If you have read this far, thank you SO MUCH for your continued support! I can't tell you how much it means to me. An extra special thank you to everyone who Reviewed my last chapter: NovelIsRoman, Ninamaria429, recey2010, Dance1989, phantomoftheopera199, VividVideoGeek, Whack-the-beetle, pgoodrichboggs, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, Lucyole, 394egapotnrut, babananagurl, Fantomette34, Haveyouseenmyprefectbadge, AnotherAldebaran, EmmaSjgren, MissusGages, Elliania, sobela, fanfantasy07, ALIASTESIN, ZoeyOlivia, Sspulse, Missy Megs, Olo, luv4edwardcullen, LoveInTheBattleField, PaolaRavenclaw, and several Guests. Y'all are awesome! I can't tell you how much it means to me! Putting my stories out there is a very raw and vulnerable act and y'all's support really shows me that I've connected with something inside of you too. I really hope you like this chapter. :} Either way, please let me know what you think. 3

…*~*J*~*...

She found him tending to his potion first thing in the morning. He looked more tousled and harried than ever. His hair was a wild, tangled mess and he appeared to have merely rolled out of bed and thrown on a white button-down over his Gryffindor pajamas. His face was drawn and paler than usual, and his eyes darted about in a sort of manic anxiety. His whole body looked tense as he hovered over the workbench.

"Sir?"

"Don't," he told her in one stern, deep note. "Can you not see that I am preoccupied at present?"

"But… you still haven't eaten, have you?"

"I am attending a feast tonight. I can survive until then."

"Yes, about that… you do realise that today is Saturday, don't you?"

He let out an impatient breath and set his stirring rod down on the counter. "No, Granger," he began irritably, "I have set to work on an elaborate potion that will take hours to complete and have planned my entire day around a trip to Hogsmeade with my needy wife, yet somehow it has completely escaped my notice that today is in fact... Saturday."

Hermione huffed, glaring up at him. "I only meant… if you have a feast to attend tonight, we are going to have to find a time beforehand to…"

"That will not be necessary. I'm expected to arrive early to Lucius's little soiree, but he will not expect me to stay for the duration. I will return long before midnight."

"Still…"

"No, Granger. There isn't time. Now leave me to my work. I need to concentrate." He turned back to his brewing. "I will meet you shortly after noon for our little… outing."

Hermione hesitated. She wanted to press him again to eat something or get some sleep before tonight, but she was relieved he had at least remembered his promise to meet her at the bookstore. It would be much less unusual and suspicious for him to purchase a selection of dark magic books than it would be for her to. "Thank you," she said at last, turning to go. "See you then."

When he arrived at the bookstore a few short hours later, she was relieved to see that he looked marginally better. He appeared to have bathed, at least, and was dressed for the biting cold weather, with a heavy winter cloak draped over his shoulders and a soft black scarf knotted at his neck. She couldn't help but notice how dashing he looked that way.

He gave her an anxious glance, his eyes trailing up and down her frame. "Well? Haven't you found anything yet?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, reaching for one of a number of books jutting out an inch or so further than the rest and handing it to him. "Of course I have."

Finally, a hint of mirth appeared at the corners of his eyes. "Of course you have," he said, accepting the tome and placing a nonverbal Charm on it so th at it floated in the air beside him. "You may begin your pile here," he told her, turning toward the shelf and selecting a book at random to keep up the illusion. "But do not allow anyone to see you touching these books yourself. Do you understand?"

Hermione gave him a wry look. She pulled a couple more titles from the shelf and placed them onto the floating stack, then hesitated, biting her lip. "I have gold," she told him in a low voice.

"Don't insult me, Granger. I can afford to buy a few books for my wife."

"It's just… there's already… quite a number."

At that, he turned toward her, giving her an offended glare. "I am not a pauper, Hermione."

Her cheeks flushed and she tried not to grin up at him. "It's just…"

"I am well aware of the repercussions of bringing Hermione Granger to the bookstore," he said, turning back to the shelves. "I fully expect to have a ludicrously excessive stack when I leave here today."

Finally, she did grin, then turned back to her perusal of the section. They were quiet a moment before she couldn't help herself anymore. A little sniff of laughter escaped her as a smirk spread across her face. "'Pauper'," she murmured so low he could hardly hear.

"What?"

"Did you really say…"

"Granger," he warned, "are you trying to make me change my mind?"

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head vehemently and smirking at the shelf. "No no."

Severus held back a grin, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Why did he let the girl have such an effect on him? How could standing here pretending to read about torture magic be the highlight of his day? And why did it please him so much to buy her books? Just giving her the freedom to choose whichever she wanted felt like a gift to himself as well. He found himself wishing she would tell him about her research. Wishing they could brainstorm the issue together; work through the problem as a team.

How odd.

When it was time to leave, Hermione had an enormous pile. He sensed that it made her anxious to ask for so many. She was biting her lip and looking up at him inquisitively and she was about to say something when he cut her off. "Well... it's not a bad start," he teased, giving her an arrogant smirk before turning to go.

"Thank you," she said.

He sniffed disdainfully in acknowledgement.

Hermione stopped him again. "I have a bag for them," she said, pulling a little beaded purse out of the pocket of her coat. "I Charmed it with an Undetectable Extension Charm."

Severus lifted an eyebrow incredulously. "You think I'm going to carry my dark arts texts around in a glittery little handbag?"

"This can easily fit in your pocket," she said, still holding it out to him and looking a bit annoyed.

"And how would I look stuffing them all in?"

They froze. And then, suddenly, they were both smirking at each other, each imagining the expression on the pimply clerk's face.

He shook his head, maybe in answer to her request or maybe in an attempt to cast off the sudden electricity between them. "I'll have them sent up to the castle," he said, turning to go.

She blinked and hurried after him."I didn't know you could do that."

"You can't. But I can. And don't follow me up there, for Merlin's sake."

"Right," she whispered, stopping short, "thank you!"

…*~*J*~*...

Harry, Ron, and Ginny had already found them a table when Hermione arrived at The Three Broomsticks a little while later.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, scrunching up his nose and leaning back in his chair.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "The bookstore."

Ginny snorted. "Big surprise there."

"Did you find anything?" asked Harry, fidgeting nervously.

"I think so. There were a number of texts that looked promising, but I'll let you know what I find after I've searched them more thoroughly."

"What, you bought them?" said Harry. "'Mione, you shouldn't… let me pay you back for them at least."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," said Hermione, turning pink, "you aren't the only one here that's fighting Voldemort."

"Well just let me give you some gold," he insisted. "I've got loads of it, haven't I?"

Hermione hesitated, fidgeting. "It's just… I… well, I didn't actually pay for them…"

Ron straightened in his chair, his eyebrows shooting up. "You mean you stole them? Hermione Granger? Stole books?!"

"No, I…"

Ginny's eyes were wide. "Hermione," she scolded, "that isn't like you."

But Harry's expression remained neutral. "You did what you had to do," he said. "It's for the Greater Good."

"I didn't steal them! I… thought it might look a bit odd for a student to purchase such a large number of dark arts texts, so… I… asked erm… Professor Snape to buy them for me."

The table was silent for a long moment, each of the others staring at Hermione in horrified shock. Harry was the first to speak. "You WHAT?"

"I offered to pay him back, of course, but he insisted…"

Harry was halfway out of his chair now, leaning across the table toward her. "Hermione!" he hissed in an angry whisper, glancing around to be sure no one was listening. "He's a spy! How could you trust him with this?! How could you…"

"I didn't tell him what they were for!"

"Oh right!" Ron hissed. "Like he's not going to put two and two together!"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down, Ronald."

Ron did lower his voice, but that only seemed to make him angrier. His face began to turn red as he continued to berate her. "I can't believe you've let him fool you like this! You've always had a soft spot for that greasy git, but this is going too far! Just because you're sleeping with him…"

"Ronald! That has nothing to do with it! I didn't tell him anything!"

"He's not wrong, Hermione," said Harry through gritted teeth. "Dumbledore trusted me with this. The future of the Wizarding World depends on us keeping it a secret. And then you go flaunting it right under the enormous nose of that miserable, bleeding Death Eater! I never should have trusted you."

"Harry! It's not… don't be like that! Ginny, you understand, don't you?"

Ginny's expression went from shocked to grim. She hesitated. "I think it's really foolish, what you did, Hermione," she said, sounding solemn. "You used to be more careful."

…*~*J*~*...

Her husband's attention was fully occupied by his brewing when Hermione returned to their rooms later that day. He was hunched over the cauldron and appeared to be stirring in a figure-8 while dripping a clear liquid in at precise intervals. She was careful not to draw his attention away, though she knew he had noticed her enter.

The books had been piled on one of the desks in the bedroom, and though they were tied in bundles with Charmed twine, she found herself wondering if he had perused them while she was away.

Ridiculous. She couldn't allow her friends' negativity to infect her marriage. Although, to be fair, she also shouldn't allow her marriage to infect her good judgement and prioritization of the Cause. On the off chance her husband really was faithful to Voldemort, it was not worth the future of the Wizarding World (and the Muggle world, for that matter) to be so careless with the secrets entrusted to her. Severus, himself, had said as much. Hadn't he berated her for nearly confessing the topic of her research on the first day she had known about the Horcruxes? It was an argument both for his innocence and for her need to be more careful in the future. She sighed, plopping herself down in the chair and beginning her perusal of the beautiful new books.

It was getting late when her husband re-entered their bedroom. He looked exhausted, but haughty, smirking arrogantly down at her.

"I take it you've finished, then," she said, holding back a grin of her own.

"Indeed," he said simply. "It only needs to sit a while. Can you wake me in half an hour?"

Hermione did smirk up at him, then. "Certainly," she said, doing her best to hide how warm she suddenly felt inside. She watched him collapse onto the bed, still in his boots, and bury his face in the pillow. A rush of affection nearly overwhelmed her at the sight of him stretched out on his stomach, already beginning to snore.

It was suddenly impossible to focus on her research. All she could think about was the night ahead and having her husband inside of her once more. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, his breath on her face. She wanted to kiss him, to tangle her fingers in his hair. She wanted him to make slow love to her beneath the sheets, to press his lips against her own, to run his talented hands down her body, touching, caressing, appreciating her.

When the time came to wake him up, Hermione stood over him, just watching him breathe. Tentatively, she reached out to him, resting her hand on his back, feeling his warmth through his linen shirt. She let her hand run over his shoulder blade, enjoying the feel of him, then gave him a little shake. His body lurched then went still again. "Time to get up," she murmured, taking the opportunity to run her hand down to the middle of his back and up again, ostensibly in an attempt to wake him. But inside, she wanted to crawl on top of him and explore the muscles of his back with her curious fingers.

"Alright," he grumbled, turning his head from one side to the other, "I'm awake."

Hermione took her cue to leave him alone and returned to her studying. But it was a long moment before he pulled himself out of bed and slumped to the bathroom to get ready for the night ahead.

…*~*J*~*...

Hot water pounded against Severus's back. In his drowsy state, he found himself drifting back to the bed, remembering the way her hand had felt, lingering against him. Like an electric charge or some sort of elemental magic, she had sent his heart racing with that simple touch. He'd had to rest a few minutes longer just to quell the surge of arousal. How desperate he would have seemed to her had she seen the bulge in his trousers that her simple touch had kindled.

He hardly bid his wife farewell when he went to bottle the potion and depart. Lucius was expecting him soon and the earlier he was the earlier he would be permitted to leave.

Malfoy Manor was a flurry of activity when Severus arrived. True to custom, he was there before any other guest, patiently waiting to present his new invention to a very busy Lucius Malfoy. The Hall had been set in a manner somehow both elegant and lewd. A few chandeliers hung high in the ceiling, but their light was warm and dim. And candles were set on tables here and there, close to the walls. The middle of the floor remained vacant, as if for a ball, but around the edges of the room sofas and armchairs had been strategically placed. Some angled toward each other, as if for conversation, but others had been turned away from the rest of the room. Emerald green curtains hung at intervals in rich, velvety ribbons from the ceiling to the floor, Charmed so that they could be dragged into different positions. Privacy was clearly a factor that had been given a lot of consideration.

Servants were darting here and there, setting out dishes and lighting the last of the candles. And Lucius was berating a thin bald man in neat grey robes who appeared to be in charge of the catering. Before he had finished with what appeared to be a scathing critique of the catering staff, Narcissa appeared and made her way across the Hall. "Severus," she cooed, holding a hand out to him, "such a pleasure to see you."

Severus took her hand, bowing his head over it before smirking at her. "Planning to attend this one, Narcissa?"

She shrugged, her eyes trailing off in the direction of her husband. "I suppose. We will be welcoming a number of… newcomers… this evening. They will expect their host's wife to submit to his demands. What sort of example would I set for the ideal of the New Order if I were to rebel on such an important occasion?" She gave him a knowing smirk. "I understand Lucius has commissioned you for a special treat this evening."

"'Commissioned' usually implies payment," he said, smirking back at her. "But, yes, I have brought a little something that I hope will meet the parameters he set for me."

"Well, you will forgive me if I do not partake. I prefer to retain my judgment when surrounded by a hundred total strangers."

"I will allow it this once," he said, winking at her. "Honestly, I don't intend to indulge for very long tonight, myself. I have a pretty little witch waiting up for my return."

"Ah, yes. I heard about that," she said, smirking up at him. "I'm glad to see you are making the most of the… situation."

Severus smirked back at her, giving her a wink as Lucius finally pulled himself away and strode towards them.

"Severus!" he cried, his arms wide and his grin broad upon his haughty face. "I hope you have something for me."

"For you," said Severus, bowing dramatically to Narcissa's delighted laughter and presenting Lucius with a beautiful cut glass decanter. Lucius would never accept anything less.

Lucius's spirits must have been high, because he hardly responded at all to his brother's sarcasm. "Lovely, lovely, Severus. Your services are much appreciated. Shall we give it a try?"

Severus inclined his head, still smirking. "Just a drop will do," he said. He had engineered the potion to linger for about an hour in the bloodstream. He would have a dose of it now and another a little while later. By then, no one would notice if he neglected to partake again. He would be fully aware and sober with plenty of time to return home to his waiting wife.

Lucius waved over a servant and Severus was unsurprised when an exquisite young witch in a slinky silver gown appeared, holding a tray of champagne flutes. He gave the blond wizard a knowing look.

"Well," said Lucius, sneering wickedly, "tonight is about persuasion, after all."

"I take it the Dark Lord will not be in attendance, then?" After all, Lord Voldemort believed such lascivious tactics to be without grace or elegance. He would disdain the whole affair if he knew his right hand man was resorting to such frivolity.

"The Dark Lord believes it best to introduce newcomers incrementally. Those whom we deem fit for service will be invited again in a month or so. We will exclude any who appear… unworthy." With that, he uncorked the decanter, grinning in appreciation when he saw that the glass stopper tapered down to an elegantly twisted stirring rod.

"None for me, Lucius," said Narcissa in a stern voice, lifting a glass off of the tray.

Lucius looked disappointed, but inclined his head toward his wife and grinned reluctantly. "As you wish, my darling." Then he cleared his throat and dipped the stirring rod into the pale blue potion, flicking one droplet into each of the remaining glasses with an elaborate flourish before sealing the decanter and passing it off to another of the catering staff. "To the Dark Lord," he drawled, raising his glass.

"The Dark Lord," echoed Severus and Narcissa. And they drank.

Severus was fully under the effects of the potion by the time the rest of the guests began to arrive. He had anchored himself beside a column, champagne flute in hand, and was resisting the urge to take another sip. Everything was so beautiful. The black and white marbled floor, the flickering candlelight, vases of white roses with their lush, dark green leaves. The small, but talented orchestra playing in a corner of the room.

The Hall smelled of fragrant oil and roasted meat and living flowers. And he was excited. It was a nice change to be wined and dined, to drink the finest champagne and eat the most exquisite dishes and listen to the most beautiful music all under the influence of a potion that made those pleasurable experiences all the more divine.

He watched as Lucius offered his potion to each guest upon arrival, never pressing the ones who declined. They would circle back around later, when they were sure it was what he said it was. And when they had seen the effect it had on the others around them.

Soon, laughter and pleasant chatter filled the air. Severus found himself talking to Corban Yaxley and, shockingly, enjoying the conversation. In this moment, Yaxley was just another man, and one who knew, better than almost anyone in the world, what Severus had been through, how he had ended up here. Yaxley didn't judge him for the decisions he had made in his youth. He didn't condemn him for the things he had done, the beliefs he had held. And it felt good to relax and enjoy the moment with someone who truly understood that and didn't hate him for it.

True, Yaxley did hate him for being a traitor the first time around.

And he was still that traitor, after all. If Yaxley knew that he was betraying their brotherhood even as they spoke…

NO! He could not allow himself to think like that. This was the potion talking. He needed to tread lightly, and keep that in mind.

Severus excused himself to peruse the many exquisite dishes on offer at the table at the back of the Hall. He needed to be careful. The potion was strong. He could feel how muddled his brain was, now that he was taking notice. He needed to eat something. He had just filled a plate with a selection of delicacies when Lucius materialized in front of him. "Join me, Severus. I am about to make a toast." A servant relieved Severus of his plate and handed him another glass of champagne as Lucius sauntered toward the steps at the front of the Hall. Severus was right behind him, taking a strategic place a couple of steps down.

"My brothers," began Lucius, once he had gotten the attention of the crowd, "and honoured guests… tonight we celebrate... the future. Though some have doubted, many of us have held onto our faith that the vision we have for the future of our world will come to fruition. I am here to tell you that that future is nigh." He paused, cut off by a round of excited cheers. "For years we have kept these dreams to ourselves, nourishing them in secret. Our dreams of a world where wizards take their rightful place! Where the magical will no longer be forced to hide away, ruled by the Muggle sheep!"

Severus had to remind himself to play his part, sneering arrogantly up at his brother while the rest of the room cheered with mounting excitement.

"Together," cried Lucius, "we will make this vision a reality! Together we will show the world the might and power of Wizardkind. Banish the impure from our ranks and any who would throw their lot in with such filth." More cheers. Severus's heart was hammering in his chest. "My BROTHERS! I am here today to tell you that TOGETHER we will RULE THE WORLD!"

Lucius raised his glass and Severus turned to see a Hall full of Death Eaters, Ministry officials, and wealthy purebloods all standing together as one, lifting their glasses to the common cause. Part of him was moved by this, as if some invisible force were pulling him to unite with this greater body that had come into being in the moment, drawn together by force of will. And part of him wanted to do anything to break this moment apart, to shatter this unity and the threat it represented to the world, no matter the cost.

"Severus," Lucius murmured and Severus turned to see his brother dripping another dose of potion into his own glass. When he held out the stirring rod for Severus, the potions master inclined his head, holding his own glass closer so that Lucius might administer the drug. "To our common goal!" cried Lucius and the Hall rang with echoes and cheers as everyone drank.

And Severus joined them.

He had intended to wait longer between doses. But the duration of its effects would not be affected by the overlap. It would cycle out of his system in an hour. This only meant that he was slightly more affected than he had planned to be. But the haze of pleasurable delusion was still navigable at present. He would just have to be sure to decline any additional doses and only drink champagne from here on out. Another hour or so and the excitement of the gathering was sure to lead to further, more private debauchery. Before long, he would be free to slip away unnoticed.

Severus took a detour to the bathroom in the corridor for a much needed piss. The relief was exquisite. He was washing his hands under taps that were perfectly warm and with soap that frothed delightfully, when a couple practically fell through the door. The woman giggled in a way that would have been obnoxious had he been sober as the man led her eagerly into one of the heavy oak stalls. All sound was abruptly cut off as the door shut behind them and Severus found himself grinning at Lucius's foresight.

When he returned to the festivities, he immediately filled a new plate from the offerings at the back of the Hall and considered his strategy for the remainder of the evening. He had intended to trick his brothers into sharing their secrets, but that would have to wait until after he had sobered a little more. At present, he did not trust himself in an open conversation with any of them.

Severus settled himself onto an empty sofa, picking at the elaborate delicacies and then devouring them hungrily as bite after bite proved better than anything he had ever tasted. He was stuffing his face with foie gras when Narcissa appeared, dropping delicately onto the seat beside him. "That must be quite the potion," she drawled. He glanced up at her, expecting to find her smirking down at him, but her expression was one of restrained annoyance. And her eyes were focused on something across the room.

Lucius Malfoy was standing with two of the silver-clad servant-girls, an arm around each one of them and a champagne flute spilling from one of his hands. His expression was arrogant and hungry as he spoke to them, running his hands up and down their silky backs. Severus's cock was stiff and throbbing before Narcissa spoke again.

"It isn't that I didn't expect this," she was saying, though her words had ceased to have much meaning. "I have sampled your work in the past and I understand this creation is a bit… stronger… than the other."

Severus shook his head, forcibly pulling himself away from the image. He shouldn't indulge in these emotions. He should block them wherever he could. And anyway, he had a beautiful young wife waiting for him at home. He nearly groaned at the thought of her. My wife. Hermione. She was waiting for him, hoping to talk him into making love to her tonight. And there was nothing he wanted more in the world.

"Well, aren't you dull this evening," Narcissa scolded, giving him a scathing glance as she stood and swept away.

Damn. She would have been the perfect person to talk to while he waited for the effects of the potion to diminish. Soon, a servant took away his empty plate and Severus was left to sit there all alone. He accepted another flute of champagne, to avoid looking suspicious, and sipped it gingerly as he settled further back into the sofa. No one would judge him for getting comfortable, here. Not when so many others were doing so much more than that in the shadowy alcoves and behind the curtains so strategically placed. His cock throbbed at the thought of it and he turned his attention away.

The champagne was exquisite. He had never tasted anything so smooth, so perfectly bubbly. Sublime. Each cold, fizzy sip was a mouthful of pleasure. The taste. The feel. That fizzy, soft, chilled, sweet, perfection. When he had finished his glass, he allowed himself to accept another. After all, the potion would be out of his system before long and this was an adequate distraction in the meantime.

…*~*J*~*...

Hermione had thoroughly examined the first of her collection of dark arts texts by the time nine o'clock rolled around. She hadn't learned much-at least, not much about Horcruxes-but she was completely worn out. Her husband hadn't been gone very long, but she wasn't sure when to expect him, so she decided now was as good a time as any to bathe and prepare herself for him.

The bath was perfect. She had Charmed the water to remain at the exact temperature she preferred, hot enough to melt in but not hot enough to burn. She took her time lathering her body, imagining that her hands belonged to Severus Snape. And a warm tightness was soon building inside of her, begging for release.

By ten o'clock, she was perched at her desk in only her dressing gown, flipping through Witch Weekly, ready to jump up at any minute and pretend she had just emerged from the bathroom. Every now and then, she found herself wandering back in there anyway to study the mirror and change her mind about her hair. She kept thinking she should put it up and then failing to make that look any better before giving up and letting it back down.

But by eleven o'clock, Hermione Granger was beginning to get worried. Surely, her husband was just waiting until the last minute again. Miserable, selfish, idiot man! Surely, he hadn't been held up in any way. They knew now what the consequences would be if they failed to meet the weekly deadline. How could he let her wait in anxious frustration like this? How could he have so little compassion for her nerves?

…*~*J*~*...

Soft bubbling fizz. Ohhhhh sooooo fizzy and sooooo sweet and soooo "Mmmmmmmm…"

"It's good, isn't it?" Perfect perfect perfect. "Sir?"

Severus's eyes drifted away from the glass. A girl. All silver and curves and wavy brown hair. Like Hermione. "Mmmmmmm…"

"I'm not supposed to drink it," she whispered, settling down on his knee and draping an arm around the back of his neck. "But I did anyway."

Breasts. Arse. Waist. Hair. Such a sweet perfume. The world was a haze of pleasure. Severus moaned into her mouth.

Someone else was there, handing him another glass. He drained it in one luxurious gulp. Giggling girls. One on each thigh. Whispering in his ear. All softness and sweet perfume. And painful, urgent need.

"Want to close the curtains?" someone whispered. Severus didn't care about the curtains. He just wanted more of this. More pleasure. And also... relief. Little fingers at his trousers. Unbuttoning. He moaned.

"Severus!" someone was snapping at him. He ignored it. Little giggles. Sweet breath.

"SEVERUS!" Pain. Sharp yet distant. Surprising. Sudden clarity. His cheek was stinging. It was Narcissa. She was standing over him, glaring down at him, her expression something between disgust and concern. "Severus, he spiked the champagne."

Nonsense. He knew that. He watched the man do it.

Her mouth tasted like champagne. "Severus…" Silky hair between his fingers. "Severus…" And someone's fingers at his buttons, once again. "SEVERUS!" And again, he resurfaced. "Do you understand me? The champagne. He spiked the champagne!"

It was the concern in her voice that snapped him out of it. He had been absent. He had not been vigilant. He had lost control. And then the words she had spoken registered in his lust-addled mind. The champagne. Oh gods! Lucius had spiked it all. It was all contaminated. And he… he didn't know how many glasses he'd consumed. OH GODS! He needed to get out of there. He wasn't in control. He wasn't safe.

He was stumbling across the room.

Down the darkened corridor.

Out onto the lawn.

It was so beautiful. Everything was covered in a layer of sparkling white. Pale orbs of light had been set here and there around the garden like miniature moons. It was magical.

And he needed to get the hell out of it.

The Hogwarts Grounds. He was crossing the Hogwarts Grounds. He didn't remember Apparating, but here he was. His panic eased momentarily and he succumbed once more.

The snow crunched so perfectly beneath his boots. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It had been so long since he had relished in the feeling of it. So long since he had been without a care in the world, able to live in the moment. Even the chill of the wind on his face was a sharp pleasure. Delightful. He could die of this exquisite frozen bliss.

He needed to get inside.

The corridors were dark, but he knew the way. He needed to get home.

Home. To Hermione.

Severus moaned aloud. Finally, he was going home to his wife. To his beautiful wife. His eager, virginal wife. She would be more than willing to...

NO! No no no no no. He needed to regain control. He needed to rein himself in. He needed to take his All Purpose Sober-Up Solution. Severus halted his steps as dread rose up from deep within his addled mind. Except he couldn't take his Sober-Up Solution. Not so soon after the last time. It could kill him. He would just have to control himself until the potion was… out of… out of his...

He was walking again. Toward home. Marvelling at the mysterious quiet of the night. Darkness billowed all around him. And he was one with it. He was only a trail of thought and sensation in a sea of unending black.

And here was his door.

Darkness, warmth, the welcoming glow of a fire in the grate and a few candles lit around the room. Home. The sense of safety and comfort seeped through Severus's skin, deep into his bones. He leaned against the wall.

Distantly, he was aware that someone was trying to get his attention. "Are you alright," she was saying, "can I do anything?"

Hermione.

He nearly moaned in recognition. She was right there in front of him. A single form in a world of twisting light. His wife. He registered her appearance in flashes as the world spun around him. Soft dressing gown. Wild tangle of hair. Golden eyes peering out of the ether and fixed on him. Exquisite. A goddess made flesh. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel every curve of her body up against his own.

"Saturday night," she was saying. He knew that meant something. Something important. But his mind was focused on her height and her proximity, the delicate floral scent that seemed to emanate from her.

Perfect beauty.

"Nearly midnight," she continued, and he registered distress. It was enough to make him snap out of his trance and focus for a moment on her words. Oh gods. It was Saturday night. They had nearly missed the deadline. They needed to… They needed to… Ohhhhh Merlin.

"S-sorry," he slurred. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. His words sounded strange. "I'm… I'll… just..." His fingers found the front of his frock coat and made it as far as the first button before his focus drifted away once again. The fine wool had such a lovely, stiff texture. The buttons were so perfectly round. He ran his fingers up and down the line of them, slowly, lingering.

"Do you need me to help, Professor?" she asked, sounding anxious and a little annoyed.

Severus moaned. He could think of nothing he would rather have happen to him right now than for Hermione Granger to undress him. Those delicate fingers fumbling with his buttons. "Mmmmm, yes" he moaned, dropping his hands and leaning back against the wall. He stared down at her as she stepped forward, all virginal hesitance, and began to make quick work of his tightly fixed facade. She pulled off his frock coat and the button-up he wore underneath, then crouched before him on the floor.

Hermione hesitated before beginning on the buttons of her husband's trousers. It was hard to miss the enormous bulge. Last time she had undressed the man, he had been completely flaccid, without the slightest desire to do anything other than go to sleep. Now, however, he was visibly drunk and very ready for their weekly routine. It was enough to make her pulse leap and her stomach squeeze itself into knots. A warm tightness bothered her right between her legs. She shook her head.

His cock sprang loose when she pulled his trousers down. Heat flooded her face and she tried to ignore the way it bounced then stiffened further before her very eyes. He moaned aloud and she thought her cheeks would catch fire.

Severus opened his eyes, taking in the sight of his Hermione on her knees before him. He imagined the way it would feel if she took him into her mouth.

A flash of panic. A moment of clarity. What the hell was he doing? He couldn't go through with this in such a state!

But then she was standing and staring up at him in alarm, one hand on the sash of her dressing gown while the other toyed with the edge where it covered her breasts. And suddenly all he could think was how very much he wanted her to take that ridiculous covering off.

"Are you… ready?" she asked him, sounding hesitant.

"Ohhhhh, yes," he moaned. She hesitated, then let the garment drop. Flawless. Naked. Mine. He was about to reach for her, but she turned and climbed onto the bed, giving him the most delicious view of her round arse and just a glimpse of her raw pink fanny.

Hermione's whole body was taut with embarrassed arousal. She knew the man would be mortified when he remembered this night, but it was hard to keep that in mind with the way his black eyes roved over her and the way his deep voice sounded when he moaned. So primal. So uninhibited by his usually stoic facade.

She stared at the ceiling, heat burning her cheeks, her quick pulse pounding in her chest and between her legs, as he climbed clumsily onto the bed. She felt so vulnerable and bare with him hovering over her, one hand and one knee on either side. And she couldn't keep her gaze from drifting to his naked form. His skin was so pale and his hair so dark. His eyes were clouded with arousal and drink, a little red where they should have been white. And his cock was pulsing slightly between his legs, so swollen and purple that it almost looked strained.

In one clumsy movement that may have been accidental, he lowered himself down onto her, then groaned. His cheek was pressed against her cheek, his chest against the tips of her bare breasts. He reached a hand down between them to push her thighs apart and gasped hot breath into her hair. He couldn't seem to stop touching her, running his hand along the length of her thigh, squeezing the tender flesh with reverence. A tiny whimper escaped her throat and he seemed to remember himself, freezing above her before resuming his task of pushing her legs apart and settling himself between them.

His face was just inches above hers now, but he wasn't meeting her eye. He had braced himself up on one arm and was focusing on his other hand, where it fumbled with his cock between her legs.

When the tip first brushed against her waiting quim, his mouth fell open and his eyes fell closed. He rubbed it back and forth between her folds in a slow, deliberate way that made the slick friction send pleasant tingles up her spine. "Gods," he whispered, opening his eyes to stare down at her in awe, "how are you this wet?"

Hermione bit back a moan. Her body was throbbing in response to his ministrations. She bit her lip, lust spiking again at the expression he gave her, his eyes darting to her mouth. Some part of her knew she shouldn't egg him on, but that wasn't the part of her speaking right now. "I've been thinking about this all day," she confessed, and she delighted in the way his brow furrowed and his jaw grew slack as he began to push himself inside. He did so slowly, deliberately, bending closer to her with each short thrust, so that by the time he was buried to the hilt, his face was buried in her hair.

She could feel his warmth, smell his hair, feel his breath against her ear. His skin was sticky with the first sheen of sweat and his wiry hair tickled her skin where they touched; at her breasts, at her belly, and where their bodies met between her legs. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize this feeling, trying to imagine him finishing the job, but already he was pulling away.

When he sank into her a second time, her eyes flew open and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, assuming that he had lost his balance. But then he was thrusting into her again and again and Hermione gasped in shock and arousal at the realization that he was fucking her.

At the sound of her gasp, he froze, pulling away just far enough to look down at her as his eyes grew wide and his expression morphed into one of horror. And she knew that she should let him pull away, but she couldn't bear to let that happen, to let this end and have him think he had trespassed when she had welcomed him. "Please," she said, before she could give it any more thought. And her hand came up to tangle in his hair.

He gasped, his expression shifting to one of agony and want. He bent forward and buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, pressing his lips against her ear in a gesture so reverent that Hermione gasped. One hand came up to squeeze her breast. Then he was rocking against her again, grinding hard with each thrust, as if lapping up every ounce of pleasure. Hermione moaned.

Suddenly, his mouth was covering her own. His mouth. Her husband's mouth. Severus Snape's mouth was pressed against hers in a rough, sloppy kiss. She froze, taken aback, as he moaned and thrust his tongue between her teeth, slanting his mouth this way and that against her own.

And suddenly Hermione realized that she was not in control. Her professor was out of his mind, fucking her with no inhibitions, thinking only of his own immediate needs. His mouth trailed down her cheek to her neck as he writhed against her; his slow, savoring movements giving way to something eager and desperate. And she knew that she should have been afraid. But something had awakened deep inside of her and all she could feel was a carnal desire to have this man take his pleasure in her flesh.

Soon, he was slamming against her, panting into her hair. His cock was almost painfully large. She could feel him all the way in her stomach, each thrust causing a sharp pleasure to build inside of her. She should have been embarrassed. She should have pulled away. She should have done something to bring him back to their shared reality. But instead, she whimpered with pleasure and desperate need, digging her nails into the skin of his back and tangling her fingers in his hair as she writhed beneath him.

He growled deep in his throat. "Ohhhhh fuck," he hissed as his rhythm grew anxious and erratic. Somehow she knew he was about to orgasm. "N-no," she whispered, pushing on his shoulders, "don't." Suddenly, he was pulling out and freezing above her, pumping a tight fist over his swollen cock and letting out a harsh, broken gasp as hot seed spilled across her stomach and breasts in several long spurts. For a moment, he was as still as a statue, his expression a study in agonized bliss. Then his limbs seemed to give out and he collapsed onto the bed beside her, panting hard in the dungeon air.

Hermione's eyes went wide. She ran a finger through the warm, viscous fluid on her belly. In some ways, seeing his come seemed more intimate and forbidden than everything else. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling in shock, knowing that she had crossed a line, knowing that he would be furious about this tomorrow.

Banishing the mess, she was about to pull away and climb out of bed to retrieve her pajamas when he rolled toward her, draping an arm across her, and pressing his lips to her temple. He yawned into her hair and ran his hand down the length of her body, brushing a thumb over her nipple, squeezing her hip. And she couldn't make herself pull away. Instead, she found herself turning toward him, curling up in his arms, her knees pressed against his, her head tucked under his chin.

He kissed her once more on the top of the head and she allowed herself the single tenderness of kissing the spot in the middle of his chest, delighting in the tickle of his hair and the intimacy of his sweat on her lips. Soon, he was gently snoring and Hermione snuggled up against him and allowed herself to try to fall asleep.

…*~*J*~*...

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