See disclaimers on chapter 9.
A/N: This chapter goes back to the old format of present day happenings appearing in regular type and flashbacks appearing in italics.
Also, this chapter includes elements of underage sexual activity. If this is going to bother you, please don't read any further.
Chapter 11
The first time Hermione had encountered Sirius Black, she was terrified.
At the time of that memorable encounter in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year, she thought he was a murderer, she knew he was a fugitive, and she believed he was about to kill her and her two best friends. Sheer terror was the only possible emotion under the circumstances and Hermione thought her heart would implode under the weight of it, sparing Black the dubious inconvenience of having yet more innocent blood on his hands.
As the evening unfolded, however, her fear became a sort of emotional animagus, transforming first into confusion (how could the preposterous story he and Professor Lupin were telling them about Scabbers possibly be true?), then to worry (what could she do to save this blameless man from the Dementor's Kiss?) and finally to relief as she saw Buckbeak fly off into the night sky with Sirius firmly clutching his feathered neck. In her fourth year, when she, Ron and Harry had met up with Snuffles outside Hogsmeade and trailed him back to the cave he'd adopted for his hiding place, she had been overwhelmed with concern for Harry's thin, sickly-looking godfather. And after the war, when Dumbledore had seen to it that Sirius's name was cleared and hired him to teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, she had whooped loudly with the joy of knowing that he was finally able to return to his rightful place in the wizarding world. Somehow, he had managed to evoke the full gamut of her emotions in the four years she had known him, save one – she had never been angry with him.
Until now.
In fact, the word "anger" was woefully inadequate to describe her current feelings toward Black. She was absolutely furious with him, enraged at the callous way he had treated Snape. At the callous way he had treated her – for she had been there, not just as an observer, but as part of Severus when he relived Sirius's vicious little prank. She could still feel the tingling stripe on her own cheek and nose where the hot water had bubbled across Snape's face, could vividly recall his rising panic at the thought that he had just been grievously burned, perhaps beyond repair. But most importantly, she had tasted Snape's animosity and hatred toward his tormentor, had chewed it up and swallowed it, and now it was part of her, as well.
She pounded on the piano keys savagely, playing the loudest and fastest pieces she knew in an attempt to work through her resentment. She didn't want to be angry at Sirius. It just didn't feel right somehow, for he had never been anything but kind to her and her friends. Until now, the clearest image of him in her mind had been the look on his face when Harry returned from the war, an expression of anguished worry mixed with jubilant pride, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he hugged the tired boy fiercely to his chest. She found it hard to reconcile this perception of him with that of the cruelly playful teenager intent on making Snape the butt of yet another of his stupid practical jokes. She was seeing Sirius with different eyes now – Snape's eyes – and he did not look good to her.
No. To the converse, he had never looked worse. And for once, even the frantic strains of music she hammered out did nothing to ease her pique. Over an hour of playing until her fingers were sore did nothing to lighten her mood. In fact, it had just the opposite effect, she thought morosely as she finished playing and carefully examined her hands. She was probably going to be sporting a nasty set of blisters by the following morning.
"Bravo!" cried a pair of baritone voices when the echo of the final chords faded, and she spun around on the bench, startled to find that she had an audience. Sirius and Remus stood together just inside the doorway, smiling and clapping their hands in appreciation. Funny how they always seem to be together, she thought offhandedly as her throat constricted with renewed anger at the sight of Black.
"That was wonderful, Hermione!" Remus exclaimed.
"Thank you," she said quietly, rising to her feet and stepping around the bench. She hoped that Sirius would remain silent. She wasn't sure she'd be able to control her temper if he decided to speak to her.
No such luck. "Have you finished?" the animagus asked in a disappointed tone. "I was hoping you'd play something else for us."
"I've no time right now," she replied tightly. "Must be going."
"Sirius has had a letter from Harry this morning, Hermione," Remus informed her as she made to brush by them.
"Yes, and it sounds like he's having a fabulous summer with the Weasleys," Sirius added. "He's been working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Fred and George are having an absolutely marvelous time corrupting him, by all accounts."
"That's lovely," Hermione replied, training her eyes on the floor. Her voice was trembling with suppressed emotion as she bit back the tongue lashing she longed to give him.
Sirius glanced at her quizzically. "Yes," he said, then cleared his throat. "Well. Anyway, he says the Weasleys are very excited about your visit to the Burrow. Coming up soon, isn't it?"
"The end of August," she said. She couldn't stand to be in the same room with him a moment longer. "Excuse me, please. I have a great deal of work to do."
The two men exchanged puzzled looks as she shouldered her way past them and marched out of the room.
****
The door to Snape's chambers was ajar when Hermione got there, a tiny crack that allowed only the thinnest shaft of muted firelight to escape into the corridor. Anyone else who approached would have assumed that he had been careless about closing his door and did not wish to be disturbed, but Hermione knew that his leaving it open even such an small amount was an invitation for her to enter. She pushed it open quietly, without knocking, then closed it firmly behind her.
She and Snape had fallen into a comfortable pattern over the preceding few weeks. They each went about their daily tasks as usual, she in the upper part of the castle and he down here in the dungeons, and their paths seldom crossed before the sun went down. But each evening, they sought each other out. Most nights they stayed together until it was quite late, talking, reliving his life or simply working side by side in the silence, but Hermione for one was not overtired by the late hours they kept. Their Empathetic exchanges worked on her like the deepest of dreams, and she usually "awoke" from them feeling fully rested and often rejuvenated.
They did not appear to be affecting Snape quite so benignly, however, and the lack of sleep had obviously caught up with him. He was sprawled out on the couch in his rooms when she entered, one forearm slung over his eyes to guard them from the firelight. His robes were hung over the back of a chair, leaving him clad only in the work-wrinkled trousers, boots and long-sleeved shirt he had worn beneath. The top few buttons of his shirt were open and his sleeves were rolled to mid-bicep, plainly exposing the Mark on his arm. It was red and inflamed once again, and she guessed – correctly – that he had spent the better part of the afternoon in pain.
He stirred sleepily when the door clicked shut, his spy's senses apparently still attuned to the slightest changes in his environment despite the passage of time since he'd last had cause to fear them. He moved his arm just enough to reveal one dark eye, the pupil swimming through a drowsy haze as it tried to focus on her.
"Go back to sleep," she urged softly before he could speak. "I'll come back tomorrow night."
"No. Come here," he rasped in a sleep-roughened voice, shifting his hips to make room on the couch beside him. She crawled into the narrow space he created between the back of the couch and his body, resting her head on one thin shoulder and sighing contentedly as he curled his left arm around her shoulders.
She could feel the heat emanating from his Mark through her robes, a fire smoldering just beneath the surface of his skin, and it made her chest ache to sense the pain it was causing him. And yet she could also tell that the pain was not the only thing on his mind just then. He'd managed to compartmentalize it somehow, setting it aside as a matter to be dealt with later – by which time it would hopefully have gone away on its own. No, something else was preeminent in his mind at that moment, something just as primitive as the pain but far more pleasant.
Desire.
With a start, she realized he'd been in the middle of an erotic dream when she had awakened him, and he was still turning it over in his head. Her presence beside him had evidently given a corporeal dimension to his thoughts, because his feelings were suddenly blindingly apparent.
He wanted her.
And he intended to have her... but not until later. Gentle waves of his need washed over her even as his brain once again relinquished itself to Hypnos, their peaks not yet high enough to do much more than wet her feet, but ripe with the unmistakable promise of swelling to the strength of a tsunami once he was fully awake.
A flame was lighted deep in her own belly at the delicious thought of being with him again. Other than sharing a few kisses and holding hands during their exchanges, they had not had any meaningful physical contact since that night at The Three Broomsticks, and she still yearned to discover what true completion felt like. Her body began to buzz with the anticipation, and she tentatively plucked at the buttons on his shirt front to see if she could hasten his return to consciousness. But he simply coiled his fingers around hers to still them before drifting back to sleep.
It would have to wait.
She sighed again, this time in resignation. He really did need his rest, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.
No matter. He would be awake soon enough, and this brief nap likely meant he would be able to stay alert that much longer when they were finished. In the meantime, she burrowed in closer to his warmth and closed her eyes, unconsciously allowing herself to slip into the now familiar haze signaling the beginning of another trip into his past…
****
His hair was hanging down into her mouth again, Severus noted absently as he closed his eyes and positioned his pelvis between her wide-spread thighs.
She hated that. She had complained about it a few times before, but he had forgotten to tie it back into a ponytail earlier and there was nothing on Earth that would make him stop to do it now. He tossed his head impatiently in a vain attempt to throw the errant locks over his shoulder as he tilted his hips forward, sheathing himself within her fully in one long, smooth stroke. She positively purred as she arched up underneath him, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the skin of his back, which was now criss-crossed with the healed remnants of the thin, bloody ribbons she had cut there previously.
Gods, this was the most amazing feeling in the world. Alistair had been right – it was a hundred times better to feel the caress of slick muscle clenching and boiling around him than it was to toss off with his own hands. Yes, that's it, think about Alistair, he told himself wildly. Think about Quidditch, think about *anything* that will help you make this last. After all, that was what she had taught him, wasn't it? Don't surrender to the pleasure until they were both raw with it. Screaming from it. Drowning in it. He had not quite perfected the technique, but he was a very eager pupil and he was sure he would become highly skilled at it with a little more practice.
And bloody hell, he intended to practice as much as humanly possible.
He moaned as she bucked beneath him, moving faster now, tantalizing him as much as he did her. He was close, oh gods, *so* close to pouring out his love inside her… for that's what it was. Love. He had never known the feeling before, but this had to be what it felt like. It was pure and holy and he wanted to possess her totally, feasting on the sweet nourishment that was her clutching embrace for the rest of his days.
"Say my name, Severus," she gasped, spitting his hair out of her mouth as her own climax began to overtake her. Her voice was nearly unintelligible as their bodies gyrated in an ever more rapid dance. She always demanded this of him, reveling in the agonized groans he made as her name tripped out past his lust-cracked lips. "Come with me, Severus, and say it. I want to hear you say it…"
****
From across the ocean, someone was calling her name, and something clamped down on her shoulder so hard that it hurt. Hermione pulled back from the precipice of ultimate pleasure over which Severus had been about to leap and sped onward toward the sound of her name, instead. Slowly, she disentangled herself from the exchange, and as she returned to full awareness she realized that Snape's body was rigid beside her, his arms constricted around her shoulders like two iron bands.
"Hermione," he growled, his vibrations tinged with anger. "Don't."
She shook the final vestiges of the fog from her mind before lifting her head to stare into his blazing black eyes. "Don't what?" she asked, puzzled. What had she done?
He shifted from beneath her and rolled off the couch onto his feet. "Don't ever try to enter my memories again without my consent," he hissed.
She sat up quickly, blushing, as Snape stalked to the other side of the room, arms folded across his chest. When he turned toward her again, his face was composed into dark, unreadable lines, his eyes shuttered and his lips compressed into a thin, bloodless slash. He had never seemed so… closed… to her before, not even on his worst days as her teacher.
"I – I'm sorry, Severus," she stuttered, shame and guilt welling up in her chest. He was right – what she had done was inexcusable. If she had attempted to take those kinds of liberties with his body, it would have been an offense worthy of Azkaban. And surely, what she had done was worse. She bowed her head and studied the interlaced fingers she cradled in her lap. "I wasn't thinking."
"That much is obvious," he replied harshly. "I shouldn't have to remind you that all of this" – he waved his hand in the air between them – " is difficult enough for me as it is. You've no right to push me any further any faster than I am prepared to go. No right at all."
She stifled the urge to apologize again, knowing that saying it once already was both too much and not enough. Instead, she rose to her feet and crossed to where he stood, pulling at his arms to extricate them from their position across his chest. He resisted at first, studying her with hard, unblinking eyes, but when she tugged at him a second time he allowed her to unfold them and lay her head against his breastbone. She was cautious now not to extend her reach into his mind again, but by the mere act of touching him she could sense his emotions. He was angry and confused and deeply disappointed… but at his very core, the hunger for her still remained.
She raised her hand and stroked the bare patch of skin at the V of his shirt collar with her fingertips, following each feathery-light touch with gentle kiss. He stiffened at the initial caresses, knowing full well that she was trying to distract him from his anger, and she felt a sudden frisson of fear that he would reject her and send her away from the dungeons entirely. But soon enough, she could feel his negativity melting away under her ministrations until only the desire was left in its wake.
It was not forgiveness. It was reluctant acceptance built on a foundation of want. But she knew she would have to settle for that, since she could do nothing to right the wrong.
She tipped her head up to offer him her mouth and he accepted it, pressing the full length of his lean body into hers as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. She parted her lips and he slipped his tongue between them, exploring her mouth gently at first, then more urgently as his pulse quickened. She felt the proof of his need growing insistent against the lower part of her belly as he pulled back to mark her throat with possessive nips.
"Severus, take me to bed," she whispered breathlessly, capturing his sensitive earlobe between her front teeth.
And he kissed her again, thoroughly and ferociously, before taking her hand and leading her toward his bed chamber.
****
Later, much later, they lay together in the darkness, a collection of quivering limbs entangled in each other and in the sweat-soaked sheets. Hermione was grateful that the room was black as the tomb, for she did not want him to see the look of disappointment painting her face.
He had tried, he really had. Unlike their first experience together, this night he had gone slowly, taking his time and delaying his own release as long as possible in an attempt to help her realize hers… but something held her back. Precisely what that something was, she did not know, for he had done exquisite things to every inch of her body. Things that made her breath catch in her throat and her nerve endings sizzle, things that made her toes curl and her spine arch. He made her feel sensual and hedonistic and wanton and sinfully carnal, but in the end it was not enough.
He worked his magic on her body for a long time, not allowing her to touch him in return, keeping his eyes on the prize at all times. But even the most patient of men cannot ignore the siren song of want forever, and finally he could wait no longer. He took her then, forcefully but not roughly, hissing his passion into the curve of her neck. Another incredible, searing, frustrating set of sensations followed for her as they moved together, joined as one being until he achieved what she had been denied.
And now that his breathing had finally resumed its normal rhythm, he rolled away from her and lay on his back on the other side of the bed. The absence of physical contact was jarring to her after such a prolonged period of touching him, especially as she desperately wanted to know what he was feeling at that moment. She couldn't help but wonder if he was mentally comparing her lack of responsiveness to that of the enthusiastic woman she had witnessed him with in his past.
Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with curiosity about that mystery woman. Who was she, anyway, that he had cared for her so much and made love to her so often? The exchange had been an atypical one in that she did not have full knowledge of all that had transpired during that moment of Severus's past. Perhaps it was because it had occurred while he was dreaming, but she wasn't sure. In any case, given the means by which she had obtained the information, she knew it would be unwise to press him, but her need to know outstripped her better judgement.
Not for the first time, either.
"Severus?" she ventured hesitantly, "can I ask you a question?"
"If I said no, would that stop you from doing so?" came his weary reply.
She smiled into the darkness. He knew her too well.
"Very well. Ask."
"That woman you were with… was it Harry's mother?"
He snorted. "No. Lily Evans never looked at anyone else after she met Potter." He positively spat when he said the name. "We were friends, and that was all there was to it."
"Oh."
They were both silent for a moment.
"Who was she, then?" Hermione said finally, cringing when Snape sighed heavily at her persistence.
"Must you know?" His voice had a hard edge to it.
She turned onto her side so she was facing him and reached out with one hand. "Please…?" she whispered.
He loosed an irritated growl. "You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met…" he began, but then he seemed to think better of it and stopped in mid-sentence. Instead, he clamped his fingers around the hand she proffered and pulled it roughly against his bare chest.
"You want to know?" he sneered in a dangerously low tone. "Then know."
And he turned his mind outwards, opening it for her inspection once again.
****
"Say my name, Severus," she demanded urgently. "Come with me, Severus, and say it. I want to hear you say it…"
He hummed the first letter of her name into the air above her face, wanting to delay fulfilling her request until he was at the very moment of his climax. A few more powerful lunges and suddenly they were both there… together… oh gods, oh gods, yesyesyesyesyes…!
"Marinall…" he moaned, tasting the name that was sweeter on his lips than the finest chocolate in the world as he emptied himself deep within the grasping body of his stepsister.