Chapter Twelve - Darkness and Trust

Celeste awoke as the mantle clock chimed the three-quarter hour. She didn't move – she decided she was too comfortable, warm and relaxed to ever want to move again. She was lying on her side in Snape's king-size four-poster bed and he was nuzzled tightly against her back, their naked bodies pressed together. Like two spoons in a cutlery box, she thought.

Considering his cold and sarcastic manner he was a surprising lover – playful, thoughtful, passionate. Is he handsome, Celeste wondered? Well, he would be if his normal expression wasn't sneering, which it often was; or fanatically intense which it quite often was; or stern which it sometimes was. Sometimes he looks bored, sometimes sad, often defensive, never happy or friendly. But yes, to me he is handsome, she decided. His teeth are uneven; not so yellow as they used to be, but not perfect. And yet he is so alluring, so fascinating. I know I've been in love with him for a while. If I'd wanted someone conventionally handsome I could have made a play for Dieter Brandauer. If I'd wanted someone kind and considerate, open, and happy, I could have had Charlie Weasley. And yet Severus can be considerate – that is part of the allure, that a wizard so powerful and potentially dangerous can be tender, kind, even vulnerable.

But Dieter has a similar air of cruelty, she realised, and he is extremely handsome; so why do I want Severus? Why did I never fall for Dieter? Celeste had never been interested in pursuing Dieter Brandauer, but she found this idle comparison of the two wizards an interesting exercise. Severus is arrogant, she thought. But so is Dieter. Severus can be insufferable. Dieter is too much of a smarmy wheeler-dealer to portray himself as insufferable – it wouldn't serve his purpose. Severus is a strange mixture of ego and insecurity – that's it! Dieter has no insecurity! He knows he is wonderful! He knows he is clever! He knows he is God's gift to women!

And Severus has, or perhaps has developed, a certain ethical foundation, an irreducible limit beyond which he will not now sink. He is ambitious, but not pitilessly opportunistic like Dieter. Dieter is educated, skilled and clever. But Severus is more – intellectual, wise, honed by sad experience. Cold, but dependable; ultimately trustworthy. And the only wizard I had ever found who, despite his sarcasm, will make a serious attempt at discussing mathematics and quantum physics.

Just let me stay here for ever, in this rather gothic room, with this rather gothic man.

Without moving, she checked to see how well she could recall Snape's bedchamber. It had the same plain green luxurious carpet laid over flagstones as was in his sitting room, but the rug by the hearth was black and pearl grey with a bold design of a ferocious black dragon. A Hungarian Horntail, Celeste mused – fiercest dragon I ever tackled!

The bedroom walls were of stone and merged seamlessly with the vaulted ceiling. They were unadorned except for a huge Persian carpet suspended from a brass rail on the inside of the corridor wall, opposite the foot of the bed. It was there partly for decoration and to give the room some warmth, but mainly to conceal the disused door that lead from the bedroom to the corridor. For reasons of security Snape had never used that door – he had sealed it when he first took up residence of the dungeons.

The hanging carpet was worked in shades of peacock blue, jade and sea green on a background of pale cream. The central oval panel of its design showed a magnificent peacock in full display; and other animals, some commonplace, some mythical, were depicted in rectangular panels around its border. The panel pictures were fused together into one harmonious whole by a flowing decoration of leaves and tendrils.

Apart from the carved bed, the room was furnished with two double wardrobes, a linen chest, two low seated, spoon-backed chairs, two bedside tables, a sea-captain's chest and two trunks. The furniture ranged from old to ancient and was of carved oak. The bed hangings were of dark green velvet and matched the velvet upholstery of the spoon-backed chairs. A venomous serpent, embroidered in silver threads wound across the pale green, silk counterpane. Beneath it, cream wool blankets and silver-grey monogrammed, white cotton bed linen covered their entwined, drowsy figures.

The wardrobes flanked a black marble fireplace. It was identical to the sitting room fireplace, and had a high shelf upon which rested a little French carriage clock with a soft double-note chime like an elfin bell.

As Celeste lay in bed, thinking Snape must have a lot of clothes to fill all this bedroom furniture, the little clock emitted five discrete double tings.

"Severus, it's five o'clock!" she exclaimed.

"Mmmmm?" he sighed.

"We ought to get up soon" she added, half-heartedly.

"Soon … Don't fuss" he drawled. Snape felt blissfully sated and far too comfortable to get out of bed. He laid his cheek against hers and his hand stroked her hip. The edge of her pelvis was still quite sharp to touch. "You're fleshing out a little bit at last, thank goodness" he whispered. "You did get very thin." He nibbled the lobe of her ear and moved his hand up to her breast. "I suppose we must get up soon. But before we do … wouldn't madam like to have … just … one more …"

"Oh, Severus!" She could feel him becoming aroused once again. It was growing exceedingly apparent. She eased her thighs apart and reached down to encourage him. "Mmmmmm! Oooooh, Severus!" she sighed excitedly.

It was six o'clock before they got out of bed. Snape showed first and hauled a fresh set of robes out of a wardrobe. "Get out of that bed" he growled playfully. "You are the one who insists we mustn't be late for dinner."

Reluctantly Celeste slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. "Have I got time for a bath?" she called.

"Despite your touching faith in my psychic abilities, I cannot foretell how long it takes to clean that skinny body of yours" he called back. "Yes, of course, take a bath if you like. But Celeste, you must– aah! Phah!" He spluttered as a damp sponge hit him accurately in the face, and ruefully he recalled Celeste's Quidditch abilities. Picking up the sponge, he lobbed it back to her. "You must take this potion soon!" he insisted.

He started work to prepare a goblet of Contraceptive Potion.

Surrounded by a fragrance of sandalwood, Celeste basked in the warm, foamy water in the long, white, enamelled bath. The bathroom did not look as she had imagined it. She had expected a green colour scheme like the bedroom and sitting room, but these surroundings were predominantly soft grey, white and maroon.

The sanitary ware was white, with fittings of solid brass. The bath and the capacious hand basin were panelled in a rich, purplish mahogany. All the wood in the room was mahogany. The separate shower cubicle was panelled with etched glass. The walls were clad with expansive slabs of white marble, veined with silver grey. The floor was literally a mosaic – white, dove grey and silvery hued tesseri depicting the classical Boy-on-a-Dolphin motif, copied from the Roman Villa at Fishbourne in West Sussex.

The only mirror in the room was tiny and fixed to the wall above the hand basin. It appeared to be a Muggle mirror. It could be tilted to any angle and Celeste guessed Snape used it for shaving. The hand basin's mahogany panelling formed a vanity unit upon which she could see his shaving kit and the few toiletries he used. Few indeed! And hardly ever used? But costly nevertheless – she noticed Givenchy Pour Homme, and Chanel's Allure Homme and Egoiste Platinum. Expensive presents from admiring witches, Celeste wondered – he certainly seems to be an experienced lover.

The Victorian wooden towel stand was draped with fluffy maroon towels, all bearing smart grey monograms – pairs of red-eyed serpents forming the capital letters SS. The monogram motif was identical to Snape's bed linen.

All in all, a rather masculine room, she concluded. It reminded her of a gentlemen's club. She lay back and gazed at the vaulted stone ceiling with its black iron ring of candles. They, like the bath foam, were emitting a delicate scent of sandalwood. "Aah! What a pity I can't lie here all day" she sighed. Then she remembered that she hadn't eaten since breakfast and decided this bath must get underway! She sat up and reached determinedly for the Chanel Allure Homme hair and body wash.

In less than half an hour Celeste emerged from the bathroom swathed in an enormous bath sheet and with a towel wrapped around her hair. She sat on the bed, watching Snape. He was standing in front of the mirror that hung on the inside of a wardrobe door, carefully 'brushing' any fluff off his black robes with his wand. He returned the wand to his sleeve, perched on the opposite edge of the bed and leant across to her, proffering the goblet of potion he had prepared.

"You should drink this" he said solicitously. "I am not quite ready to become a father. Not just yet. But perhaps … one day soon."

She looked at him and realised there was a look of deep longing in his eyes. "You're a funny thing" she said, stroking his hair. He kissed the palm of her hand. As she sipped the potion, her eyes were again drawn to the open wardrobe door. She could just see the mirror's edge, and as Snape stood up she compared its position to his height. "How can you see yourself in that mirror?" she asked.

Snape was already swinging the door closed. "Well enough" he replied curtly. He seemed suddenly displeased. Or perhaps uneasy. Maybe he didn't like the mirror talking back, and had set it so that it did not reflect his face.

"Your wand, Severus" she asked, changing the subject. "Is it ebony?"

"Yes" he replied proudly, pulling it out. "It has the heartstring of a Hungarian Horntail. And yours?"

"Red cedar" she said, picking hers up from the bedside table.

"With phoenix feather, no doubt" he added. "Or unicorn hair."

"No. Mine has a dragon heartstring too – Chinese Fireball" she replied.

Snape was surprised. "Curious" he said. "Curious we should both have dragon cores. Red. And black."

"Trust you to have the Horntail" Celeste snorted. "Fiercest dragon I ever had to handle. And the hottest fire. That's where I got this from." She turned her arm to display the scar.

"But Chinese Fireballs are fierce, aren't they?" he asked.

"They're very playful" Celeste explained. "Mischievous – a bit like Peeves. They can produce a big mushroom burst of orange fire, but it's not so hot as the Horntail's. The Horntail's definitely you – fierce, unpredictable and blisteringly hot."

"Hmm, enough of this character analysis, Woman" he replied. "Come on, or we will be late."

Celeste dressed hurriedly in her day clothes, and then went to her room to change for the evening. "I'm sitting in my old place at dinner" she had told Snape. "You won't mind will you."

He would have preferred her to sit beside him, but he didn't mind too much. He watched her walk into the Hall in company with McGonagall. The Deputy Head wore her usual green velvet robe over a black dress. Celeste looked magnificent in her velvet-edged plum robe over her high-necked carmine dress. As usual she had put up her hair. She sat chatting to Filch and Hagrid, and whenever she turned her head, gold glinted at her ears. She looked across at Snape and smiled, and he felt as though his heart had turned a summersault.

From that Sunday onwards Celeste spent every night in Snape's dungeon bedchamber because there was nowhere else she would rather be. She knew he had a capacity for coldness and spitefulness and she wasn't sure how this might manifest itself, but she was determined to deal with it somehow if the need arose.

She hadn't told Snape she loved him because he hadn't said those words to her, and she didn't want to make him feel trapped. But she knew she wanted no other wizard – Snape was the one! How long he would want her, she of course could not foretell, but she was prepared to live for the moment.

Being a person who normally prowled the castle into the early hours of the morning, Snape tended to sleep as late as possible so he was surprised at first when Celeste slid out of bed at six o'clock to go for her run with Hooch. He was a muffled heap in the bedclothes when she returned an hour later; armed with fresh clothes she had brought down from her room. She took a shower and began to dress. He sat up, tousle-headed and watched as a red satin bra and suspender belt smothered in black lace, were snapped into place. Now black stockings were being fastened. She was reaching for the briefs when he got out of bed.

Celeste's thoughts had been upon breakfast until Snape grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. As his kisses deepened he unhooked the brassiere and dragged it aside. By the time he was bidding her stand on the floor, bend forward and hold onto the bed's carved footboard, food was no longer top of her agenda. As she dipped her back and braced her legs, her mind was filled only with the skilful caress of his hands upon her breasts and his expertise as he entered her. Her head spun at the ecstasy of his strong thrusts.

Tuesday evening found Snape in a bad mood – almost a reversion to his characteristic rage. He returned just after ten o'clock from a private meeting with McGonagall and Dumbledore, and he paced restlessly about as Celeste sat by the sitting room fire drying her hair. She could guess what the meeting had been about – Snape had been finalising his exam papers, and she suspected the thorny subject of performance and success rate had been raised again. It was no use asking what had upset him – he would never discuss such matters.

"Calm down, Severus" she demanded. "Come and sit here."

He obeyed, taking a seat on the Chesterfield. "Sorry. It's been a bloody awful day, Celeste" he admitted.

She stood behind him, massaging his neck muscles through his clothes. Eventually he began to relax. "You ought to let me do this for you properly" she suggested. I have some oil with lavender, white rose and linden that would help you to unwind."

He stood up and caught her wrists, forcing her to walk around to his side of the sofa. Then he pulled her fiercely against him. "I can think of a far better way to unwind" he murmured. "Can't you?" He buried his hands in her damp and fragrant hair and kissed her; lightly, and then more deeply. "I need this" he said hoarsely "I need this now. No, not in there; here" he added, as she made a move towards the bedroom.

He bent down and with one smooth, swift movement grabbed the hem of her towelling tunic and lifted it up and off. Celeste gasped, but made no objection. He waved his wand and cleared the top of his desk, banishing piles of papers, ink bottles and quills to the top of the cupboard. A further wave doused the ring of candles, leaving the room in the bright glow of the firelight. He pointed his wand in turn at the door to the corridor and the door to the office, muttering twice the single word "Ungoliant"; the password that locked them. Then easily, as if she had been a child, he picked her up, carried her to the desk and laid her down upon it.

"Severus, this is crazy" she breathed. "You're too tall for– … I'll have a cushion for my head, please."

Summoning a velvet cushion from the Chesterfield, he tucked it under her head, and then proceeded to cover her upper body in kisses, from her mouth to her breasts. Lips and tongue applied to her nipples brought a whimper of pleasure and a plea for more. His hair brushed her body and she held his head in place, making him spend longer at her breasts. "Oh yes; please take me now" she whispered.

He shrugged off his robe, hastily removed his tunic and unbuttoned his white shirt as far as it would go, exposing some of his sparse black chest hair. He unbuttoned his breeches.

His sensitive hands slid down her stomach and explored lower, gently probing, teasing, testing whether she was ready, and his lips curled into a cruel smile as he noted that she was. He took up position at the end of the desk, grasped her ankles and dragged her towards him so that her buttocks came to rest a trace over the desk's edge. The sharp movement caused her head to slide off the cushion, but he reached out and pulled it beneath her again. Then he lifted her legs straight up, settling her calves against his shoulders. Gently he entered her and lent forward, curling his hands around the upper part of her thighs to keep their bodies close together; thrusting hard; penetrating deeply.

He was too quick for her, but she was intoxicated by the sight of him standing tall above her; with hair flopping forwards and his expression in the dim light its usual dangerous mixture of lack of inhibition and fierce determination.

"Aaaaaah, Celeste! Oh! I'm sorry" he gasped at the end. He sighed and smiled. "I'll make it up to you" he said softly.

Weak at the knees, he slumped against the desk. Then he drew slowly away from her and threw himself into the swivel chair. He brushed her lips with his own and smoothed her hair. "Move back up a little" he commanded. "You're too far over the edge now."

His choice of words brought a grim smile to his lips as he helped Celeste to adjust her position, relax her legs and settle the cushion in place. Figuratively speaking she was almost 'over the edge'. He kissed her lovingly; then dragged the swivel chair to the end of the desk and prepared to put his head between her legs, but her voice stopped him.

"No!" she cried. "No; what are you doing? I– … Please, no! I hurt very easily, Severus."

It was only then that it occurred to Snape that Celeste had particularly large inner labia – possibly the largest he had ever seen. She was very strongly aroused, yet the thought of pain was threatening to turn it all off – to destroy it. He had never known a witch to refuse this form of gratification, but then he reflected bitterly his experience was almost entirely limited to 'professional ladies'. He would have to wise up fast, and learn to be careful. Celeste might be broad-minded and experimental, but she was exacting in her needs. He laid his head against her thigh and sighed "I won't hurt you, Celeste. Permit me to do this. You will like it – I promise. Just trust me. I will be careful." His hands caressed her legs and his voice was as soft and reassuring as he could make it. "Just trust me" he repeated.

She still looked afraid but there were not more protests. At last she nodded her head. With care he turned the labia aside and eased back the labial hood to expose the clitoris. All the tissues were engorged, he noted. Tenderly his lips and tongue caressed her, and she gasped, never having felt anything so good. As she relaxed, his long arms snaked up her body until his hands supported her breasts. Eyes closed and brain concentrating, he worked gently on. He didn't have to work long.

Once he was satisfied he had pleased her sufficiently, he stopped, conscious that the ecstasy of a multiple climax can all too soon give way to discomfort. Bending forward to rest his head on her stomach, he murmured "You are very beautiful, Celeste. Very beautiful indeed. I am extraordinarily privileged to be able to … possess … so much beauty" and felt the answering touch of her fingers in his hair. After a short rest he carried her to bed.

She dozed for a while in his arms but Snape was wakeful now. His thoughts returned to his row with Dumbledore and more particularly with McGonagall. "Bloody bitch!" he mumbled.

"Whose is?" Celeste asked sleepily. Snape was shocked; he wasn't aware he had voiced his thought – he was so used to being alone in his dungeon rooms that, once there, he tended to dispense with the divide between thinking and speaking. Celeste was too drowsy to pursue her question. "You're a clever bastard" she muttered dreamily.

He grinned – he did indeed feel pleased with himself. And he smiled, too, at her choice of words – the last time he had heard Celeste use the word bastard, she had been cursing Filch for spying on her, and he and Celeste had been enemies. How things had changed!

"And who was the not-so-clever bastard who hurt you?" he asked dryly, hoping it would not turn out to be himself.

"Who–? Oh– No." Celeste was fully awake now. "No. No one actually hurt me" she explained. "I just know how sensitive I am – I do know my own body, Severus."

He ran his lips along her eyebrow, nibbling softly. "And did you find that as good as I promised?" he enquired.

"Oooh; wow! Amazing! Ha!" She started to chuckle. "Oh yes, you weren't kidding."

"Mmm" he replied happily. "Well. Now you know. And I hope you know that you can trust me. There, err, there is something similar I might like you to do for me, at times" he added meaningfully.

She nuzzled his ear. "That's fine – that's not a problem" she whispered. "Nothing you want is a problem. I have only two requirements – don't hurt me, and I want you to be careful about hygiene at certain times, or if choosing certain, err, 'positions'. My intention is for you to have whatever you want whenever you want it. Just let me know. If I need to say 'no' I will, but it will be rare. Do you understand?"

He hugged her fiercely and nodded his head. "Does this mean you are saying yes to anal?" he murmured, wanting to be absolutely sure there was no misunderstanding between them.

"Yes, whatever" she replied.

"Are you saying yes to any day of the month?"

"Almost. Yes. If sometimes it has to be no, I'm sure we can find other means. But I'll be the one to decide 'yes' or 'no'. OK?"

He held her tightly and nodded again, too emotional to speak. He had never felt loved and cherished like this before.

As she again began to drift asleep, Celeste realised she had taken a chance. And it had paid off. Despite her fear, she had put her trust in Snape, and he had not let her down. He had not allowed his natural spitefulness to take advantage of her vulnerability. Perhaps he really does love me, she thought; he even told me how beautiful I am, at a moment when I feared I was most ugly.

Most of their evenings were filled with love making – Celeste was delighted to note that Snape had considerable requirements for frequent sexual gratification; and also for affection and human warmth, although he would never admit his fierce needs for the latter. Sex used up his energy – he no longer needed to prowl the castle and he rarely required a potion to help him sleep.

However, not every night was filled with ecstasy. There was one occasion when a blackness of despair settled around him. They went to bed early and Snape lay half sitting up, propped with his V-shaped pillow, holding Celeste tightly to him all night, as if she was his anchor in a storm. He wouldn't speak. His mind was filled with unbidden horrific memories of many encounters with Voldemort, and bitter regrets stemming from his early Death Eater days. Celeste said she would walk around the castle with him if he wished, but he just shook his head and held her closer. She seemed to understand his need for silence. She had had her share of horrors and had found ways to cope with them. She lay beneath his arm, clinging to him, her arms wrapped around his waste. Eventually, by the early hours of the morning, he noticed she had fallen into a light sleep. He too was dozing by four o'clock, and as it was a weekend they allowed themselves the luxury of a lie-in. In the morning he let her massage him with warm oil, and felt wonderful afterwards. Later, they lay on the dragon rug and made slow-burning love by the smouldering fire.

Snape realised he had broken his rule about no personal involvement at the school. At times he wondered how things would work out in the long term, but he decided to manage whatever situation happened when it happened. Physically he was exceptionally happy with Celeste. He understood that she had a fear of pain – there was no masochistic side to her nature – so he was careful never to hurt her, nor to do anything that she might find degrading.

He was aware also, that he had reached the stage in his life when he could seriously consider getting married if any witch would have him. Voldemort had been defeated and was beyond being a threat to anyone, he had won his Order of Merlin which gave him much of the recognition he desperately craved, and, despite some problems at school, he felt adequately secure in his job and wealthy enough to cope if Dumbledore ever dismissed him. It was time to think about building a more complex personal life. Celeste had never said she loved him, yet he dared to hope and believe that she did. He couldn't yet say whether he actually loved her; his hurt over the loss of Lily had made him put up a barrier to falling in love; but he was conscious of the fact that for some time Celeste had been unquestionably the most important person in his emotional life. Certainly, he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

Yet he would hardly have admitted to having an emotional side to his life.