling pleasantly satisfied, and a little guilty...
It had been rather wicked after all. How many teachers got to shag a pretty student right before class? Or enjoy it so much? He wondered if it was the implied broken taboos that made Hermione's response at unconventional times so deliciously powerful. This morning's experience had been more than usually good.
Hermione sped out of the bathroom, dripping water as she went. Swiftly she threw on some robes, dried her hair with her wand (frizzing it out even more than usual,) and shoveled all her books and papers into her satchel to run to class. She shot Snape a rather snarky look.
"Next time, Severus, remember where my classes ARE! I have to run to the fourth floor! YOU get to stay in the dungeons. It isn't fair."
"Who said life was fair? But I'll do my best to remember... next time."
She uttered a growl of exasperation before rushing out the door, and Snape couldn't help chuckling. She'd probably make it on time. And if she didn't, he'd see about having her detention assigned to him...
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Hermione found it difficult to concentrate in class that morning. Her brain felt as flustered and disoriented as her body felt treacherously relaxed and satisfied. It was hard to keep her mind on the lesson. Thankfully, this was only History of Magic, which she already knew most of anyway. Binns usually taught straight from the book, and notes were largely superficial. But she pretended to take notes anyway. Harry and Ron were sitting next to her (Harry between her and Ron) and she wanted to appear normal. She didn't want anyone to think there was something wrong with her.
There wasn't anything really wrong with her. Everything was fine. Hermione was only... well, she didn't know exactly what. How would any normal, intelligent student feel who had just been seduced... only an hour before... by a teacher... that she was married to? And because she WAS married to him, there supposedly was no real harm in it. It was presumably normal. Married people had sex after all.
But did they do it in the morning, right before class, to the point where she had to rush to get ready and run down the hall so she wouldn't be late? Would people be able to tell? Could they see it in her face? Hey! I just had sex... really, really GOOD sex... with Professor Snape! That's why I was late... Surely something had to show. And why should it bother her if it did? Did she really care what people thought? Well... maybe she did. Perhaps it was only that she felt strange.
Normally she kept what she did with Severus compartmentalized and relegated to "after hours" status. That way it seemed rather distant when she mixed with the rest of the school. But now, with the afterglow fairly screaming itself (or so she felt) on her face, Hermione felt that the two worlds she had worked to keep separate were colliding. It was a strange ending to a morning that had started rather oddly anyway because of a curious letter.
Before the owl post came, events had proceeded according to habit. She had gone through her normal routine of bathing and dressing, quickly pulling her hair up off her face to keep it out of the way. Hermione usually took the least amount of time possible with her personal care, preferring to spend precious morning minutes reading or going over her day's schedule.
Spending hours in front of a mirror had always seemed ludicrous to her. When she had lived in the dormitory, it had been extremely irritating to watch girls like Lavender and Parvati waste amazing amounts of time primping or helping each other primp. Why spend all day on one's face? But then, of course, they could justify it. They were pretty and she wasn't. For those lacking beauty, vanity was stupid and useless. In her early life it had never been encouraged.
"What an odd child that Hermione. Too bad she isn't pretty."
"She may never have looks, that one. But they say she's quite brainy. Surely she'll
be a success."
"Am I pretty, Mum?"
"Pretty is as pretty does, dear. Look! You came in first in your class!"
"Dad, am I pretty?"
"Don't worry over silly things like looks, Luv. Those things don't last. It's what
you do, what you accomplish, that really matters."
Of course she wasn't pretty.
As she finished securing her hair, she caught the reflection of Severus gazing darkly at himself as he shaved in his own mirror. He seemed to be giving himself the sort of nasty stare he favored unruly students with and Hermione wondered at it. Was he angry at himself, or was he displeased at his reflection? She doubted it was that. He had never seemed particularly bothered by it before.
Men didn't seem to care about their looks the way that women did. They didn't have to, after all. Men weren't judged on their appearance. Women had to be pretty in order to be considered desirable or worthwhile, and plain girls, no matter how smart, were always somehow second class. In contrast, men just had to be successful (and possibly rich) with a passable personality. They didn't have to look good. Or did they? She recalled suddenly some of the awful things students said about her husband-- cruel remarks about his appearance. Maybe such unfair judgments were universal after all.
For a moment she considered her husband's features critically. No matter what people said about him, Severus wasn't ugly-- homely, yes, but not ugly. And what if he was? A man was worth more than his face, wasn't he? And his worst feature, the one everyone seemed fixated on-- his nose—wasn't really so bad. So it was big. Better too big than too small! Lots of men had odd, distinguishing features. Hermione often thought these gave their faces character, and made them stand out from all the look-a-like people the general public seemed to prefer. She thought these people looked interesting.
Hermione didn't really mind Snape's nose. It seemed to fit the rest of him-- the long, odd face, his deep set down-slanting eyes, the high cheekbones, and his thin but expressive mouth. Severus was unique. No one else looked anything like him, and to change him would make him someone other than who he was. It was only his behavior that sometimes made him seem ugly-- when he was acting unreasonably nasty, forbidding, or snide. Apart from that, he was often rather fascinating.
It was the expressions that played across Snape's lean, hawk-like features that made him so fascinating. The changes were subtle-- a lift of the eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, or a shift of gleam in dark, agate eyes... It was truly amazing how his look could vary, and how suddenly it could do so. Snape could change from terrifying one minute to sexually compelling the next. And that voice of his didn't help. When angry, the sound was a viper's hiss, but when amorous that velvet voice could melt steel...
Too bad he rarely smiled. Whenever he did it was an almost-smile, like a hinge to rusty to ever quite open all the way. No smile reached his eyes. Hermione wondered if it was the weight of his past that kept him so bleak and sober, or if it was something else-- perhaps a control issue. Perhaps Severus just couldn't trust anyone enough to relax around them, or maybe it was himself he didn't trust. She wished he would come to trust her, to smile or laugh around her. The closest he ever came to it was when he was teasing her... or when he wanted sex.
The owl post had arrived then and Hermione had seen the letter. There were a lot of letters for her that morning-- one from a pen-pal in Peru, one from another in Spain, one from Victor Krum, and one from an unknown party. She had put Victor's aside, glancing covertly at Snape as she did so. There was no reason she couldn't still correspond with Victor. They were friends. And he was engaged to a pretty Ukrainian girl so he certainly had no designs on Hermione! Still, maddeningly, Severus seemed to find his letters inappropriate... She picked up the odd letter and opened it. It was from a Mrs. Athena Carr.
Dear Hermione Granger,
We have never met, but I need to confer with you privately as soon as possible.
You were a school friend of my late sister Jeanine who married that wizard Malfoy.
My sister mentioned you before she died, and I want to give you some of her old
school books and magical things. Could I meet with you at the earliest possible time,
in NORMAL London, to arrange the details?
Sincerely,
Athena Carr
Hermione frowned a little. Of course she would take the books, but why couldn't this Athena Carr just send them to her? And why privately at the "earliest possible time?" What was the hurry? Or the secrecy? The whole thing was extremely odd... and tragic. Maybe this woman was embarrassed as well as grieved by what happened to her poor sister. It looked as though the family wanted to get rid of the memory of her magic as fast as they possibly could.
The sudden comparison with her own life had hit Hermione painfully. The Granger family would probably have done the same, and she felt another stab of sadness over the gulf between worlds... and the loss. The downside of being Muggleborn was the eventual family estrangement, as well as coping with the longstanding magical prejudices. What Hermione lived with day to day, poor Jeanine had died of, and now even her relatives wanted to divest themselves of her memory. All because of magic.
But perhaps she needed to be charitable. This poor Mrs. Carr was a Muggle, and she probably had no idea how to deal with the Wizarding World. How would she know how to bulk-ship the wizard way? She might even be afraid of some of the magical items, so no wonder she wanted them gone as fast as possible! Just using owl post was probably a stretch, and Hermione regretted that Hogwarts wasn't connected to Muggle telephone or mail service. It really would help Muggleborns stay connected!
Of course she would meet with this woman to pick up the things. The Easter Holidays might be a good time. And perhaps she could give her poor friend a nice legacy by donating the used spell books to needy Muggleborn students. Hermione straightened with determination. She could take a collection and start a foundation-- the "Jeanine Malfoy Muggleborn Help Foundation." That sounded real good! And it would show the Malfoys and that stupid Ministry where their thoughtless, evil actions had led...
That was the moment the morning went out of control. Hermione had just stood up to pack her book bag when suddenly she had felt the close proximity of another body and she had looked up startled. The body was Severus, of course, and incredibly, he was giving her "The Look." She had immediately stiffened and had drawn breath to speak, but in doing so, had opened her mouth, which had been a mistake... It allowed Snape to use the moment for kissing her-- with expert, lethal effectiveness.
For a second, she hadn't been able to do anything but kiss him back, shivering as his tongue tickled the inside of her mouth, gasping as he sucked tuggingly on her lower lip. Why was he amorous now? It was almost time for class! She had important things to do! Why did he have to be so darn compelling at some of the most inappropriate of times?
Snape's lips had traveled caressingly across her cheek to her temple while his fingers slid ticklingly through her hair. "You smell good enough to eat," he had murmured in a voice that really should have been outlawed, and had given her ear a gentle nip. She had jumped then-- not because it had hurt, but because of the jolt it caused somewhere below her belt.
"We have classes this morning!" She had said in a squeak.
"No, not for an hour, we don't" he had countered in a low, sensual rumble. "We have plenty of time."
"But I'll have to shower all over again!" Hermione couldn't have helped a little indignation.
"Oh, I'm sure you will." The reply had been wicked... and very, very arousing.
Hermione had felt her face flush with heat, heat that had begun to course all through her. "I was going to go to the library," she had protested. "I haven't finished with my letters."
But he had only started kissing her again, his warm breath whispering on her face, "The library isn't going to disappear," he had said between kisses. "It will still be there later, as will your letters."
Of course all her protests had been feeble at best. Snape was going to get what he wanted, and Hermione had always known it. She hadn't really wanted to refuse him anyway. Truth be told, she liked him best when he was amorous and playful rather than stiff and unapproachable. And it was certainly better than any of his darker moods-- moods that could come upon him so quick and unexpectedly. But Hermione hadn't wanted to give in easily. Dignity forbade it.
"The bed will be there later too! Why don't we wait till tonight?"
Snape had then begun assaulting her face with teasing little kisses, kisses intended to drive her mad. "No, no, no, Hermione," he had chided. "You'll just hide behind a book like you always do and keep me waiting till midnight. So provoking it is too." He favored her with a particularly invasive kiss. "Late hours aren't good for me. Besides I have rounds tonight, which would surely get in the way of anything meaningful I might wish to do with you..."
Sure, expert fingers had probed insistently, and she had suddenly felt like melting. Damn! He knows all my tickle spots! This just isn't fair!
"But right before class?" How wicked it had all seemed, so dangerously, excitingly out of bounds...
"Everyone will no doubt wonder why you are smiling."
Hermione had let him maneuver her to the bed, all her nerve endings awake, eager, and expectant. He had undressed her slowly, pausing delightfully to kiss each exposed area of her before proceeding to reveal still more. His touch felt so good. There was wild magic in his lips. Even the way his nose tickled her skin as he kissed her was a revelation in arousal. By the time she was completely bare, she had no inhibitions whatsoever. She had climbed onto the bed and lay down to wait for him, thrilling with the shiver of vulnerability that always happened to her before sex.
And he hadn't kept her waiting long. It had taken barely a moment for him to undress, his gaze never leaving her. The look that burned in his dark eyes before he took her had shaken her far more than his touch, and had reached a deep part of her no caress ever could. It was a look that made her want to give herself to him with a bittersweet, aching intensity. At that moment, and perhaps only for that moment, Hermione knew he saw her as pretty.
Returning to the present, Hermione bent over her notes, hoping the blush she knew was creeping over her face wouldn't be noticed. The memory of how she had wanted him so badly, simply because it felt so good to be wanted, made her tingle with embarrassment. She had probably made a fool out of herself. But how could she have helped it? All her life she had been the "Plain Jane" that boys never seemed to desire beyond friendship. How badly she had wished to be beautiful and sexy, instead of just smart. It was no wonder that when Snape had stared at her as if she were a goddess of carnal delights, Hermione had lost all control.
Or perhaps it had only been the scandalous hour... Making love in the morning, or at times one really wasn't supposed to (when there wasn't sufficient time anyway) gave the act a wicked urgency. Being ravished straight from the shower, by a man freshly shaved was an experience too. No matter how wild the passion, there was no danger of stubble-burn... She blushed again.
Oh, I really have to stop thinking about this! Hermione told herself firmly. It's only sex, just animal sex... How in the world did Severus always do this to her? Why was he driving her mad? It was as though he took as much pleasure in making her crazy as he did in using her body. And she knew he didn't love her. It had to be some sort of power thing. But at least he does want me. He thinks I'm desirable...
Yes, she thought, It was just sex. But when they were intimate, when they held each other tightly, enjoyed each other so intensely, it was the closest they came to being truly married the way Hermione had always understood marriage. When they were together like that, it was the only time their minds were in accord. They were both thinking the same thing, both striving together for the same end. There wasn't the sense of being present with someone yet still being achingly alone. And for a few minutes at least, Hermione had the delightful feeling of being appreciated-- almost loved.
It was almost the end of the day before Hermione realized she had forgotten to read the rest of her letters, or send out her answers.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Severus sat in his office correcting yet another pile of badly written, badly spelled, badly researched potions essays. He wondered if next year, when his wife was finally graduated, he might just be allowed to take a sabbatical... He had put in his time. He had paid his dues. Surely he didn't have to be a teacher forever! Few jobs took as much of one's time and effort and gave back so little in return. These essays, for instance. Most of these stupid students didn't even care! Maybe he should consider, however briefly, one of those "contracts" Lucius had said he could get for him.
Not that he wanted to be in debt to Lucius. But it would be a way to get close enough to the man to observe him-- without having to pretend a friendship for him that he no longer felt. And Malfoy would love to think Snape was dependent upon him again. If he played his cards right, acted his part, his former friend might get a little careless... Of course Hermione would be appalled, but she would be very busy with university work. She might not look too closely at what he was doing, or who had recommended a particular job. Besides, even she could see he was burning out as a teacher.
Was it his imagination, or were the students getting dumber, or just lazier? What was the use of trying to cram knowledge into minds that didn't want it? He didn't know if it was the downfall of the Dark lord, or perhaps even the Marriage Law that was responsible for this year's bad effort. For some, the lack of danger meant complacency, while for others... why bother with knowledge when the future was already planned? And who among them appreciated Potions? At some magical academies it wasn't even required! Maybe that would be a blessing in disguise. He'd rather have a few students who really wanted to learn than a whole dungeon full of apathetic dunderheads...
Snape wondered what dubious sort of work Malfoy would find for him and if it would be something he'd have the stomach for. Not that Albus would let him, of course. Severus made a nasty red scrawl on a particularly vapid essay and sighed heavily. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Dumbledore would find a way to keep him here. He'd play on his loyalty, his affection for the old man, and his obligation. Albus wouldn't buy the excuse of spy work either. He'd tell him to leave such things to the aurors.
But the Aurors were proving themselves absolutely useless The Wizarding world wasn't looking for danger anymore. People wanted peace, and they deluded themselves that all evil died with the Dark lord. Fudge, and all the other idiots in power, wanted desperately to think that everything was fine. They were all too willing to believe that people like the Malfoys were harmless. And even if they had any suspicions, Snape knew it would never progress very far. The aurors couldn't get past those wards any more that he could. The only means to investigate was to penetrate from within.
He had to get back in that estate. It was the only way. Lucius was up to something, something that might ultimately concerne Hermione. The way he had kept probing into Snape's marital life had raised warnings. And though he had no proof, Severus was positive Lucius was about to kill again. He could feel it. He just knew. If he didn't do anything about it, he would be partly responsible. If he just let it go, there might be more horrors on his conscience.
Besides, a little sleuth work, however dangerous, would be a welcome break from correcting bad essays... Snape stabbed his quill into the inkwell again and covered yet another paper with angry red comments. This year's effort was really the worst yet. Frog livers do NOT get added to the Digestion Potion. Frog Intestines do. Didn't they pay any attention at all? And there is a distinct difference between Amaryllis flower and Amaryllis root. But nice to see the Misses Weasley and Lovegood knew the different uses for powdered stag horn. No doubt his sexy wife had helped them with that...
This morning had been fun... very fun, though he seemed to have embarrassed poor Hermione. She hadn't met his eyes all day. Well, she'd get over it. She had enjoyed their little romp as much as he had. And perhaps that was what was really bothering her, that she could enjoy him so much even though she didn't actually want him. He attacked another essay with a vengeance. Best not to think about that. Best to enjoy what little he could, what little good he could get in life. Snape did wish though that his wife would be more than merely reactive, that she would actually initiate sex with him. But he supposed he should be content with what he had-- a reluctant partner who did couple with him when he wished it (most of the time) and who liked it in spite of it all.
A tap sounded on his window and Snape zapped it open to allow in an owl. It was Malfoy's eagle owl and Snape felt a rush of apprehension. Perhaps he'd find a contract offered to him already... But it wasn't a contract. It was an invitation. He and his wife were invited to a grand ball in celebration of Malfoy's recent marriage. Well here at least was something he could accept without any long term commitments. And it would get him into that house again... he picked up his quill and scratched out an affirmative reply.