Chapter Eleven: A Welcome Oath

Severus pulled away at the last moment, a strong hand suddenly on her shoulder, halting her progress.

"Don't," he said simply, the commanding tone leaving no room for defiance.

"I'm s- "

"Don't do that, either," Severus added soberly. "Don't apologize for wanting this, and I will never seek absolution for being foolish enough to consider it."

"Is it me?" She waited, tense, dreading the answer, but Severus only smiled - one of those rare, genuine smiles that few would ever be privileged enough to see.

"No, Emily. It is most definitely not you."

"Isabelle, then?"

His lips tightened in displeasure at the question. Instead of answering, he motioned for her to move back. She readily complied, resting her back against the highly-polished black headboard as he lay on his back, his head resting in her lap, just as he'd done when they were children.

It was a ploy, she knew, to distract her from the line of questioning about Isabelle. Apparently, that subject was not open for discussion. He did choose to continue talking, however, for which she was extremely grateful.

"Understand, Emily," he began gently, "that I made a promise to a man who has been like a father to me, the only one I've ever known."

"Dumbledore, I assume?"

He nodded once, eyes closed in pleasure as she began to run her fingers through his hair. "I don't understand you, Sev," she sighed, absently wondering when he had cut his hair so short. It had been past his shoulders when last she'd seen him, a sleek spill of thick, black satin; and she missed it immensely. "Dumbledore all but threw you to the wolves, asking you to spy for him when you came to him for help."

"He didn't," came the soft reply. She looked down at his handsome face, a puzzle of sharp angles in the shadows. "I returned to the Dark Lord of my own volition... after Dumbledore risked his considerable reputation to clear my name."

"Merlin's sake, Sev. I've never heard you sound so... noble." She couldn't help the slight sense of disgust she felt at using such a distasteful term to describe him. "Maybe you should've taken over the Gryffindor house."

"Bite your tongue, woman," he snapped. "I am no such thing, and you know it. My decision made perfect sense, else I would never have considered it. I want the Dark Lord dead," he said simply. "I want his Death Eaters brought to their knees, and there is only one wizard with the power to see that done. I feed him information because I am certain that he will accomplish what no one else can."

Absently, he entwined his fingers with the ones on her unoccupied hand and brought them both to his chest. "I will not suffer being bound until death by a madman." He fell silent, playing with her fingers for a few moments, then pulled her wrist to his mouth for a chaste kiss. The sleeve of her gown he pulled up abruptly, exposing the crisscrossing lines of ugly scars and the untainted Dark Mark in the center. For a moment, the connection that they shared in their younger days was revived as he looked a question at her, and she immediately understood.

"I chipped a piece of stone from the wall of my cell and sharpened it on the floor," she answered simply. "Not quite as effective as a good blade... unfortunately. But, it was all I had."

Grimacing at the revelation, he moved to sit up, ebony hair spilling into his face as he did so. A pale hand reached up to comb it back and froze, eyes widening in shock as they moved to hers.

For a moment, she simply stared back in confusion, unsure of what had unsettled him, then she noticed his hair. It had grown, not a great deal, but enough to spill slightly over his shoulders as it had in his youth. In fact, it looked exactly the way she remembered it.

"How?" he breathed, fingering a dark length of new growth.

She shook her head mutely, staring in open-mouthed wonder. "I didn't do it."

"I believe you did," he refuted, running his fingers through the long mane and holding it up for closer inspection. "I've not seen you do anything like this since you were a child."

"Actually, when I first arrived at Azkaban, one of the Ministry's analysts tried to... take advantage," she was pleased to see his face tighten in anger, "but his hands broke out into bleeding boils when he touched me. It's not unheard of for someone deprived of a wand to revert to the ability to perform wandless magic under great duress. Initially, I assumed it was just an overflow of power from the Dark Lord."

Severus nodded. "It is a glut of power that he offers, that's certain," he agreed, still toying with the ends of his hair. "I must confess that I was surprised when you turned from that power for the sake of your family. That took great strength."

She couldn't help but smile and, judging by the rising heat, a vivid blush was painting her cheeks, as well. The pleasure quickly faded though with the memory of Voldemort's fury and her father's subsequent death. Moodily, she slumped back on the pillows, staring up at the black canopy.

"A great lot of good it did us," she muttered bitterly. "If I'd killed him myself, I could've at least seen that it was quick," she swallowed thickly, fighting the sudden choke of tears, "and painless."

"I am truly sorry, Emily," he said quietly. "Your father was a good man, one of the few I've ever known."

She sighed deeply, then smiled as heavy lids closed over her eyes. "You did what you had to do, Sev, made the necessary sacrifice, something I've never been strong enough to manage."

Silence was his answer, but just as she began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutiny, he stretched out beside her, lightly brushing the hair from her face. "You're the strongest woman I know, Emily... in your own, twisted way."

She heard rather than saw the smile as he spoke, and returned it sleepily... before the world fell away beneath her.

"I feel terrible," came the muffled answer from somewhere beneath the mound of blankets.

"Well, I can't bloody well treat you with several layers of linen between us," Severus snapped.

"It's too bright out there."

"Oh, for pity's..." Severus muttered a dimming charm, darkening the window and muting the torches on the wall, something she could've bloody well done herself, then yanked the covers from her head, scattering a puff of wild hair. "Are you injured or ill?" he queried brusquely.

"My back hurts," she whined into the pillow.

"Is that bloody all?"

"No."

Severus waited impatiently for her to continue.

"My shoulders hurt, as well."

"Then, we shall..."

"And my arms and my legs... and my neck."

He sighed irritably. "Then, we..."

"And I have a headache," she interrupted, pulling the blanket over her head once more and punctuating the action with a yelp of pain. "Now, go away."

He could no more stop his eyes from rolling than he could have stopped the sun from rising... which it had done several hours ago. They should have breakfasted and been on their way to assess the runic circle in the caverns by now, but Miss Grey had found it necessary to have a three hour lie in. If this is revenge for moving her to her own bed after she fell asleep in mine, I swear the little tart will wish she'd never been born!

It had only been a few minutes ago that he'd lost all patience with her and stormed into her room insisting that she rise. She had given him a flat and rather filthy refusal before yanking the cover over her head with a willful finality.

A distressed obscenity was heard when he pressed lightly between her shoulder blades. The same result was to be had when he repeated the action with her neck and shoulders. Experimentally, he gave her right arm a tight squeeze, and she accused his father of greatly dishonoring his mother, which warranted a severe reprimand. His parents were not wonderful people by any means, but they'd been well and properly married before his conception.

"Emily Grey, you are merely experiencing a bit of soreness from your activities yesterday. You may conclude your histrionics, now."

Something sounding like a cross between a lascivious invitation and a nasty insult came from beneath the covers, but he chose to ignore it, instead leaving to procure a bottle of oil that would not only ease the pain but relax the tightened, knotted muscles as well.

"Alright, Emily," he began, as reasonably as he could manage, "get out of bed, take a very hot bath, then apply this..."

"I am not getting up," she growled. "The damned runes can wait a day. Now, go away!"

Severus ground his teeth, pushing back the urge to hex her. "You wish to be difficult?" he purred smoothly. "Fine."

In an instant the linens were gone, vanished entirely from the bed along with her nightgown, and he was astride her wildly protesting form. A firm press of his wand to the base of her skull stilled her.

"Now," he began silkily, "we can do this under the Imperius curse, or you can lie still and be silent while I attend to your needs. Which do you choose?"

He could practically hear the vicious tirade in her mind that she would have loved to unleash upon him, but the threat of the Imperius hung over her head like an angry dragon, and he waited for the indignant acceptance that he knew would come.

He hadn't long to linger.

"Alright, fine," she snapped quietly, obviously embarrassed. "Just get it over with."

"Get it over with?" he repeated incredulously, his voiced laced with great offense. "What happened to the Slytherin who used to turn every negative situation to her advantage?" he purred, kneading her shoulders with well-oiled hands. To his satisfaction, she moaned aloud at his touch.

On a rare occasion, he'd had the opportunity to do this for Isabelle after she'd been mishandled by other Death Eaters and learned that he had quite an aptitude for it. It was his delight to use that gift now to subdue his charge, and it certainly rivaled any hex or curse he knew for causing a subject to melt beneath his touch. Soon, she had gone from cursing him to whispering his name in pleasure, and he concentrated carefully on not allowing the sound to arouse him as much as it threatened to.

Deftly, he slid his hands to her lower back, working the lean muscle which had begun to develop there. Her body was improving rapidly, but her hurried recovery was also responsible for making her feel as though she'd been wresting a troll. Still, two huge steps forward for one tiny step back wasn't bad. And, he had to admit, running oiled hands over her naked skin was hardly a hardship.

It wasn't until he moved to her thighs and his body began to harden, that he realized he had unwisely begun to enjoy this as much as she. Her breath caught when he began to work the backs of her knees, and the desire to trace the path of his hands with his mouth was almost irresistible.

The famous Snape control won out in the end, though, and within the hour she was back in her gown, yawning and stretching as though she'd just awakened from a long sleep.

"Mab's heart, Severus, you should quit teaching and open a massage parlor on Knockturn!"

He merely smirked and nodded to the fruit-and-scone-laden tray which had appeared with a sharp pop a few seconds earlier. "You should eat," he said, not managing to finish speaking before a second tray, this one filled with eggs and sausages, appeared beside the first. He glanced over his shoulder at the new arrival. "Have you taken to eating meat after all these years?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not on your life. That must be for you."

He considered her for a long moment, still remembering the feel of her skin beneath his hands. "It's not what I'm hungry for," he said regretfully, "but I suppose I'll have to settle."

"You don't have to, Severus," she responded soberly. "That was my point last night. And thank you for kicking me out of your bed, by the way. You really know how to make a girl feel loved."

"Yes," he agreed casually, giving her a positively wicked smile. "I've been told that I do."

"Don't do that, Severus," she said seriously. "Don't tease me. That's heartless."

An elegant eyebrow lifted before he closed the distance, sealing his mouth over hers possessively. One perfect moment later, she was on her back as he knelt over her, selfishly keeping his body from hers. Despite the lack of danger in this instance, her heart fluttered wildly beneath her breast. A single flick of his tongue and she opened her mouth to him, deepening the kiss, setting a flame of desire that engulfed her in an instant.

"Know this, Emily," he whispered, backing away just enough to break the kiss, his lips still brushing hers, "I am no longer a child. I do not tease."

With that, he began to pull away, hesitating when she tightened her grip on his waist.

"Then, don't stop," she pleaded.

He closed his eyes against her. "Emily..."

She wouldn't, couldn't allow him to finish, instead rising up to crush her lips against his. There was no help for it, really. She'd never been able to resist temptation. Severus was the one with the strong will. Let him stop what he'd started, if he could. It didn't take a genius to tell that he wanted this as badly as she. She fully expected him to pull away, then give her one of his grueling lectures, but to her delight he only eased back a bit, slowing her pace, cooling the fire a few degrees... wresting control once more. A slightly calloused hand stroked her cheek with agonizing tenderness before his lips moved on, grazing her neck with feathery kisses, then returning to her mouth again and again.

Twenty years, she thought, twenty years, I've wanted this, and it's sweeter than I dared to dream. A frustrated groan escaped him when her hand slipped beneath his loose-fitting shirt, smoothed along his back, and urged his body down to hers. As if some spell had been broken, his body went rigid and his head jerked away from hers.

"No!" he gasped. With a deep, shuddering breath, he drew himself away and stood beside her bed, looking away as he mastered himself once more. Stubbornly, she stood as well, placing a hand lightly, innocently on his chest, a question in her eyes.

"You truly want this?" he whispered to the wall behind her head. "You're certain?"

"Severus Snape," she answered steadily. "I have wanted you for as long as I knew what it meant to want a man."

His gaze returned to hers. "Then, listen to me carefully." He took her face in his hands as he spoke, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "When this is over." He stopped to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. "When the school is safe." He placed another on her left cheek. "When you are free." His lips brushed the other cheek. "I will take you to my bed." His lips covered hers briefly. "I will give myself to you." He kissed her again, more deeply this time. "And I will make you my own as you should have been from the beginning," he whispered against her waiting mouth. "This I promise you." He backed away and commanded her gaze sternly. "But. Not. Now. Now there is work to be done."

He turned away and headed for the door, his tray following him obediently. "Eat," he ordered over his shoulder. "You'll need your strength."