Disclaimer: The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR.(pl)
Chapter 23
He had to be sure that she was not leaving, so he had whispered into the night air, "Please, stay, don't give up." She was gasped and had gone still for some time. A small wet and defeated whisper had fired his resolve, "Give me one reason, Sir?" Swiftly, he had brought his hands up and had caged her wet face in between his bony palms. Tilling her head up, he had looked into her glistening eyes, her shock could have halted him, but even Time would bow in front of a determined Snape. Bringing his head down he had captured her lips in between his own. She was his, he was hers, and let Death be damned, if magic had decided through their bonding that they were meant to be together, so it be.
He had poured every ounce of his emotion, his fierce resolution into that consuming kiss. He was a master of the economy of words. But his actions did have the capacity to speak volumes for themselves. Severus Snape had seen the world and had grappled in its dark and gruesome underbelly, long enough to understand the value of genuine companionship. It might have been the demand of the Ministry for a couple to consummate their marriage. For him, it was equal to taking a plunge into a sea of pure bliss.
He had soaked himself in that calming water. Had felt his sin wash away as she had held him close. He had drowned himself within her. He had seen his battered soul reflect through her honey-dipped eyes. Mirror of truth and purity. He had also seen the flicker of hope for him to redeem himself. She had unlocked his darkest cells filled with desolation. She had gone in each of those confines and had lit a candle of hope. And now she herself was in need to fire. In need of hope, for she had given away every bit to save him.
He wanted to make her realize she could hide in his arms. She could anchor her shattered beliefs in his deep-seated principles. And rebuild, reinvent life. As he had let his passion override his lingering uncertainty, he had forcefully invaded her surrendering mouth. For the first time, he had truly tasted her. That mouth that had tormented him over the years with endless questions had succumbed to his passionate attack. He had caught her tongue in between his sharp teeth and had sucked on it, like a bee sucking nectar from a flower. He had consumed her moans, her breath, her tears as well. She was his to keep. And he would make sure she knows it, through this single most intoxicating sensual kiss, under the night sky.
Hermione had passed out halfway through the sheering kiss. Severus was nearly glad that the witch was still letting him kiss her, even if she was not an active participant. He had felt her body go limp. Reluctantly, he had released her swollen lips and had whispered against them, "Hold on, please, you are safe, I promise, you are safe…I…will keep you safe." Picking her up, and gathering her in his arms, he had gone back to his quarters. Under the lit-up scorns, he had seen how defeated her face looked. Even if she was unconscious. "So young! A flower that had just blossomed." He had held her tighter in his arms and had tried walking faster.
Once inside his quarters, he had walked inside his bathroom. He had thought she might consider having another shower. So, he had tried to lower her prone body in the tub. But that turned out to be impossible. Since she was still holding on his shoulders in an iron grip. The only thing left for him to do was join her. He had stood up, once again, with her still in his arms. And had stepped into the tub. He had sat down and eased out his body. His injured knee had started throbbing. Shifting his weight, he had managed to secure her legs between his long legs. She was still senseless above his body. Sensing their presence, the taps had started pouring lukewarm water. As the level rose, Severus had gathered a wash towel, wetting it and had started wiping her face. "those tear tracks mar her angelic beauty."
He had never pinned himself as a romantic. Muttering poetry was beyond him. He was an avid reader, and had read several muggle books along with their magical companions. He could not help but agree that deep down he had a sensitive mind and a considerate soul. Perhaps, it was all due to the bond. Or else how was he going to explain, this ebbing desire to simply hold her. This urgency to touch her. This solace after having realized, she was here to stay, by him. He had felt himself plummeting towards her, desperate to ripe off those layers of grief sinking their parasitic teeth on her mind, and draining her positive resources.
Discarding the wet towel, he had hoisted her up a bit to nuzzle at her neck. He had to listen to her shallow breath. He needed to hear her heartbeat. In the quiet room, with water lapping lazily around them, the tap pouring water in slow tickle, her steady heartbeat was the only music he enjoyed listening to. He had brought her arms over and had crossed them above their prone body. Weaving his fingers through numb ones, he had kept on squeezing, in sync with her heartbeat.
If he had the option to choose, he would prefer this unceremonious bath that he was sharing with Hermione, over all other proprieties. Here he was a caregiver, a role though not new, as a husband, it was one of the many things he was ready to do. He had wept quietly. Praying for her to recognize him as a man worthy enough. Praying to the universe not to keep him from having a second chance to live. And all the while he had mumbled under his breath. "please, please, please, choose me. Stay with me."
He had felt her take a deep breath and had felt her grow stiff. In a hoarse voice she had accused him, "Why?" Never lifting his head off her neck, he had mumbled against her skin, "What, why?" She had simply shrugged. She had left numb. And relaxed. She had felt a strange tang of euphoria still lingering in her parched mouth. His kiss. Why did he have to be so maddeningly mysterious? He had opened every door of his being ajar for her, still, there was so much to discover. She had to ask something, anything because of his very presence, their close proximity was arousing her. To break that spell she had muttered, "But you…you love Harry's mom."
This time he had gone still. Bringing his head up, he had brushed his nose over her cheek. "Yes…loved." She had nodded in acceptance. Growing restless, she had pushed his hands away, and had sat up, still nestled in between his long legs. He had grown unsure, was his honest answer, pushing her away instead of helping her to see how empty his heart was. She had held herself in a tight embrace, hugged her body with her cold arms. Straightening her shoulders, she had driven the sharp nail home, "I still love Ron."
Bringing his hands up, he had rubbed his face, defeated. He was not needed. She had sat still, hugging herself tighter, and had closed her eyes, shut. Even then, she could replay his kiss over and over. He had awoken her muscles, he had torched up her soul, he had claimed his share and he had shown her how fierce his love for her could grow in a fraction of a second. Each time, she had licked her lips, she had tasted him. And she could not stop herself from doing that again and again. His legs had moved, and she had felt the loss of warmth around her. She heard the water slouch. She had peered at him from under her wet lashes. In the practiced move, he had climbed out. Without a backward glance, he had slowly walked towards the door.
She had felt the quietness prying her open. Hastily, she had called out to him, "Sir, why, I mean, it was supposed to hurt, you know, the girls would say, it would always hurt the first time, why then…"He had caught her reflection over the counter mirror. She was blushing, even in this steamy closed space, her pale skin, her creeping blush, her wet hair, had made him growl. But his was not hers. Not yet. Still turned away from her, he had replied in a husky voice, "Because, Miss Granger, you have already ridden, a thestral, a hippogriff, lived in the wild, rode a full-grown dragon, fought a bloody battle, the hymen can only sustain some normal exercise. You on the other hand, have already lived an extraordinary life."
With that, he had walked out and closed the door shut behind him. If Snape had stayed around a little longer, if he had dared to look back at his wife, he would have seen the dawn of realization on her face. In the empty bathroom, amidst the sound of water and her whispers of breath, she had uttered an epiphany, "But it was one lone panther, that made me feel…" And Ron was never close to a panther.
