The Ties That Bind

by TheHalfBloodPrincesses46

Five years after the second wizarding war, the ministry narrowly pushes through legislation to enforce new couplings in the wake of a reduced magical population. Meanwhile disgraced war hero Severus Snape is facing a bittersweet conclusion to his delayed trial. In the wake of being selected for matchmaking, can Hermione Granger change both their fates in a single, calculated blow?

11. Chapter 10: The Homecoming, Part 1

Hey everyone!

First thing's first we are SO, SO, SO sorry for essentially missing last week entirely. Life, as it often does, got very hectic for us both recently. Then, this chapter took on a life of its own. It ended up being a rather last minute addition, and as such, much more time was needed to craft, structure, and, finally, edit it. It would have originally been two, separate chapters with a bit of a cliffhanger in the middle, but due to the extra week of waiting we ended up putting you all through (again, our apologies!) - we decided to just give you both of them in one!

So, as a heartfelt thanks for you all, and yet another apology for quite a streak of tardiness since the holidays, and for our absence last week, on our part, we give you 40 pages (20k words, more or less) of, hopefully, endearing chaos. And, our gratitude for any thoughts you feel inclined to leave about it. This was quite an effort ?ￂﾠ

We truly hate leaving you guys waiting, and are hoping this early/late double post will help get us back on track. Though we have every intention of figuring out a more organized plan moving forward so this doesn't happen. However, if delays occur we will try to keep you all informed.

Another huge thanks and ever more sizable apology to our beta Marilynn aka hizqueen4life! You saved our sanity and we are very, very sorry for torturing you for a week straight ?

Cover art, as always, by OpalChalice - Enjoy!

~ Kristina & Abby

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The Ties That Bind

No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread. – Robert Burton

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Chapter X: The Homecoming, Part I – Parlour Tricks

The happiest people are those who have learned to mix play with their work and to bind the two together with enthusiasm. - Napoleon Hill

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Friday, 28th November, 2003 - Early Evening

Once Hermione had at last concluded arguing with herself about whether or not she should have sent that final message – as clearly it didn't matter anymore, it was over and done with thanks to Nyx's overzealous excitement to return home – she finally settled on what precisely to wear for her conjugal sojourn. She went with a fitted, slightly cropped, midnight-blue jumper and a black skirt with a deliberately uneven hemline, which was too flowy to be business-like, yet not short enough to be too outwardly flirtatious. Given how cold it was, and even though she wasn't planning to do any trekking outside, she nevertheless took the opportunity to throw on a pair of black stockings for the sake of 'Class'. There, all sorted. She was, technically, all things considered, covered from head-to-toe.

So the jumper was quite snug and not entirely opaque, the skirt was fairly clingy, and the stockings were – well, for one, stockings proper (versus tights) – mostly sheer? At least they weren't 'fishnets'.

After arranging all that, preparing her belongings for travel went relatively quickly. Even if it had involved the free-floating of half the items in her bedroom and loo for a few minutes, charming those she needed into the recesses of one of her ( technically illegally-sized) bigger-on-the-inside bags as if she were directing a symphony of accoutrements. Though it eventually turned into a chaotic free-for-all, if she were being quite honest. She, regretfully, had never been the most organised person, save, of course, when it came to anything involving academics, studies, or library sciences, etc.

The most time consuming requirement, shockingly enough, turnt out to be deliberating the handling of Crookshanks. She could wrap him in something and carry him, however, on second thought, she had no fondness for the risk of his panicking and scratching her face to bits, nor the prospect of losing the feline in the void of the floo network. So, she nixed that idea in favour of bribing him – rather extensively – into his muggle carrier so as to prohibit him from enterprising in any delinquent misconduct upon landing.

By the time she'd finally achieved getting his arse fully encased inside of his loathsome 'prison', upon which much affronted yeowling had commenced to the great joy of her ears and those of her neighbours to be sure, the young witch feared that she was on the verge of running behind. As she approached the hearth, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was only, thankfully, a little past the hour of five o'clock, as she was not keen or accustomed to exhibiting tardiness. Indeed, that was a trait she had resoundly left in the hands of 'the boys' to share and exercise, which they often had, and still did, with considerable fondness. Regardless, if she stood there contemplating the idea any further, then she very likely would make herself late. And so as to avoid such an unfortunate fate, especially with a man whose tolerance for such a habit was nil to zero when he had been a professor, Hermione took one last calming breath before stepping into the grate, shirty feline in tow.

Caught between a cycle of incited interest and (very likely) perennial self-censure at their recent, missive-based discourse just now – of which he had not only endorsed, but also had indefatigably started – Severus Snape found himself pacing antsily in front of the cooling hearth. Yes pacing, as well as eyeing the decaying, 1960's clock of yesteryear on the mantelpiece as devoutely as an especially-repentant monk might finger and pray to his beads of rosary during a lengthy Hail Mary. It was utterly, wailfully pathetic. Or rather, he was. And his intramural chastising was only proving that point henceforth, as he continued to berate himself with acidic scorn.

Bloody hell, man, looking at the fucking second hand every fucking second isn't suddenly going to abate or hasten the damn thing. Re-l-ax!

Where the bloody fuck had his head been these past forty-eight hours? Certainly not between his temples, that was for damn sure. Ever since they'd legally – and literally – been bound to one another, his ever-suspended libido had awoken like fucking Rip Van Winkle after his twenty-year 'nap'. However, as jarring as it surely must have been for the the (arguably) Royalist, Dutch-'American' to have found himself existing in a post-Revolutionary War New York, Severus was bound to contest that it wasn't nearly as jolting as being slave to one's own cock . Indeed, as far as Severus could recall from Irving's folk tale, upon sorting out the current year, the new political 'ruler', and the mortal status of his henpecking wife, the indolent man had lived the rest of his days quite comfortably.

The Potions Master lamented how the same fate could possibly ever prove to execute itself with regards to his own conundrum, however. Indeed, the resurgence of sexual appetite was a far, far more parlous thing to rouse from slumber than mere consciousness, or so he believed. Particularly, when that edacity seemed to manifest itself tenfold more strongly than it ever had in the days of what humanity would adjudge to have been those of his 'primal youth'. Which furthermore, approbated his belief that the carnal side-effect was magically authored. It had to be. Damn it to Tartarus and back the intel that Minerva had so whimsically acquainted him with on the train.

The rationale for his odious condition had to have arisen from some charmed article of some sort in, or of, the wedding pagentries. There was no other explanation for it. None whatsoever. Fullstop.

And, as if the 'provenience' of his overly-aforementioned affliction sought to hastily – and with great cheek – challenge him on that indoctrinated conviction, the room suddenly began to fill with a wave of green smog and flames, thus warning of the witch's impending arrival into the room. He dared wonder only momentarily what she might make of his abode, his things, his books, let alone his 'civied' person, once she was able to see through the smoke and flames, and silently cursed himself for not having had one last swig of fire whiskey. Though, honestly, that was probably wise…

Oh fuck it, he was bedevilled either way.

Hermione had found her way through the network to the house on Spinner's End with surprising ease, though she supposed there likely weren't too many other magical households in the immediate area. Good thing as well for Crookshanks' sake, if not her right arm's for having to carry the hefty creature. As she emerged through the emerald flames, and the cloud of smoke and ash slowly dispersed from her immediate vision, the sight of what she inferred to be that of Severus Snape's living room came fully into view.

It was certainly on the smaller side overall. Though the entire far wall was covered floor to ceiling in built-in bookshelves, almost every inch crammed with aged volumes with small allowances for antiques or items of significance. Actually, on further inspection, almost every wall was adorned likewise, and finding areas of wall that were not entirely blocked by books took her a fair amount of effort. It was dimly lit, not so much to be too reminiscent of the Hogwarts dungeons, of course, but enough all the same. What furniture there was in the space, looked aged but well cared for; mainly a couple of tables, a sofa, and two unmatching but relatively cosy-looking chairs.

"Welcome, Miss Granger. You seemed to have found us finally," Severus drawled methodically, for now making the wise choice to refrain from immediately broaching their last sordid correspondence, as he stepped toward the fireplace to greet her emerging figure from the opposing side of the room where he had safeguarded himself upon first noticing the smoke. The last thing he needed was for another bodily collision to occur as she stumbled out of the fireplace, that was for certain.

Hermione's attention quickly veered to what appeared to be the curiously relaxed form of one Severus Snape – or perhaps, he was simply wearing what had to be the most casual attire she'd ever seen him in. Granted, it was still what any other man she knew would consider to be 'putting in an effort' – and he was, still , entirely clad in black, of course. Though the contrast from his Victorian layers to a soft-looking turtleneck and denim trousers was, remarkably, rather striking. Even if the silhouette could be said to be similar 'on paper'.

"Oh , uh, thank you. It was fairly straight forward," Hermione replied as nonchalantly as she could manage, following his lead in outrightly ignoring their less-than-innocent methods of prior communication – not that she'd expected him to do much differently. She then stepped away from the fire to settle the cumbersome, and currently rattling , carrier down with a soft grunt, and began to dust herself off. After that was managed, she tentatively set her duffle bag down on the nearest seat and checked her hands for any stray, defecting bits of soot before proceeding to smooth out her hair with discretion.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. He isn't exactly fond of being contained , so some treat-oriented deceit was in order."

Severus eyed the witch gingerly before his pupils danced to the carrier and then back to her figure, catching himself staring at her for far longer than necessary on the second round. He inhaled sharply through his nose before promptly averting his gaze to the floor.

"Not dreadfully long, no," he retorted flatly, though the ends of his hunting bow-like lips did upturn ever so much, which prompted him to suddenly wonder if his countenance, despite his cadence, was still, too…familiar . And upon marinating on that thought, it subsequently influenced him to act on it, hastily letting the meagre smirk recede in exchange for that of a more indifferent oral facade. The goal here was to ignore what he had foolishly initiated prior, not bloody restart it.

"Right, so, he clearly wants out of his cage… I suppose we should let him? Everything's been put away that might get into, I think… "

Hermione cast a playfully weary eye towards Crooks, who was now smushing his already-flattened face into the bars of the carrier at her feet with an agitated meow. As most of his kind were, Crookshanks was clever. Quite clever, and the mischievous beast knew full well that he and, most importantly, that his freedom, were currently being discussed. And he'd be damned remissed if he didn't make his own demands known to them as such.

"Yes, yes, I suppose we should," she agreed, carefully crouching in front of the plastic container as she minded her skirt, and tentatively began to unlatch his 'cell'. As the door swung open, the titian cat was obviously already more than determined to dart out without delay. Consequently, Hermione had to wrestle him still before he could do so, lest he catch any bits of his chaotically disarrayed fur on either of the carrier's snecks.

"Now Crooks, behave yourself. We're guests, hmm?" she cautioned him in a low manner before hesitantly loosening the scruff-hold her left hand had demonstrated moments before as he glanced up at her impatiently.

The feline swept past her as soon as her grip lessened, not acknowledging her words or her wry expression at all – at least, until after he'd ensured his total emancipation from the confines of the container and had stretched his ageing legs with emphatic determination at least twice. Only then did he double back to rub up against his mistress's bent figure in reluctant agreement to her request. Hermione steadfastly stood back to her full height.

Severus watched the scene with a raised brow of amusement and even let out a small chuckle at the 'mother/son' dichotomy.

"I must admit, I'm rather impressed by his spritely deportment given how bloody old he must be. Er, apologies . We do share that attribute," he murmured, aiming to soften his fortuitously brusque remark with an allocation of self-deprecation.

"I've always somewhat identified with the feline creature… Or, at the very least, am unbothered by their company – though, with that being said, Minerva can be quite the irksome, little chit, when she fancies," he commented chaffingly towards his best friend's person, deciding to forgo any annotation to his former remark of just which myriad of qualities he felt he might share with the species.

"Hmm, I can see why," Hermione agreed with a crooked smile and a thoughtful assessment of his personality, though before she could be tempted to elaborate, paused to watch with avid curiosity as the large, bandy-legged cat approached the tall man with a keen and seemingly analytical stare. He then embarked on sniffing him with great intention, and, after a moment of inner deliberation, he appeared to give his endorsement, without question. He demonstrated this by curling his body around and through the wizard's legs accompanied by an audible purr as he looked up at the man expectantly. Or rather, demandingly . Physical attention seemed to be warranted in exchange for the cat's advocacy. Hermione's brows rose in bemused surprise.

"How curious… He's half-Kneazle so he can be quite protective, but he seems to like you. Usually takes him ages to form an 'opinion', let alone a positive one. Especially for men… "

"Hmm," the raven-haired man tutted, as he leant down to appease the ginger ball of fur's exigencies, scratching his cheeks before giving him a clement stroke or two down his spine.

He then flicked his hand free of any loose hairs before turning towards his wife to invite cordially, "Please, sit down. I'll carry your bag up. Unless you want to change… Otherwise, we have about an hour until dinner. I've an excellent bottle of Chartreuse that has been breathing, if you'd like a glass…"

Severus felt his body stiffen as he waited for her reply. "Though, it is often seen by most as an after dinner drink…" he cleared his throat in irritation at his fumble, for he, thanks to his adherence to self-education, was refined enough to know better. Hmph, bloody witch. Why was she making him so…. taut.

"Red, white, fire whiskey, rum, tea, whatever you'd like. Please stop me before I ramble myself into the grave," he finally finished, letting out an abbreviated chuckle of cynicism as he held up a hand in mock surrender to his own prattling.

Having to bite back a grin at another, even more noteworthy expression of nerves from the ex-professor she had, at one point in her life, considered practically untouchable, Hermione actually felt nothing but relief (and a curious amount of endearment) towards him for it. At least she wasn't the only one feeling unnecessarily anxious? One would think after what had to be the most drastic of ice breakers, a casual dinner would be an easy hurdle to cross. Well, apparently, they would be wrong .

She wasn't sure if being at his house had anything to do with it, or the probability that she was one of the very few people who he'd ever invited there, or, if it were simply due to seeing him play the role of the consummate and appeasing host. Regardless which, they were both seemingly quite overwrought. Better than being so alone, she determined.

"Well, I think we can break the 'after dinner' rule just this once. I won't tell if you won't," she jested to settle the drink issue without over-complication with, what she hoped was, a mildly taunting smirk of conspiracy. She then bent to hoist her bag from its station near the fireplace back into her grasp, before subtly offering it to him.

She would normally insist on carrying it herself, but she figured she would permit him to do as he felt necessary. Formalities seemed to be a big 'thing' for him, at least when it came to offering them. Her stubbornness would rest, for the moment.

"Alright, if you insist it's permissible," he murmured with a wry glance as he side-stepped towards her, leaning down to grab the handle of the bag, which in so doing, ended up causing him to cup her hand strongly with his own. He paused for a moment, watching her as she surrendered the case to him with gratitude. He righted himself before humming a speedy oral incantation that sent the thing on its way up the stairs to his – er, 'her' room.

Severus then glanced back down at her ambivalently, his lips pursing for a moment, before his left hand twitched, as an abrupt force of flame-like heat engulfed his person from the core of the ring. It was similar to what he had experienced earlier, during the correspondence debacle, but in this instance it was persisting in what he could only consider to be that of a hellacious magnitude. And with this sudden wave of torrid passion came a direct line of focus, with a very specific target. Indeed, his analytical hypothesis would have to wait, for there was only one thing truly on his mind now: that of the very ravishing person of his wife. Both in body and mind.

"Aren't husband and wife supposed to greet each other in some sort of… 'silly', archaic fashion….?" He rumbled lowly, his eyes darkening as much as was feasible as his voice followed suit.

Hermione found herself swallowing under his sudden, curiously intense stare, frozen as the reverberation of his voice coursed through her form - not unlike the spike of temperature from her wedding band - before settling, similarly, in a specifically southern location. Though, undeterred by the rest of her body's rapt attention, her lips curled upward in a slightly enquiring smile, for her mind, in all of its aptitudes, still seemed to only find the banter in his tone and not the danger.

"Mm, yes. There is a standard practice... Should've entered with, 'Honey I'm home' too, I suppose. What a missed opportunity," she murmured back with equal lightness, though there was nothing dismissive in her impish remark, quite the opposite. It was, perhaps unwisely and by its own merit, an invitation.

The left side of his mouth twitched north in approved amusement as his right hand charily came up to catch her chin and titled it skyward so as to meet his taller gaze more directly. His pupils darted between hers and he felt a low, hot aching in his loins as they affiliated. He couldn't help but brush his thumb to her bottom lip and pulled it down slowly, before enjoying the soft, plosive 'plop' as it bounced against her lower teeth.

"I'll take it. If that's all I can get."

He rebuked the words, not to mention the action itself, as immediately as they had occurred.

That thrum of energy seemed to re-awaken and surge through her blood from the barest point of contact, much less at the suggestive tone he had taken. And perhaps it was simply that force alone that then urged her up and onto her toes to narrow the distance between them. Or, was it due to the nagging, tingly sensation of her lower lip that the pad of his thumb had left behind when it made its taunting departure from the irritatingly sensitive skin? No matter the inciting incident, Hermione still found herself angling her head forward to 'greet' him properly. And he wasn't doing a bloody thing to stop her. In fact, the only thing that did halt her lips from running into contact with his own, was the sudden, and unusual, growl of warning from none other than her bloody cat.

She jerked backward, turning her head to see the orange feline's tail stiffened and his back arch as his head poked out of the window dressings. Her brows knitted in instinctive concern.

" Crooks…? " She asked a bit dumbly, though she supposed, in reality, not really. She had just finished extolling his virtues not five minutes ago. He did not express aggressive behaviour lightly.

Severus, frowning in stern grievance at the offensive timing of the abeyance, ripped his eyes from her own to follow their concerned look to the creature that was ever-perched in the window. Though at this point, he let out a low hiss followed by another ominous growl as his ears darted backwards defensively.

Taking a regretful step away from her savoury figure, Severus crossed hastily towards the window that Crooks was manning, and pressed his back to the wall just to it's right. He stood absolutely still, his head facing forward, his eyes locking with hers as the tension in the room suddenly evolved into a far more minatory state. His espionage days were certainly proving useful in the most unlikely of circumstances these days. Who ever would have thought?

"Get. Him. Out. Of. The. Window. And. Check. Who. Is. Out. Side. Carefully ," he paused a moment to make sure she'd heard and comprehended his first, clipped words with assurance. "The house won't let you use self-charms so close to its actual perimeter - my own invention, of course - and it is designed to always protect those inside, however, I believe I forwent revamping some of them when I returned a day ago due to my exhaustion – and therefore – idiocy… So do be fastidious. Please ," he whispered as she neared him. "Don't go and let yourself be killed, will you? I'd never forgive myself…" he added sardonically, chaffing her with a small, sneerful smirk and a wink, though, otherwise, his face remained utterly stoic, and far from being 'affected' by the thought.

Hermione gave a short, silent nod and began to edge carefully along the far side of the window in front of where Severus stood, in the direction where Crook's rigid tail was poking out from between the parted curtains. Snatching him swiftly into her arms from behind, and purposefully ignoring his yelp of complaint, she then pulled the feline appeasingly against her chest before pressing her head against the lower, right side of the glass to peek through it.

"Well… unless he plans on killing me with a camera , I think I'll be alright," she voiced drolly under her breath at her husband, though the comment contained a certain degree of amusement that she could only trace back to the idea that he'd seemed so concerned in the first place. Well, concerned despite then actively attempting to cover up the fact. Eyeroll. Silly.

"Looks like a tabloid 'journalist' of the sceptically-leaning temperament to me, trying to be sneaky. Steely gaze, anti-ministry symbols and the like," Hermione added for Severus' clarification of the subject now stalking them.

Severus snorted and rolled his eyes rather violently at the report, stealing a look at her from his periphery to ask, "Bloody fuck, I thought we were safe….. Must be your doing, Wife… Right. Um. How close to the house is he? Or worse, how close to the window is he? As in, do we need to make one of two choices here in a few moments, Miss Granger?"

Hermione met his eyes in abject understanding and subtly leant over once again before bothering to answer. The man she had seen was behaving, of course, as though he couldn't be seen – which to be fair, for anyone else in the immediate area, was likely the case. But to the witch, however, his miraculously unsubtle behaviour was almost too funny in its out of place brazenness. Indeed, for his coat was open, displaying more than a few buttons she recognised, his camera, in all its over-sized glory, was placed securely over his very self-congratulating, bespectacled face, and, he stood in the very centre of the road, facing the house, utterly unperturbed that someone might think it odd he was doing so.

"Right in the middle of the street like an imbecile, at present. Looking at the window as if he intends to near it soon enough. What are our choices, Husband?"

"Hmph, naturally…. Bloody hell, right, well, he must be from London, by the sound of it. Likely followed you up here and wanted to be the only media personnel 'clever' enough to think of travelling to, what would be our most likely, permanent, private residency..." Severus listed off his deductions of the unseen man hastily as his eyes darted round and the gears and wheels of his brilliant mind began to work with nimble speed, calculating their best, two courses of potential action. Or rather, wisest and most amusing…

"Right. We can either hide upstairs before he gets to the bloody window, set Crooks upon him as a make-shift guard dog, or ….have an encore performance …."

Hermione's brow arched clearly at the options, murmuring something to her pet in comfort before lowering him to the floor with deliberate slowness until she was sure he wasn't going to immediately dart back to the window. All of which, he looked exceptionally unhappy about.

"Well, you can probably conjecture my answer anyway, but particularly given that the dullard is most likely… less than convinced that this arrangement is legitimate , perhaps it's best if we do, indeed, do a bit of personal convincing . For his 'journalistic' sake?" She articulated carefully, turning to face the taller figure of her husband head-on once again.

Raising a resolute brow of intrigue at his wife, Severus studied the side pane for a moment as he echoed back, "For 'his sake,' you say? Hmph, And what about ours , Miss Granger? Should we not worry about supplementing this ignoramus with more material that could land us in even greater imperilment with the Ministry…? And, yes , I am fully aware I suggested the idea, I'm simply forcing you to convince me further so that we may have one last bit of fun….."

He then glanced back at her and raised his brows in defiant challenge. He wanted nothing more than to mercilessly fuck with the man outside that was invading both his privacy, and more importantly that of hers. However, given his promise to himself, and his contending advice from Minerva on the train ride home, he did need a bit of spurring on in order to fully commit to doing so. So let Miss Granger persuade him then. Why not? Besides, it was good for the girl – young woman – to hire her brain now and then, right? Especially, in a game of 'chess' with that of his own?

Hermione permitted her eyes to roll lightly, despite the smirk that had begun to form on her lips as the argument easily came to the forefront of her mind, practically before he'd finished speaking, even. Though that last admittance did almost make her chuckle.

"Well, whatever peril we could be immersed in would be nothing compared to the media frenzy we'd be tortured with if some kind of controversy made it past the ministry censors that included any so-called 'proof' that we're faking all this, surely? No doubt he'd take some miniscule thing – like the…utter lack of feminine touch, for example, and run with it. Likely start a bloody doubt-fest, and the ministry would then have to overcompensate. They'd be quick to throw some kind of public ceremony, probably, that we would have to take part in. A horribly over-dressed one, likely too. And over-populated ," she couldn't resist but add in order to drill the point home, lest he miss the depth of her prior over-emphasis.

Severus hummed against the wall, his eyes darting from Hermione to the window pane, then to the chair, and then back to her. His mouth countered her argument, but only to tweak it slightly, before condoning it, of course, finally replying, "Well, to be fair, we'll very likely already be having to do such public events in the near-future regardless… However, your point of his finding a way to incite any sort of umbrage-mongering certainly wouldn't be wise…. The ministry markedly wouldn't like that… And, I suppose, they could, as a punishment to us – for either misstep – invite more people than they had to only to then promenade us around for longer than originally planned as further retribution... I suppose at this point, we could even use it as defence really…"

"Yes, true. But we'll have to work twice as hard to 'prove ourselves' by their standards in the future if seeds of doubt were to be sown. And, I'm sure said standards are loads more tedious and far less amusing," she defended with a pseudo-innocent shrug before she glanced over the window edge once more and watched as the figure neared through the vertical crevices in the curtain. Hermione let her brows lift in a visible indication of their narrowing time-window.

"So, method? "

"Well, I believe there is that little American idiom, in rather plebeian diction – of which I will not be reciting – that goes something like, 'If it isn't broken, then don't fix it?'" Snape replied to her question with a bored stare. Though, suddenly spying that the forlorn excuse of a journalist was momentarily polishing his eyeglasses, (clearly blind as a bat without them), Severus took the opportunity to abandon his post by the window in favour of that of the chair just across the way. A spot, it should be stated, that was quite noticeable from the very window in question. The older, though still spry, Potions Master reached the foot of the chair, turned in what could only be described as a Shakespearean fashion, and sat faciely as his eyes pounced on hers and his lips pursed in private amusement.

Admittedly, Hermione was briefly distracted by the thought of Severus Snape actually using that Americanism as originally implied, to register much of anything else. Indeed, so much so, that she didn't initially grasp his full, intended meaning at all. She caught up swiftly, thereafter, of course, but that left her all the more curious , particularly as she watched him cross the room to sit down resolutely in a spot that was almost parallel to the window. Clearly, it had been a choice to be seen on his part, as was the smug expression of expectation he was aiming at her - to what end, she had yet to fully figure. She had a decent guess, but the specifics were too foggy, at present, to gamble on without confirmation . She shot him a quizzical smile, looking from his face, to the window, and back to him once again with her brows furrowed.

"What…?" She whispered with leading expectation.

"Are you still willing to play… dirty , Miss Granger…?" Severus answered her query with one of his own, his low timbre hugging the furniture as well as her body in the confined room. His large hands came to the front of his jeans provisorily before ever-so-methodically undoing the uppermost button of the denim waistband, his eyes bore into hers pruriently.

The crease between Hermione's brows diminished as they shot upward in a cheeky show of revelation and she had to muffle a smirk as her focus shifted downward instinctively to his hands' flirtation with his fly. Her pulse gave a threatening jump, and her gaze shuffled quickly back towards the window.

" Always…. But just how dirty are we playing at, Professor?" She needled him with a muffled tone of curiosity.

"Dirty enough to make a point… ." Snape retorted, his hands still paused at the summit of his jeans as he pushed his lips forward in contemplation of her titillating remark. He paused to wonder how he was going to get through his lewd design without compromising himself entirely. Fuck .

"And lest he be able to hear you with the aid of some magical, or muggle, device – as again, my house's strongest wards are currently malfunctioning – perhaps, you should really start to call me 'Daddy', yes?"

"Mm, you really want to drive that point home, don't you?" she goaded him with a quiet, if clearly wicked chortle, shaking her head briefly before stealing another testing glance towards the window.

"Shadow's approaching …. ' Daddy' , what are your…instructions?"

Slapping the palms of his hands on his thighs twice, curtly yet pronouncedly, Severus was first made aware of just how hot his ring had become once more – or had it ever stopped? For surely his left hand would have clocked the event once more? He could feel the blazing metal through the dense fabric of his jeans to his thigh where it had landed. And the offspring of the ring's inferno, had settled itself, where it always did, at his bloody fucking, radically placed core . AKA – his bloody cock and balls. La-de-fucking-da.

Right. You can do this, Severus. Think of the pay off, and the look on the man's face when he realises he's been scarred for life. No one will be bothering either of you again after this little spectacle. Focus. And. Keep. Your. Cock. Out. Of. Mind.

"Have a seat , Kitten…. Though with great regret given the angle and height of the armchair, I must insist it be the ' conventional ' one this time," he began in ironic lightness when juxtaposed to his profane subject matter. He darted his tongue out to wet his lower and upper lips in assistance, just in case his innuendo wasn't as fully developed as might be needed for her to fully catch. He then angled his head to the left, gutturally adding, "...You'll certainly be needing it by the end of this… ."

As the full impact of his insinuation hit her, it was with a sharp pang of heat almost as strong as the one on the witch's already burning ring finger. Though this time it bypassed all the 'formalities' of her bloodstream and hit her squarely, and without warning, between her legs.

Hermione blinked sheepishly, breaking her apparently extensive focus on his tongue, nearly startling herself. Though Merlin forbid, she wasn't about to miss her 'cue'. Clearly they were about to be watched, if the man hadn't started to do so already, maybe even listened to – though that remained to be discovered. Knowing that Snape likely took some level of satisfaction in flustering her into a delayed reaction, she narrowed her eyes in challenge before finally leaving her station to pace over to his sat form with slightly put-upon impatience.

"Well, we've transfigured everything else in the house to be more… useful , what's one more chair," she jested back lasciviously as she carefully began to climb atop him. Her knees straddled his thighs, and her hands braced against the back of the (thankfully sturdy) chair, as her eyes locked into his to verify her actions were approved of. She watched for any 'unspoken' inklings of direction or warning as she allowed her weight to loom above him strategically, the hem of her skirt just grazing his lap.

Catching her hips fastidiously with his hands in an effort to aid her in the maintenance of her equilibrium, Severus found his breath jouncing as his fingers ensconced themselves around her pelvis, realising in full, that he had never quite held her thus. Very close to it, yes, but not in so carnal a nature, nor in so obviously bold a 'gymnastic' position. Indeed, the pressure her thighs provided as they flanked against his own was an encasing of his person that he found startlingly welcome – Hades, envigorating – versus the predicted sentiment he assumed he'd have, of either claustrophobia or outright infringement of his personal being and space. And though the man surely had no habitude towards the witch's specifically female attributes of his own prerogative, whatever blasted magical additions from the ceremony (yes, the ceremony!) that had since alloyed his person with his recent influx of overtly fiendish, prurient thoughts, were utterly euphoric at the proximity of each. To be sure, for the fact that his eyes were level, and therefore could hardly evade the alluring scenery of her peaked chest, coupled with the greater rankling palpability that her cunt was hovering recklessly close to his already petitioned cock (far too prone to 'tantrums', as it was), had thrust Severus into a literal hotseat of temptations and trials of his steadfast resolve that were quite bloody biblical, at this point, in nature. Or, at least, that of Antiquity.

Regardless, lest this faked somatical pageant lead to an outcome – or rather, outpouring – of something entirely visceral within him, Severus Snape concluded that he'd better do everything in his power to treat this endeavour as he would a lecture. Yes, dictatorial edification of actual Professorship and its methodology was the only course of action that might serve as his saviour here.

" Right ," he muttered lowly as her weight finally landed fully onto the chair and his fingers bore into her hips for leverage, "before we start this… Please do note that my most valuable of 'family heirlooms' are completely at your body's discretion, and any error or fallacy of balance, or even placement of limb could very easily render me not only infertile, but also impotent. And whilst neither of those would be too a horrid shame at this stage of life, especially with regards to you, I would like to be laid to rest with my testicles on the outer side of my body. My boyhood has enough damaging memories collected as it is….."

Caught somewhere between concern, slight offence, and amusement, Hermione let her eyes arch subtly in brisk couplement to the latter, lest their audience see anything too revealing, as she shifted her hands from the chair to his shoulders to secure them there. Deliberately bouncing her weight in his firm grasp just a hair to taunt his doubtful tonality, she positioned her head downward to observe him from her current angle.

Rather bizarre, she had grown so accustomed to looking up at him that doing the opposite felt curiously alien — certainly not in an adversarial way, but an oddity all the same. Though she fought the urge to lean further back lest she compromise her balance in an effort not to shove her chest any further into his face. He already sounded… concerned, as it was.

"Well, luckily for you, I don't weigh that much, nor would I choose this moment to knee you in the groin, if I were ever so inclined," the witch returned, playfully taking on his characteristic inflexion of impatience, glancing south to see exactly where she was hovering. "Wouldn't really work towards our objective. Your 'possessions' are safe."

He shot her an advisory glare which he prayed indicated absolutely not to execute that little, physical affront again, before his pupils allowed themselves to be moistened once as he cleared his throat.

"Well, I'm not sure that's entirely true. More so would affect the Wizengamot's ultimate endgame, but, if you're convinced that we need my bits preserved in order to execute an artificial misconduct, who am I to possibly object? Now then…. Miss Granger," he whispered softly, lest any other ears be privy, "have you any clue what I'm proposing? Or shall I tell you?"

Hermione decided to completely disregard his unnecessary and frankly, dare she say, defensive attempt at arguing her entirely tongue-in-cheek response, save for a brief look of impatience that she was sure got across the lack of necessity for it. Though she returned to more rapt attention as he lowered his voice, letting her weight settle only a bit for ease of communication, her knees digging just a little further into the softness of the chair cushion.

"I have a few guesses, but do please , go on," she pleaded with quiet intrigue, more than anything wanting to hear his usually meticulous perspective on what had to be quite a mischievous idea.

"Well Wife, that this lout saw fit to not only stalk you all the way up here, but also to stake out my – and, now, by espoused proxy your – private residency, and is also harbouring an alarming number of anti-establishment/conspiratorial paraphernalia, as we've already stated, he clearly is covetous for further proof of our contented relationship, yes? So , I've come to the conclusion, what better way to prove to him that our marriage is simply a furthering commitment of our devotion to one another – and not a Ministry-manoeuvred plan – than by indulging in a little late 'Afternoon Delight?'" Severus postulated orally as his eyes darted every so often to the cautiously approaching subject to the window's pane. His ring flashed an even fervider pulse at the sexual euphemism's mention, now directed into her side, and he wondered if she would comment at it, or, if he should say something. Perhaps he should take the bloody thing off? If, that is, he even could…

"Mm, as I presumed," she confirmed quietly with a soft smirk at his overly-specific but efficient summary, shifting as she felt the unmistakable heat of his ring echo that of hers just a few moments before. Her eyes flicked gingerly over to the window. Crooks had endeavoured to keep vigil in front of it still, though apparently from a further distance away, as he was currently glaring wearily from the entranceway of the kitchen. However, as the man began to loom into view her eyes dropped back to Severus' ever-darker ones.

"Might take some creativity… just how sturdy is this chair, Husband?" She questioned him coquettishly in exaggerated concern, dropping her weight until she was practically perched on his thighs, though not quite, so that the rest of their body parts were in closer congress at least.

"I'd worry about your leg and core strength more than the constitution of the chair, Miss Granger, it's about as ancient as I am, if not more so. It shall be fine. Besides, nothing a few solidation-based charms won't fix. However, as we shan't be committing our vigour to the task as we might if we were really... " he suddenly blanched at the notion that one day, in the sooner distant-future than not, it would be a very visceral occurrence. "...I think it will suffice…"

"...And I think I'll manage," Hermione retorted hopefully enough, wetting her lips and muffling an outward expression of mirth. The present course of events was decidedly not something she foresaw occurring within the first ten minutes of her arriving, but apparently this was just going to be part of her every day now – pretending to fuck her husband. Or at least often enough. What a way to spend a Friday evening.

She pressed herself closer to murmur near his ear, "He was getting close, before. You obviously have the better periphery view, so at your lead, husband."

Severus gave Hermione a short nod as he licked his lips, though paused a moment to ask in hurried finality of consent, "...Depending on what I see, and what I then conclude to be, or not to be, needed , how much…. liberty do I have?" He squeezed his hands in emphasis, showcasing precisely the instruments he was referencing in ownership of such freedom(s).

The question gave her more pause than she expected, given everything thus far. Granted it had all been a bit rushed and chaotic, and she'd never once felt remotely 'violated' in any way – far from it in fact. But upon being faced with the actual inquiry of where she would permit him to touch her, she figured it might be best to take advantage.

"...Do what you must, for the most part. Anything that's already been done, of course, I don't mind. But do try and not disturb the 'important bits' too much. My undergarments are not exactly opaque and I'd rather not give the camera an eyeful," she remarked, keeping her tone light so he didn't take it as any sort of offence to any previous actions, or assumed ones. She demonstratively flipped her skirt up just a tad to show the top of one of her stockings, as a reference point of exactly where she was 'unprotected'.

His body and visage remained utterly inert as his pupils darted down to feast – er, no, glance – at the flash of milky thigh exposed above the grander, provocative sights of the black band encircling her hock. It was followed by the sheer material that shaded her opal skin to a hazy midnight hue, extenuating its toned, yet feminine structure in an equally mesmerising way. He had a sudden, aching urge to tug the top of the stocking down with his teeth until it was removed enough so as to allow his tongue ingress to the inner epidermis it was currently covering. That certainly had been a crooked play – he wondered if she had performed it with intent?

Fuck, down, down boy.

"You really needn't have shown me, Miss Granger, I would have surely believed you…. Methinks you're trying to sell wool to the shepherd that's already bought the sheep, even if on layaway," he rumbled dryly, though his left brow raised some.

"It was more efficient," Hermione defended with a taunting look of challenge, her left hand tightening its grip on his shoulder reflexively as a fresh wave of heat accosted it. "Lest I babble about my choice of hosiery as well. Apologies they're not fishnets. "

She couldn't resist the urge to tease him for his, apparently memorable to her, comment during their contract debacle, imprudent as it probably was. But at what other time would it be a relevant call back? Surely not anytime soon. Might as well have some kind of banter going lest this evening get, and stay, harrowingly awkward. And, it took away from the actual underlying question, of course.

"I rather think that's for the best," he again, answered her flatly, his eyes shifting to the left just in time to see the frazzled-looking man arrange his gear in a manner that permitted his body to press itself as discreetly as possible against the pane.

"I do believe it's show time, Miss Granger. And, for the fuck of it, why not start at 'places?'" he hummed as he eyed her in daring conjugation.

"Care to get a little more specific, there, Director ?" She returned with a demure arch to her brow. She had a fairly good idea of what he was getting at, but this wasn't exactly a moment for guessing games, now was it? Though she went as far as lifting herself fully back up on her knees over him, just in case her hypothesis was correct.

"Humour me."

"Mm, well, I do believe at this point it would be your duty, given your elevated 'status', to hm, how to put it, 'thread the needle' so to say…?" He extrapolated despite continuing to employ metaphors. He hoped that this particular one, was somewhat, more instructively clear, however.

"Mmm, noted," Hermione agreed casually , which in itself given their current occupation felt like a fucking joke. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, considering the view the gent must have without properly looking.

She let her hands drift down Severus' chest with exaggerated slowness, though instead of where it no doubt looked like they were headed, they paused at his lower abdomen, her right remaining in place while the left briefly changed course to cover his hand on her hip and press his fingers further into her flesh. She caught his eye, silently imploring him to help her with some leverage – she would most likely need it.

Their gazes still locked, her hands came together once again below her, pressing her palms into his very upper thighs and bracing nearly the entire force of her weight there, so her knees were no longer sinking into the chair on either side of him, but held somewhat aloft. With a brief glance of apology for the pressure, she leant back and began to lower herself, using her grip on his flesh to, almost painfully, slow her descent so it took on a look of staggered ease, until she settled snugly and successfully just south of the bulge of his trousers.

Severus let out a slow, controlled exhale through his clenched mouth, contorting his face with just enough marriage of momentary discomfort at her inevitable, compression-like ' grip' , before permitting it to fall into a relieved acquisition of a very specific sort of longing. His hand tensed around her hip bones as they barricaded her pelvis from inching any closer, for she was already at the risk of pressing into, or on top of, his already-pronounced bulge – Hades, even when his cock was 'at ease' it still was noticeable. And Merlin knew it did not need further prompting to become any more swelled.

"We might want to add some sound effects, Miss Granger. Verbal or guttural, or an oratory curse or so, are usually found in the 'catalogue'...just in case…." he purred roughly so the man should not hear, appending his comment with an ever deeper register, "and…well, a comment at how good it might be to have me… again…wouldn't go amiss…"

He urgently managed to edit out the part where he was going to add, '...how good it is to have me fill you up again'. No, some kinks of his, such as his affinity for extremely aggressive dirty talk could wait – and that comment was rather soft, anyways.

Hermione might have found humour in that self-indulgence, if there weren't already certain twisted areas of her mind which clearly felt that this was, indeed, a repeat occurrence, thanks to their elaborate visualisations. A wry chuckle died somewhere in her throat nonetheless. What a peculiar form of torment.

"Yes, Daddy ," she replied breathily in accordance with his earlier remark as her hands returned to his shoulders so as to prepare to lift herself back up again, leaning forwards over him slightly so as to compensate for the actual distance between their lower halves. At least they were both wearing black. "Days... have found a way to feel like years."

He growled lowly at her remark, whether for merit or show or what, he was not entirely sure. All that he could account for, however, was the look his eye gave her that he was fairly sure implied, 'Well done' .

"Hades, yes, Kitten…. You're about as tight as our first foray. I take it you kept our promise then, during my despicable trial…? Good show you made of it, too….acting so… unattached . Though now…" Severus' right hand gravitated north to take purchase of her side as she faked to lower herself down 'on him' once more, "I must insist on knowing if that is so… ." he eyed her pointedly as his pupils darted to the figure in the window, whose face was rather agape, yet, vexingly still quite invested.

"Up the tempo, Wife, and answer the question…" he muttered under his breath as his left hand found hers and tangled their digits together.

Her eyes narrowed in playful curiosity, though she obediently let her lips part ways with a weighty exhale, docking on his thighs with modestly deliberate force, so that her nerves might find some solace from the reverberation of the impact. Granted she hadn't precisely given him warning, but surely he could handle it?

" Of course ...I did," she articulated audibly as she gripped his hand with tighter pressure, arching backwards carefully, "...as effectively as possible…"

Severus let out an unintentional moan – no, it was definitely a groan – as her pelvic floor made contact with his thighs and he gnashed his molars against one another in rab show.

"Do. You. Even. Know. What. I'm. Insinuating….?" He hissed hushedly out between somewhat endowed grunts for added effect as his dominant hand traced its way from her side upwards, foregoing her breast, to land securely on her left shoulder as they continued their united rhythm. If, by the grace of Merlin, they were successfully hoodwinking the man into believing their physical union was anything but a farce.

"I think I might ..." She breathed quietly with a lilt of cautious amusement, though not entirely certain she wanted to assume anything when it came to Severus Snape, at this point. But based on context, alone – he would be the 'suffer together' type, wouldn't he? Her free hand braced against his shoulder as her weight descended again, lest his own hips were to shift upwards and draw her too much further against him.

"Though do tell me and we'll see if I was right, hm?"

Snape willed his centre to be as static and indifferent as was humanly viable in this ludicrous situation he'd gotten himself into. Indeed, for his entire lap felt absolutely on fire with arousal thanks to the evolved juxtaposition of her pelvic floor in conjunction with his manhood – a hazardous proximity, to be sure. All which came about as Hermione had just performed the ceremony of appearing to have sheathed herself around him once again, however, this time, she felt the inconvenient need to make contact with him. Damn it. Her muscles must be getting strained.

Yes, that unfavourably, must be the case. Fuck.

Bless her. He could feel the slight tremor of her legs as she fought to keep herself afloat on her next uprise and faked descent – just enough to pertain a lack of contact, very likely for his obvious benefit. And he tried his utmost to bestow her aid with her noble endeavour, volunteering even more of his own, winded strength as he held her sides with greater gusto. However, he feared that it wasn't doing much good.

Though, as poorly as he felt about her physical discomfort – for now , at least – he was far too apprehensive to challenge his cock to any such 'Duel' of that nature. Indeed, especially when the arsehole had not only one, but two 'Second(s)', both of whom were just as, if not even more so, wayward than he.

"I'm referring to the amusing prospect that we could, very likely, have made a pact to one another to, er, resist the urge to … self-pleasure whilst I was on trial. So that …. Shite! " he cursed with pause as his hands fought to regain purchase of her hips, her balance having unanticipatedly been compromised. An unaffordable error of which he speedily tried to remedy by leaning forwards to supply the hand she had on his shoulder with an ampler mass of it to grip. And only once he was certain that their rickety, precarious 'boat' had safely made it through that little tempest, did Severus finally finish his buoyed thought, his tone, now, eggily strained, however, " So. That. We'd. Be. Very. 'Backed. Up' … the first time we … had one another."

"...Er, too off brand for us?" He inquired, his voice absconding the ire modulation it had just held in honour of their physical blunderings as its owner suddenly became quite insecure in his premature assumption that such a matured kink of his would be adopted by her so easily. Not to mention that it had been thrust upon her, and therefore, "them", without any formal, prior conference first.

Hermione's smirk was unrepressed and entirely approving – not only because her theory had been correct, which was always a preferred state of existence for her, but also because the full extent of exactly how thrilling this entire endeavour had the potential to be hit her once again, and with full potency. At minimum, it indicated a definite lack of conventionality, and certainly of boredom – an ideal, if there ever was one.

Unfortunately, so too did the ache in her straining thighs at maintaining their 'no-contact' balancing act – but one thing at a time.

"Oh, no, I think 'stubborn, over-thought, and sado-masochistic' is entirely on brand for us – So, I was right, then" she husked impishly to him in vain self-acclaim, taking advantage of his newly slumped-over position to graze their foreheads together, inaugurating a rather erotic meeting of intimacy before she pushed herself – with restrained regret – back up and onto her knees.

"If you couldn't tell, yes. I did spend your trial in a state of … servile, miserable, sexual-frustration. I do hope you're pleased by that, Husband?" Hermione voiced much more audibly, if still breathily for effect. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she tried to settle down without actually doing so, and let out a deep groan that, willingly, doubled in purpose given the dual-levels of frustration that had been mentioned to be currently involved.

Her thighs, now, however, were burning nearly as much as her bloody ring. It was almost enough to distract her from the very real, and very nagging, state of arousal this entire circus act had been bringing on. Which, understandably, proved to serve as another reason why she was so tentative to request permission from him for something that she very desperately needed. However, the pangs and strains coursing through her body of each variety were getting to be quite too much to bear any longer, so ask it, she did.

"This prick doesn't seem to be going anywhere, so, um, could I possibly sit, please, Severus?"

It was as if the gods were purposefully fucking with him, it really was. Had he not just contemplated that very abstraction and denied it's impetus for a very credible reasoning? Damn it, damn it, damn it.

He couldn't possibly refuse such an solicitation, and he fucking knew it. No, not being the ever cordial, self-effacing, first-to-suffer-for-the-comfort-of-others martyr that he was. So, with much congenial consternation, Severus Snape gave the witch atop him a small, short nod of affirmation before he turned his attention to the second subject matter that he had to wait upon, and which was of equal, if not further, affliction – that of what he was going to say in cheeky, sensual reply. Hmm.

"Just … mind …. My …. " he shut his mouth and gnashed his teeth before swallowing to change the course of his words, directing them towards the former theme that they had just put into circulation. He raised the quality of his voice to answer her prior proclamation, cooing with lewd satisfaction, "Yes, I'm very pleased to hear that, Kitten. Good girl, indeed. You do know how much I adore to 'Make your cup runneth over' ... "

"Thank fuck ," Hermione articulated audibly – figuring it was appropriate enough – as her weight was adopted by his lap and the shock of muscular, tensional relief resounded through her lower limbs. "About….bloody time."

Though as she settled her bum as close as she dared to the centre of his lap, and his last words rang in her ears, she was struck with the unavoidable urge to giggle, which she barely repressed to a bitten smirk. For Hermione Granger was, arguably millimetres, from Severus Snape's cock – that was the main point of hyper-awareness, really. At any other, previous point in her life the idea would have been astonishingly ludicrous. Well, this entire arrangement would have been. Not that she'd never wondered – she was almost certain everyone had, at one point or another, contemplated the …proclivities of the mysterious dungeon dweller, some more jestingly than others. Even being normally 'above' such conversation topics, she had never been immune to curiosity, and the human embodiment of intimidation that stalked through the halls in stern silence but waxed poetic on any subject he taught was obviously a man to be curious about. In all arenas.

They were also absolutely being photographed by this point. And the only item separating her own nether regions from his jean-clad thighs was the thin fabric of her knickers. Knickers, it should be known, that were not much help at all . Why she'd decided on donning lace ones with stockings and a skirt was a mystery to her, (kind of) . And was a subconscious choice that she really wasn't fond of trying to get to the root of at the current moment. For, the truthful, covert, motivations behind, were likely, embarrassingly obvious.

Regardless, the inalienable idea that it would take her less than a shift forward to be in direct contact with her former professor, and current husband's cock, was apparently, what her mind couldn't let go of. Which, honestly, was a bit immature of her really, given that she'd been near to it before this particular charade, in very similar pantomimes. Though certainly not ever so directly….

Severus let out a growl from the base of his throat as he amassed her weight on his lap, though it was not due to any measurement of density, no, the woman was barely a bloody feather, especially compared to his tall stature and, now in later life, sturdier build. No, this specific oral emunation was strictly conceived by the consummation of her pelvic floor to his, very, upper thighs. And the heat, if he were to be so utterly imprudent – nay, smutty – about it, radiating from what could only be her – cunt, was implicitly scorching in nature. Honestly, it rivaled that of both his ring and his own apex. And just the mere noting of it was certainly doing nothing to foster his cock's incentive to honour the 'treaty' the two had made earlier. Thank gods, he usually always had a bit of a bulge due his undisclosed size. He could get away with a semi for a time….but not much longer…

Fuck. Change tracts, jump ship, get off the fuck bus, Severus, now! Or, at least make it about her… Yes, perhaps, try to make her just as flustered…. All for the sake of appearances, of course….

"Mm, that's my girl," Severus purred, running the large hand that had struck courtship with her shoulder away from it's acquired conquest in order to explore the length of her neck, yet another aptitude she was unaware he had. He gave her jugular a testing squeeze as his eyes locked with hers to gain consent, even if a bit too late.

"Apologies," he mouthed before clearing his throat to continue his former aggrandisement, "... And do you promise to … uphold my other …. usual request when it comes to our coupling after an interim apart, Wife? Of the, 'want not … waste not….' sentiment..?" his eyes flashed brightly.

With an uninvited shiver running down her spine at the tone she was never going to quite get used to murmuring filthy things to her, coupled with his hand stroking up the unfairly sensitive column of her throat, it was easy to forget the damning transparency of her own response and how very observant of it he probably – no, definitely was. It was only upon the subtle, but still-erotic, gasp that escaped her mouth at his hands' brief tightening, and the involuntary jerk of her body that followed it, that prompted Hermione to force herself to take immediate control of whatever the fuck her face was currently expressing, and halt it with immediacy . Merlin forbid, anything else.

She caught his eye and returned his look of apology with a flash of elfish challenge more than any proper glare of protest. No reason to pretend to be affronted, when that had clearly not been the case…

Rude, very rude. But damn well-played.

Though once her mind pushed through that particular brand of delirium, the witch found she was now faced with another vague euphemism he was clearly challenging her to decipher. Her brows flexed, as his words circled the drain of the apparently unfathomable depths of her own imagination to see if what she heard was actually what he meant . There were only so many things to 'waste' after all, and if she were going off his earlier comment as well … Fucking hell. And this was 'his' casual level of filthy. She couldn't imagine he'd be 'scraping the barrel' just for the sake of whomever this media pervert was.

Fascinating. He could just be blabbing as many dirty things as he could think of for the shock factor, of course. That was certainly an feasible option, versus the far more…intriguing one…. But still, an amusing consideration of how his mind worked, regardless of the source. Whether or not he were 'taking inspiration' from his own proclivities, he was exhibiting zero strain in coming up with ideas. Though at this rate, it was a bit of an ongoing competition – one she had, unintentionally started, if she recalled correctly – that he seemed determined to win. Though the nature of the game and whether it were a test of imagination or shamelessness was, as of now, still up for debate.

"You're doing an awful lot of negotiating, Husband!" She countered with a breathy whinge of volume, tauntingly letting her head fall back as her neck angled to the side, thus making his grip more visible to the Lookie Loo behind them. "But I think that's a given …within reason."

Her urge to laugh almost emerged yet again as she met his gaze in answer to his stare, inappropriate as it was – or perhaps, it was perfectly placed.

"If that man is still here, we are either getting him off, or, scarring him for life," she murmured with a bit of the aforementioned giggle issuing up mischievously in her otherwise whispered tone.

Noticing full well that the brilliant witch before him was sifting through the pages of his encrypted, kink codex with not only adept decoding skills but also, what appeared to read as a rather keen interest(?), the ex-agent had to actively force himself from diving into her mind to scan it's contents in the hopes of confirming the positive assessment of his last deduction. Indeed, the fact that he was being so bombastically, fabulously brazen about his dispositions, even if under a cleverly suited guise, was still daring to say the least. And as someone who was prone to making calculated, strict, disciplined moves, he was somewhat baffled as to why the bloody fuck he was acting so very ... coyly?

Well, that was an analysis for another time. After all they had a fucking peeping Tom to trap.

"Well, I'm want to say that after all of this someone should be 'getting off', however, I do think that is just my cheek talking, helped along by the aid of the firewhiskey earlier. My sound mind, though, does, very much, not want that to occur. The outside of the house is soiled enough…" he grunted sardonically back to her as his hand moved up from her throat some to tangle in her hair and encourage her to lean more to the left so that he could spot the figure of their discourse once again and determine his, current, level of stake. "Scarring him, I thought, was our main objective here, Miss Granger, no?" he questioned before adding loudly in answer to her previous 'in scene' retort, "'Within reason', my arse, Wife. I aim to watch myself drip down your legs until tomorrow morning…"

Biting back a chuckle as he, again, essentially confirmed what she thought he was alluding to, Hermione exhaled a hum of faux-complaint at the tug on her follicles and used the angle of her head to glimpse at the distinctive figure without looking at him so directly as would give away his visibility to them. He did still seem to think they couldn't see him, though whether he was more disturbed or fascinated was harder to guess.

"I only meant in the house, Husband, particularly with those ambitions," she quipped back, returning her overheated left hand to his shoulder as she pulled herself up enough to meet his eyes surreptitiously, giving them a nod of resigned confirmation of the intruder's lingering presence.

"Still scarring himself," she murmured quietly in his right ear.

"Hades' cock, what the bloody fuck do we have to do in order to spook him? Ask him if he'd like to fucking join in? Eh, he'd likely say, 'yes'," Severus muttered more to himself than to her as the gears in his mind were rapidly beginning to spin in order to work out a way to get the man out of their presence and securely on his way back to the capital. For this little exercise that, yes, he had so very cleverly suggested – fucking noddy that he had been when he had done so – was very rapidly escalating into a headache, well more like a migraine. Actually, amendment, more like a fucking cockache .

"Do you trust me, Miss Granger?" he asked her quietly but with serious earnestment.

For some reason it was that question that broke through her attempts at repression and forced a bubble of proper laughter to escape her lips, versus the muted variations that had emerged before it. Hopefully it didn't look too out of place from an external perspective. But she glanced down at their position demonstratively and cocked a brow, presuming that her current level of cooperation spoke for itself.

"Do you think I'd be here if I didn't?" she returned in a hushed tone of fond challenge.

"Touché," he answered as he eyed the man hastily before turning his attention to her, "I think we're going to have to make a bit more of a show of it. And, perhaps, a new 'position' will abet us in frightening him off more quickly. How would you feel if we stood and …. performed some 'wall gymnastics' for his inquisitive eyes, Miss Granger? Though," Severus glanced down to their almost united laps, cleared his throat, and added, "we're going to get quite cosy for a moment…. Don't you dare try anything brash," he growled puckishly, "And I'll do my utmost to keep my hands atop your skirt, however, it's likely going to prove cumbersome once we are stood. But honestly, woman if you're going to insist on wearing such bloody sheer knickers – and bang on about it – you might as well not wear any next time."

The words, and their crystalline indication had left the wizard's mouth before he had any occasion of a chance to steal them back. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hermione's brows shot upward at that little verbal blunder of his – not exactly intentional if his perturbed expression was anything to go by. Did that indicate that he didn't mean it, or that he did ? That was the question. Well, honestly, the question was more one of scale , since the implication was fairly lucid. Though what the man would've done with himself if she had shown up without a stitch under her skirt, and he'd proposed this …. pretence , she could scarcely imagine.

Actually she could….

Shite. Mind...peering as far out of the gutter as feasible, Hermione. Stop it!

As though she could escape it entirely. The whole point of this issue, as she had ruminated on just before, was that lace and mental fortitude were the only two things, maybe, keeping her arousal to herself, and off of his denim-clad lap. Though it's not as though the jean material did much for sensing temperature – surely? That was hopefully negligible – unlike the flaring of her ring finger, which presently, served as a rather efficient reminder they were still being observed, and so she cleared her throat.

"Well, I'll have to come better prepared next time," she snarked in a vague whisper – emphatically, choosing purposefully not to elaborate on which side of that suggestion she was leaning in favour of – before immediately skimming back to his initial inquiry.

Not that whatever was about to occur would be helpful to the previous issue. Oy…

"But by all means, proceed – something has to break him."

"One can only pray, Miss Granger," Severus hummed in answer, "I take it that that also constitutes as a warrant for my previously mentioned concerns with regards to the …. manipulating , shall we say, of your physical personage?" He queried with a tense tone as his one hand relinquished control of her locks to return to it's brother's occupation at her hips before they, in tandem, began to inch round her back. They paused, however, at the border betwixt her lower back and rump.

"In for a penny, in for a pound, Husband," Hermione responded in satirised but resolute agreement, shifting her hands from Severus' shoulders to wrap them snugly around his neck in preparation. "At least you have to do the work this time."

This 'performance' was either going to murder the last of their physical awkwardness in it's sleep, or die trying. Or, at the very least, give them an entirely new myriad of conversation topics.

"Well, I'll do my best to try to keep it from being 'a pound of flesh,'" Severus retorted with a swift intake of oxygen to his lungs as his hands raked their way conservatively up to cup her buttocks, valiantly endeavouring to keep his thoughts strictly, er, professional, and most of all, clinical .

"Right, well. Up we pop," he added, in a tone and accent that very much echoed the likeness of everyone's favourite, current, Hogwarts Headmistress, as he tugged her core against his waist and instructed her to make use of her lower limbs as briskly as she could once he'd brought them north.

And it was a feat that he did almost before he'd realised it, though, that was very likely both a fortunate and considerate outcome for them both. Indeed, for in the process of thrusting their weight into his heels, and through his spine, as he stood them, Severus Snape – with the most equivocal of reactions – acutely designated that their loins, for an approximate amount of 4.394 seconds, were in absolute contact with one another. Granted not literal contiguity, thank fuck for fucking clothing, but nevertheless, given the bloody inferno that appeared to be taking tenancy between each of their thighs, it was almost implausible to miss.

Unfortunately, the budding hard-on that he was, blessedly, only beginning to acquire – thank fuck for receiving a bloody 'Outstanding' in 'Self-Continence' – would soon be unlikely to miss should it be fostered any longer. And as so to prevent such a devastating occurrence, Severus hastily lifted her centre of gravity towards his navel accordingly.

"Apologies for the velocity," he hissed quietly, "might have outed us had we fallen backwards…."

Merlin, Man, shut the fuck up.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that the first 'spot' at which she had been able to latch herself to his quite tall form was less than ideal….for many reasons. A fraction too low to be believable, for one, not to mention the reality that permitting their nether regions to have any kind of direct introduction whatsoever was precisely what they had meant to be…. if not avoiding outright, surely dodging . Though however brief an event it was, it was certainly salient . Her clit certainly thought so – at least her skirt had some part to play in their separation, this time. Her left hand tensed into the back of his neck as a strangely painful flare up hit her finger..

Not worth the distraction at the moment, she reminded herself, however.

So, with a small 'yip' of surprise at the sudden shift upward, Hermione shook off the lecherous thought and focused her attention on helping to maintain his equilibrium as her legs tightened their hold around his hips. Though, he didn't seem to need a lofty amount of assistance in that area, as the man hadn't even struggled as he had propelled them out of the chair.

"Wisely done," she complimented lightly in response to his unnecessary apology, their faces so close in this particular stance that she needn't worry about being overheard. "I would ask which wall, but you only have so many…and I thought I had a lot of books…."

Not exactly a necessary comment, but it certainly felt better than silence.

"Oh, do shut yourself up, Miss Granger, or I'll be forced to do it for you," Severus scowled in return, pausing momentarily to ponder at why, yet-the-fuck-again, he seemed to be want to go out of his way to be overtly – though indirectly – flirtatious with the witch. He compartmentalised that thought to focus his mental labour, instead, on that of his, present, physical one: getting them over to an unoccupied wall. Bloody good luck, that was for sure.

However, once was able to locate a spot, it would certainly serve as a saving grace. For not only would it supplement their endeavour to further shock the man out of their lives – hopefully – but it would also enable him to place her weight anywhere but against his lower half. Indeed, between the assistance afforded by the wall's immovable structure joined with that of a sly levitation charm – should his focus grant it – his bloody libido might actually be cockblocked, quite literally.

"Right…" he hummed a bit desperately as his pupils scanned the room fanatically before landing on the patch of almost bare wall that was still within view of the window, on the side of the room angled between the entryway proper and the fireplace. What looked to be two massive bookcases stood in the area, but in reality, they were actually an impressive series of smaller, mounted shelves that never truly 'met one another', thus leaving an opening of free space to be annexed. Slightly narrow, but effective all the same.

"Brace yourself, Kitten," he purred boisterously as he crossed the few paces it took to plant them at its base. He bounced her weight up a time before muttering a mild levitation charm as he pressed her back to the wall with pretended inertia. Keeping his right hand under her arse still – skirt very much minded – he brought its twin northward to her neck, and then mouth, squeezing the sides of her cheeks just enough to make her petite lips pucker ever so softly.

He bit back a dark – purely feigned, surely – chuckle, "Looks like someone wants Daddy's mouth to theirs…"

The playful glare she shot at him, given his grip would distort any attempts she made at proper speech, was not entirely fabricated in its frustrated enticement. Mainly due to the infuriatingly tangible fact that… that should not have been so enticing in the first place. It had begun as a joke, surely – though one that was now beginning to leech it's way under her skin, and form into an almost annoying reality.

But, c'est la vie – at least it was an easy part to play. Sort of.

She nodded her head against the resistance of his grasp on her cheeks, her arms still rooted securely round his shoulders and neck, as she didn't fancy falling on her arse should something disrupt his focus. Though she used their convenient placement, and that of her thighs still encircling his waist, to constrict herself around his figure, pulling him inescapably closer and encouraging his projected action onwards. As would surely be expected… of course.

Severus, in hindsight, was a bit concerned – not to mention apprehensive – about his jeopardising decision to have been the initiator of the proposed junctioning of their lips. For despite having done so quite a number of times before, the 'romantic gesture' had never seemed just that, a gesture . Indeed, for there had, ever since their first osculation, been a deeper, ineffable, underlying belly to the action that stirred him to his core, and frightened him to his soul. For he had always held that the consequence of kissing was far more sacred and divine then most people endowed it with. To be sure, he had always treated it as reverently as the act of copulation itself. Especially penetratively-speaking. And as such he had not endorsed many opportunities to engage in the art of lip-locking throughout his life. Hell to be honest, he wasn't even sure just how many witches he'd ever shared that seraphic encounter with before. Less than a handful, without a doubt – and there certainly had never been anything saintly about any of them.

As such, to kiss her now, especially when this bloody binding magic appeared to be chronically intent on infusing his body with an incredulous influx of lust – which, yet again, he'd only managed to stave off due to a stunning adherence to self-preservation – seemed wholly unwise for both his anatomy as well as his, dare he think it?, his heart. However, he could not proffer up highball ideas if he could not pay the fee. So pay he must.

All of that taken into consideration, Snape thus concluded that to continue forth on the established path of playing the dominant 'Daddy' – who had a proclivity for teasing the hell out of his wife orally, whilst fucking her senseless against the wall, (he must remember to, now, portray) – was the, though gravely ironic, the wisest and only one to follow.

"As you insist," he roared, clinching the air between their mouths as he crashed his lips against hers with a feigned roughness that actually distracted from a far more thoughtful, and perhaps, amatory, landing than even he had intended. Though, that was hastily usurped by a heavy surge of libido which erupted without warning as he first feasted upon her lips, and which hastily consumed him. It prompted him, hungrily, to claim her tender, petite, ruby lips, and mark them as if they truly were his property, his damned vow now thrown, wildly, to the wind.

A hum of ecstasy escaped her, muffled somewhere between his lips and her own, a mating of surprise and appreciation as she half-expected him to bypass the connection entirely once again. Not as though it were a new experience in the least, at this point – though something in it felt decidedly different than the rushed attempts to stave off the other teeming masses the day before, and certainly leagues away from the testing, ceremonial attempts the evening of their marriage. The appetite was palpable , and perhaps it was that, married with the position, and the nature of the entire façade that encouraged her to return the pressure in complete, and arguably eager, endorsement.

A smart move, oh gods no , but in the moment, it felt like the only one to make. A consummate actress she was not, and falsifying felt illogical, and easily spotted. So when her thighs clenched on his hips and her lips began to part in their pursuit of his, it was the only reasonable and judicious action to take.

Severus had been keeping his hips decidedly still, adjudicating that to do so would hopefully elicit a plea, or better yet, impassioned demand for him to inherit their former, albeit posed rhythmic athletics. He whispered the concept to her between pecks and nibbles, as he would be astounded if the bloody pervert actually desired to subject himself to play the role of jester as they held the climax of their baccharis court's antics. For surely, he wasn't actually in the business of pornography…? Merlin, if so, Severus had perpetrated a detrimental error with his choice of their 'parlour trick'. However, that could, and should be determined at another time as he had a new objective: that of inspiring the witch to exalt fiendishly in carnal need . Which, he efforted to manifest by defecting from the supple borders of her mouth to trace down her jawline, and then jugular, grating a patterned path with his upper teeth as he did so before landing on her pulse point to suckle on it vigorously. Yes, it was rather time to mark his territory – er, 'his' being that of his alter ego of the faux, devoted, possessively-in-love-but-in-a-healthy?-way Heathcliff nature – with a tattoo to match the fading one she had given him.

Hermione should have likely expected him to pull that particular act of vengeance, especially once the trajectory of his mouth had transcended from her lips in a fiery descent that ended in the occupation of an area of tender skin below her jaw. However, she had been so consumed with the process of maintaining her suddenly heavy breathing, that she failed to even take note of the cheeky manoeuvre until it was far, far too late. Though it certainly did accomplish his whispered goal. For her retort to the 'assault', was a significantly audible, verbal curse which sounded far too like a moan to ignore, as it trailed into the ether of their exertions. So much for the preservation of her knickers. Though it also served to widen her eyes and, by default, forced her to take notice of what was developing behind her husband's back, even in spite of his continued 'torment'….

Sure as she was breathing – not the best turn of the phrase for the present moment, given it was proving more difficult than usual, but not the point – Crookshanks was racing down the hallway towards what she could only presume to be the front door, exercising a nasty growl, as the unmistakable flash of midnight black feathers swooped quickly after him. There was an audible jiggling of the door knob. Hermione blinked and couldn't contain a very confused scoff, quickly nudging Severus' shoulder.

"Fine, I deserved that , but, uhm… husband, I think our familiars might just be taking matters into their own claws and solving this problem for us...?"

Severus craned his angled head from underneath her jaw, clocking with a substantial amount of self-impatience and irritation, the stitch of dejection coursing through his chest as his mouth fled from her bullied, bruised throat.

"What…what are you on about, Witch?" he began gruffly, his tone having dropped down in potent arousal before he cleared his throat in order to sweep as much of it as he could away, before carrying on with, "We have a plan of our own here….leave them be, why don't we?" His eyes darted to and fro between hers with rather disengaged concern.

Well, concern and downright confusion. Did he not just instruct her to cry out in need for him? Did he not just burst the blood vessels on her delicious neck in the most seductive of ways? What more did the bloody witch want? A recitation of a Shakespearean sonnet or one of Lord Byron's poems as his mouth had its way with her cunt? Honestly, he was almost offended at this point. He'd consorted with self-restraint and prudency for as long as he could this entire endeavour and now, at the brink of, albeit faked, orgasm, she was going to rob him the husbandly – hell, caveman-like – satisfaction of hearing her verbal laudations, in the throws of ecstasy all due to him? All created, and inspired because of him – utterly missing the pelvic moves he had up his sleeve that would surely impress her, and have shocked the nosey parker, all because a fucking cat and fucking bird were in cahoots as they roguishly tried and get out of doors to harass a tresspassor? Big fucking deal? They were animals were they not? They might as well guard the fucking place. But that was no reason to suggest that they should halt their faked coupling right at a point where he had planned to go rather feral on her in order to induce the most intensely faked orgasm of her life—

Oh. Dear.

Oh, dear, indeed, Severus. How many times had he just internally reminded himself that this was all staged? And how many times had he very foolishly glossed over the fact that his extremely overprotective avian, and his wife's half-Kneazle feline were actively trying to make a breakout attempt to commit aggravated assault, or worse — and far more likely — a public fucking execution . And all because he wanted, quite purposefully, even desperately, to hear her moan his name and the recurve the smug satisfaction of ego that accompanied being the single source of his wife's euphoric nirvana. Did he need to remind himself, again, that this was all postured…..?

Hermione's eyes rose in, albeit, distracted confusion – or was it intrigue? – at his apparent indifference to their familiars' capers. In fact, he seemed resolutely unbothered and entirely undeterred from his single-minded dedication to making her lose her bloody mind — or at least pretending to. Even his eyes, which were close to black on the best of days, seemed to have darkened further still. Though before she could summon up a comment, the rattling, and soon creaking , ruckus for just beyond them could be heard once again. This time, however, followed by a caw of what she could only assume was bravado.

"...Does your bird know how to open the door?"

"Er….what? What about the door? It's fine. It's shut. What bird? Where?" Severus barked roughly as his pupils darted about momentarily as he slowly, but everly, came out of his internal daze. Or so he prayed. "Er, apologies, Miss Granger, I seemed to have…lost myself in…thought just now. What are you prattling on about again?"

He let out a huff of irritated air through his mouth directed at her reminded, prior comment, though the petulance was surely, truly pointed at himself. As the line between his dark brows sharpened, he contemplated his current predicament in the depth of his rattled mind, or did he mean 'addled'...? Were they not quite similar save for a hue of meaning? Hm? He'd need to finger his dictionary later to be sure. NO, no , not 'finger', what the fuck, man? Consult. Yes, that was the word he wanted there. But regardless, he needed to shut the bloody fuck up about words and diction. He barely even knew what he was on about any more, as the racing thoughts in his mind surely, foolishly, indicated.

Where was he? He hadn't accidentally come , had he? No, no sign in his trousers… And it's not as if she were looking in that direction, either… He wasn't speaking aloud was he? No, surely not for her face, though quite perplexed, did not seem horrified by what his mind was spouting forth…. Oh, dear gods man, grab the bloody wheel, you are careening off the road….

"...What. Were. We. Speaking. Of. Again…?"

Hermione should have been more alarmed, honestly – and with some amount of urgency, too. But the flushed befuddlement on his face took all of her attention for a moment, and she had to laugh despite the bruised side of her throat giving a throb in protest. Though it was more relief and fondness than mockery. Thank the gods he was equally, if not more so…discomposed.

There was, however, an audible skirmish of growling, and fluttering in the distance. Hermione took the opportunity to cup Severus' jaw with her right hand, directing his attention back to her and in so doing, rescuing him from its meandering, lost state. Her left hand, meanwhile, having become so hot that her fingers felt curiously numb, fisted into the neck of his jumper. She cleared her throat of mirth, to try and be as serious as the matter could turn out to be.

"Severus, please, stop being all... hot and flustered, will you? It's distracting ," she 'admonished' thoughtlessly with a flirtatious glance she likely should have curbed.

"Now then, answer the question – Can Nyx open the door?"

Severus found his cheeks rising in both temperature and shade at her remark. His ring finger as well had become astonishingly hot (though, how that was even conceivable he was not certain, however). Most noticeably as she touched him, and most especially when she spoke to him in such dallying ways. So much so that the gothic, dour, rare-to-ever-crack-a-public-smile, Severus Snape, found himself swallowing down a titanic knot of flattered awkwardness that he certainly did not know how to tend to. He was not about to blush for her, that was for bloody well certain.

Right, her question. Answer her fucking question, Man.

"Not that I'm aware of, Miss Granger…. And I'm not flustered , I'm hot … I mean –" his very flustered critical retort, however, was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a weathered latch turning in its cage before the creak of an even more abused door swung open in rebuffed agitation, a blast of cool, evening, winter air suddenly making itself at home in the sitting room.

His eyes flew to hers in abject horror, "Fuck."

Hermione winced at the inevitable sound she had hoped not to hear and which had arrested both of their attention concurrently. Well timed given her verbal blunder, but oy, definitely not good. A traumatised reporter was one thing, a maimed (or murdered one) one was something else all together. She let out a strained sigh.

"We should probably tend to that, hm?"

"Yes; most assuredly," Severus answered in a deep, hasty half-whisper.

He muttered the levitation charm to cease, adopting her weight back into his arms carefully after instructing her to regroup with her legs around his waist. Severus then crossed swiftly to the gaping door and was about to launch over its threshold when he paused and glanced down at her.

"I suppose we should either pretend to have been on the edge of… oblivion and interrupted, or, have…uh, finished, and only then have noticed the conflict…? Could very easily out ourselves otherwise… your skirt is…shorter than would be needed to stay in our… current position for him… And the former, obviously, would lend to a far fouler temper when penalising his behaviour, though, a stern talking to is clearly warranted, regardless," he murmured as his hands flexed into her arse by arrant absentmindedness.

"My. Apologies."

The witch gave a dismissive gesture with the hand that was on his shoulder, too preoccupied to pay his apparent transgression much mind, as her lip struggled between her teeth in thought.

" Hmm . It depends how callous we want to be I imagine," Hermione found herself responding, a tad too much amusement inherent in the probability of taking out some aggression on this particular interloper than, perhaps, was necessary. ' Perhaps' being the pivotal word of course.

"Former would certainly be easier to play off — particularly should he try to harm my Crooks."

"Yes, an argute verdict, Wife. And given my current level of indignation at our privacy, both real and feigned, mind you, I'd rather be as entitled as possible to show the man my most baleful side when I ' politely' tell him to fuck off or risk experiencing a former Death Eater's wrath…" Severus answered as he set her down to the ground with shrewd diplomacy before his hands crossed down to his jeans zipper which he slowly undid, "and if anyone lays a fingernail on your cat or Nyx, I will personally pluck their eyes out on their behalf…."

Catching her balance quickly as she disengaged from his person to return to solid ground despite her rather enervated legs, Hermione hummed quietly in advocacy of his remark. Though the fact that her attention was indubiously divided was evident as her stare lewdly dropped to his hand's rather taunting occupation. She deferentially caught herself sooner rather than later, however, and blinked herself back into proper focus, her head turning towards the door to nurture the action further just as a chorus of cursing could now be heard amongst the ruction.

Not the time to stare at his groin, or hands, or both together, Hermione. Cat. Bird. Chaos – Focus accordingly!

"Well, I'm without a doubt getting a good seat for this one," she commented to him with a smirk of eager anticipation.

Meanwhile, in the road outside, the unfortunate man by the name of Neil Whitely was doing what could only be described as some sort of one-legged, circus act. His glasses were hanging off one of his ears, having knocked them off himself in the process of trying to keep the large, black crow that had shot out of the house shortly before, away from his face, as it continued to circle his head almost mockingly. All the while a demonic sphere of tangerine fur – with claws – had attached itself to one of his legs, and no amount of kicking or flailing seemed to be convincing the bloody thing to detach itself anytime soon. Not to mention that his camera was already on the ground, and anytime he tried to reach for his wand his hand would be quickly dive-bombed from above.

All-in-all, an awful predicament to be stuck in. And all because he had had the seemingly bright idea to go where no other reporter would dare to go. For if there was ever an opportunity to prove that the Ministry was up to some totalitarian, contrived manipulation, it had to have been this , no? There could be no feasible way that they had retched up that travesty of a law, only to immediately use it to get such a controversial ministry servant as Severus Snape off the charge of ' The Murder of the Last Century' whilst still on paper disclaiming his actions. And by marrying Hermione Granger ? That was a relationship the public was meant to believe in? Hah!

Ridiculous . Down right ludicrous ! A fakery of epic proportions. Marrying not only her former professor , but the man who was notoriously 'associated' with her best friend's (or possible former-beau's depending which papers you read) dead mother? Neil had zero faith in the probability.

That is until he'd shown up there. He'd come all the way to Cokeworth and whilst he certainly had gotten plenty of material, it wasn't really the material he'd been banking on. He would, of course, use it. The entire trip wouldn't be a whole waste, he'd make certain of that. If he could get the bleeding hell out of there without losing an eye. Or anything else if he were found out.

As capable a wizard as he might be, he surely wasn't about to infuriate two of the more, if not the most, powerful wizards to come out of the war by killing either, or both, of their pets. If he could help it.

Severus Snape wisely accio'd his wand from where it had been resting on the mantelpiece, securing it tightly in his right hand as his left one flexed, the ever-burning ring almost scorching his hand despite the years of worked up callouses from potions-affiliated work, as well as life's general hardships and trials. Damn the fucking thing. He likely would have a second dark mark by the end of it all. He glanced to his lower right where his wife's Bambi-like eyes (and damn them, too!) seemed to be momentarily preoccupied too far south to be deferentional and he caught himself tilting his head and furrowing his brows at her distracted figure before making a soft show of clearing his throat.

"Ready for some theatre-work, Miss Granger? I believe I have a little set up here that should aid in panicking the man rightfully before I even exchange any words with him. Though, I do need your assistance. Only for a moment, however, no need to faint with stage fright…."

Hermione Granger-Snape let out something of a mock-snort at his tone of doubt that, to her, sounded rather absurdly amusing given everything that had thus transpired. For if there was one thing she felt she had proved, a bit too well, truth be told, was that she was willing to play host to any manner of theatrics for nothing more than spite. Perhaps more often, simply for entertainment. She refrained from mocking herself outright however, despite the urge.

"Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem. What did you have in mind, Husband?" she pressed, meeting his eyes once again.

"Right. I'm going to storm towards him in a moment, and I'd like you to chase after me, pull me back to you, insist that I really don't need to employ dark magic to curse such a pathetic excuse for a 'journalist', and do your very best to persuade me to let him be – he's not worth it etcetera, etcetera. Also, that we have all evening to shag and then shag some more, to zenith and back," he paused a moment as his eyes danced between hers and he licked his lips upon better thought to correct himself, "though, do feel free to be… Less. Than. Believable. – or rather, still obviously bothered on the last count…Hm,? Mischief managed? " he couldn't help but sneer.

"Oh, easily done," the witch agreed, with an approving wag of her brows at both his ironic call back, and the cheap if certainly effective variant of what was surely a very old intimidation tactic. A married couples' 'good cop/bad cop', even. Though as a new wave of curses hit her ear from outside, she grinned crookedly and jerked her head towards the open door.

"Go get him."

"With. Pleasure ," the Potion's Master confirmed, throwing her a small nod of comradery before he took a large stride over the doorway, extending his wand menacingly in front of him and at a slight angle with his wrist as he employed his signature 'stage walk', though ruefully without the assistance of his robes to inoculate it with the precise shade of melodrama to truly be magnificently impressive. Not that this wasn't, mind you. Just not as much as it could be.

"You. Dare . To. Be. Caught. Spying . On. The. Likes. Of. Me? You deplorable piece of vitriol. Or have you foolishly forgotten Who . The. Fuck. I. Am?! " Severus bayed out with a sibilance cadence to his tone as he steadily approached the insubstantial-looking man.

"Nyx, step down!" he then ordered with a signal of his wand to go to his wife. The crow paused midair to cock her head to the left as she flapped, though noted her master's creed before giving the man one final peck on the head and flying over to Hermione's shoulder, her feathers actively still fluffed up, so as to make herself look as large as possible even from her now distanced vantage point.

"Crookshanks! To your Mum, now! " Severus hissed, clicking at the feline with his tongue and his teeth before jerking his head in her direction. Upon which, he witnessed the cat – shockingly – seem to heed his words as he slinked back to his owner, though, like his new, avian companion, not without one final swipe at the media-monger's putrid-coloured trousers for good measure, causing the man to expel a hiss of abject pain amongst his newfound relief.

Hermione observed from the door for a moment as Severus Snape took the opportunity to – well, be himself , and in full force, too. She barely repressed a giggle as the bedraggled intruder, who was still hopping about like a mad man upon Snape's initial exit of the house, somehow managed to add cowering to his varied list of occupations. It was only after she left the stoop, and her husband had called off their pets in her direction, did she stalk forward herself to 'stop' him, causing the man to draw back all the more – though the impact was probably assisted by the very large bird on her shoulder.

"Oh, Severus, let him alone! This…wretched little tabloid-rat is hardly worth your time," she persisted as she caught up to him. "And definitely not your energy. I do rather need that."

Neil...hadn't exactly thought this far ahead. He shouldn't have been shocked that a former spy had spell-guarded his home from other spies , but he had foolishly expected his disillusionments to hold. However, he also hadn't thought of what he would do in the face of being caught. That had been a serious error on his part, to be sure.

The coward's answer was to apparate and quickly , but as the black-clad wizard approached him, he found out almost immediately that he couldn't have even if he'd tried. Fuck . Of course he had a disapparition jinx around the bloody house. Fuck, fuckity, fuck. Very bad.

"A-apologies, I didn't intend – I mean, didn't expect…" he stammered, glancing about to see where his camera had landed.

Severus chuckled wickedly, trapping the man by the front of his shirt in his left hand before pushing him backwards into the wall much like he's done Draco years earlier, and much as he had made a rather signature move out of it. He eyed the beetle of a man with sheer contempt as his left hand loosened before flexing and he lifted the man upright and off of the ground for a moment as he growled through clenched teeth.

"You've just made the biggest mistake of your life. Do you realise that your little 'Peeping Tom' antics just now, have cost my wife her first orgasm in three fucking weeks!? And let me tell you she is quite disagreeable when she hasn't had me for even half a day…. However, I suppose you're here because you chose not to believe us to be 'the real deal', now didn't you…. Mr…? " he paused with raised brows in grossly mocked politeness to hear the creature's name before he was to continue.

"...Whitely," the man stupidly felt compelled to answer in a rasp of a voice, though at this rate he would do just about anything to remain agreeable and get out of this dump with his life. "N-Neil Whitely…. Er, pleased to make your acquaintance…. Heh, heh."

Fucking idiot, why did you say that?!

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically with great impatience, approaching Severus before tugging lightly at the sleeve of his less encumbered arm, i.e the one not bearing the reporter's weight. Though by all accounts, she appeared fairly indifferent to the former Potions Master's current 'threat level' toward the unfortunate Neil , and not fully false in that sentiment either. Honestly, it was kind of fun to watch… Quite fun.

"We have the entire weekend to shag, Darling, but not if you get arrested for torturing him," she remarked rather tauntingly, or luringly rather, barely sparing the man a look. "We'll report him later. Now let's go...?"

"Maybe...listen to your wife, eh?" Neil gambled on adding hopefully, swallowing and glancing between them both uneasily, and continuing to ramble. "And you're right, you're very right. I… didn't believe it, but –"

The butt of Severus' iconic wand pressed firmly into the man's jugular, birthing a creasing, ripple effect of his skin around its point that clearly indicated the amount of pressure Severus was mindfully applying with his arm.

"Don't. Talk. To . My. Wife. Or. About . My. Wife. Do you understand me?" Snape hissed against his ear as his wand rose to lift the man's chin up so he could heed his words with the additional enforcement of his eyes' support.

"You seem an insufferably idiotic soul whose only source of 'individuality' comes from the overly-hostile opinions of either ailse of the left or the right that fits as being the most shocking, on any given day. You hide behind morals and immorals and you have no sense of self or purpose in this life save to make a meagre tenner, and exploit others in the name of 'The Truth'. Which is a despicable thing to do for you know very well that there is No. Such. A. Thing. In. The. Press. You are worse than the bottom-dweller, cohort of yours that stole our private moment of matrimonial commitment from us for the Prophet's – and the public's – pleasure. And do you want to know why that is, Mr. Neil Whitely?" Severus sneered violently as he took a step forwards to loom over the ashening man even more as he nodded awkwardly lest he not react at all and further anger the formidable wizard.

"Because at the very least that cock- of-a-man received a very substantial monetary reward from the stunt, which tells me, that as corrupt as he may be, he isn't utterly stupid. Stupid enough to have spent fare, time, and the risk of life on stalking the wife of a man who was just acquitted for murdering the most powerful wizard of our time, not mention who also 'served' the egotistical wizard who thought he was . Now, if I'm not mistaken, wouldn't the fact that both of those individuals are deceased , then, therefore, make me the wizard who would now be crowned with that title? Hm? 'Uneasy is the head that wears a crown…'. Do. Keep. In. Mind."

Hermione tried to look somewhat put upon at her husband's clear indifference to her words, but wasn't as successful as she could have been. She had stepped back for half a moment to ensure that her feline and his co-conspirator made their way safely back inside, before allowing her attention to be totally arrested by the spectacle before her. With arms crossed over her chest against the cold, she leant her weight across the house's facade and watched, with some bizarre and deep-seated level of... appreciation , as her husband menaced this poor fool to hades and back. If he was planning to ignore Severus' sage advice and try to look to her for some form of obligate 'female' sympathy, as many men often did to her kind, he would have been sorely disappointed. Instead her face portrayed what could only be described as an amorous smirk, head tilted in focused observation, with barely any regard for the smaller man's mindless appeasement.

Neil was still nodding, jerkily and quickly in contemptible agreement despite the jabbing pressure on the side of his throat, because honestly he couldn't right argue. If this were any other man he might've tried of course, at least when it came to his having some journalistic integrity. But apparently, not today.

"I would…say so, yeah. Yes. Very unforgivable of me. I'm quite sorry…but just doing my…'pathetic' job, you see. Have to pay the bills somehow… At least, um, I'm…disproving a misconception?" he found himself stammering, and trying, as ever, to talk himself out of trouble. It never had worked, not in his school days, and certainly not now. He was hoping the spine-chilling man was all talk – though he had very severe doubts on that one. After all, the man's name was 'Sever-us'.

Growling between his teeth, which he had effectively been grinding against one another in faux – yes, faux – ire during the man's fatuous babbling, the former Headmaster, Potions Master, Death Eater, and Triple-Agent, glowered down at the snivelling fool with utter contempt.

"Oh yes, 'at least' you are doing. Just. That ," he began with scornful foreboding, "I'll set the record straight, for your shall I? And I'll do my best to keep it pedestrian lest you lag behind, but no promises. If you, or if anyone foolish enough like you, are to ever question the merits of my heart again with regards to Mrs. Granger-Snape – particularly given its obvious proclivity to impassioned commitment – do keep these next words in mind, hm? Hermione, whilst formerly one of my students, yes , is the sharpest witch I have ever met, surpassed, perhaps only by Minerva McGonagall though surely only due to years, which even she would agree about. She is kind, brave, fierce, thoughtful, stubborn, abhorrently long-winded at times – though, apparently, so am I, but I'll blame her for that habit – uncompromisable when it comes to her loyalty, one of the greatest friends you will ever have by your side – to a fault, and possess a curiosity that I'd say is only rivalled by my own. She is critical, self-assured, though at times charmingly less than sure-footed, and has a mouth that is as delightfully filthy as it is sharp. I feel no need to go on about her natural beauty for it is obvious. And though her namesake is that of the Bard's Hermione, it stands as poetically ironic, given her striking visage, that she also shares the name with the daughter of Troy's most famous face for she possesses just as much physical wonderment as both the mother and daughter surely did. But beauty is a cheap virtue to harp on and one, that I can feel by the set of eyes currently boring into my back, she'd greatly wish for me to move on from. So move on, I shall. In short, she puts the Greeks to shame, having been gifted with Aphrodite's fairness, Diana's heart, and Athena's mind. I could not ask for a more sublime specimen to match my own, and no matter what I may have thought in the past, Hermione Jean Granger-Snape was meant for me. And she was meant to be mine – apologies, Kitten, you know what I mean. And I hers . Now then…. Was I too pretentious with my allusions and references just now? Did I curb my vocabulary enough for you? Or do you need me to brand the sentiment on your back in one sentence lest you have misunderstood, or worse, should forget?"

Severus was marginally concerned by the ease at which his monologue had flown, that was, until he perspicaciously reminded himself that he had not only known the young woman for her formative years and had witnesses a number of the aforementioned credentials first hand, but had also had spent quite a lot of, though condensed, quality time with her in the past two days. So, there was no need to panic, or question his opinion of her. He respected her greatly. And donning the character of a 'Husband in Love' with her, would only quantify with ease. Yes, he was playing his part , and he was playing it exceptionally well – as ever he did do.

Right?

Neil could only really blink in the face of what amounted to the most terrifying sonnets he could conjure up – not that it was literally , but bloody well close enough by his standards. Though his reporter's brain was just disappointed he hadn't been dictating. As though anyone would believe a first hand account….even if he could remember that elaborate cluster of classical allusion, by pensive or miracle, all the same. He would already be lucky to get out of there with his limbs, much less any of his photos. Perhaps a shift of focus was in order?

"Oh, I uhm….think I got it. You should really look into writing, mate. You'd be great at it."

The glare he got in return did enough to prove flattery was not the direction to go. His eyes scanned around for any other source of reprieve and landed incidentally on the human-embodiment of 'heart eyes' that was the new Mrs. Snape with a light-bulb of hope. Perhaps the big romantic's focus could be 'redirected'.

"Though I think I should really get out of your way…or hers rather." His head twisted to the side purposefully.

Hermione was even more stunned than the increasingly dumbfounded Mr. Whitely, and he hadn't even expected to be in this situation at all, much less on the receiving end of such an ardent declaration. But stunned didn't really encapsulate it, nor did 'flattered' really reach the proportions of necessity. She was both of those things, true, but enamoured might, to her detriment, be closer to the focal point of the maelstrom of reactions she had to this particular lecture. Her eyes were wide enough to feel the wind sting them in places it normally couldn't reach, but the rest of her was overwhelmingly hot . Though instead of heat emanating from her ring as it often did of late, it felt like it was radiating from her tightening chest and spreading, straight through the intrusive butterflies invading her stomach and towards the ever-increasing ache between her thighs.

Bad. Very bad.

It was entirely made up, of course . She knew that. He did have a gift for pulling elaborate intricacies from the mysterious depths of his mind and spinning them into, though false, ever-convincing, ideals. Well the sentimental bits anyway – something told her he was not one for compliments for a reason, and conjuring such elaborate ones would not have been something he did unnecessarily, or, lightly. And she did not believe for a moment Neil required, nor probably even fully registered, the weight of half of them. The precise equilibrium she could only guess at, but the overarching theme was quite clear: if that's what came out of his mouth when he didn't even properly mean the dedication behind it, what would actually being loved by the man, fully and uncompromisingly, be like?

A contemplation for another day, surely – but it would be considered. For the moment, though, she was left with the overwhelming urge to pounce the man and no real opportunity to do it, given his current preoccupation. A tragedy of truly gigantic proportions. Though amongst her lamentations, a glint of something large and reflective on the ground between them caught her eye.

Deciding to hit two birds with one stone, Hermione stalked forward, kicking the large camera away from the pair and into the shadows subtly in the process, lest the man get the opportunity to snatch it back. Though her main goal was clear: undeterred by the shivering man still in his grasp, Hermione embraced her husband from behind, quite genuinely, which she was sure was obvious. She made a visible showing of stroking her left hand up his chest and towards his jaw, which she gripped lightly and angled towards the shoulder she was presently leaning her chin on.

"You are far too sweet and it is far too cold to waste any more time out here, love. Now I think it's time to put the Peeping Tom down and let me thank you properly, hm?"

"Just as I was about to threaten to hex his testicles…. Alas …" Severus sighed in dramatic chagrin, reveling as he gave the man one last domineering look of bodily threat before he dropped him abruptly and spat next to his figure on the ground.

"Get. Out. Now! " He hissed before turning round to face his wife lest he decide to hex the fiend regardless.

Neil did not need to be told twice. Landing so abruptly that his knees buckled and he nearly toppled onto his arse, he managed to catch himself against the house and scramble swiftly to his feet.

"Right. I'll just be...going then," the wizard replied, though took a brief, probably very ill-thought out moment to look around for his abandoned camera before inevitably heading for the bloody hills. Only after backing up a good few paces into the street did he happen to see the heavy contraption, looming almost back by their front door. Shite.

If he could just get close enough to accio the blasted thing…

"Well done," Hermione complimented two-fold with a wicked little chuckle as her husband turned towards her, shifting back from him a hair so he could proceed unimpeded.

At first she was only distantly aware of Neil's scrambling movements behind Severus' back, though it quickly occurred to her what he might be looking for, given that he had yet to vanish. And vanishing was surely the first thing any smarter man would do.

And so, watching out of the corner of her eye as his figure edged back towards them, Hermione exhaled a huff of impatience. He just couldn't leave that stupid camera alone, could he? Oh well. Her gaze returned to Snape's almost blandly.

"Oppugno! " she bellowed out towards the wormy journalist with dangerous clarity. Rather than observe as a murder of black crows, much like the one he had so recently been accosted by, descended from the sky in what appeared to be a sweeping formation straight for the man, she instead watched Severus' dark eyes with a playful lift to her brow. Couldn't let him have all the fun, surely. Only then, it seemed, did Neil begin to run - or so her ears informed her.

Though Snape's eyes remained steadfastly locked with hers during the entire final reckoning of the man, he obviously knew precisely what she had done, and precisely just how well she had done it. He swallowed as the perimeters of his lips tauntingly quivered, stilled, then impishly raised themselves like a stretching cat as he looked at her in laudable amazement. His ring was ablaze, and his body seemed to be echoing the sentiment, especially his puckish lower half. He chose to disregard what growth might be occurring there for now, however.

Instead, he took one large stride towards her, wrapped his left arm round her waist possessively, dipped her back slightly before pausing his mouth's decent to her own as he caught the confused, slow look of realisation that was forming in her eyes, before muttering with puckish disdain, "Oh, come now, Miss Granger, surely you don't think me that conventional after all we've explored together thus far…."

He paused to give her a small wink, only to then twirl them, with sudden and great dramatics, on his heel as he kicked them off the ground and into the air with expert finesse. He zipped their compressed anatomies about for a few indulgent moments before 'station-ing' them afloat above and adjacent to the dreary, darkening street, and their – yes, their – lit, corner house.

"Now, I'll be conventional," he rumbled, dipping her back fully with graceful, caring inertia as he pressed his lips snugly to her own, his right hand tangling itself congruously in her hair as he cupped her face warmly.

Despite clawing onto the man for dear life at first – Hermione had never exactly been as much of a flyer as her more quidditch-minded companions, outside of necessity – she found her trepidation melted away far more swiftly than she had ever expected, giggling into his all-encompassing embrace. Between the heat coming off of Severus, and the scalding one of her left hand, she barely began to feel the cold, either. Even the squawking and screaming had blessedly faded, and she was aware of nothing save the rush of the wind and the, now-familiar, tingling pressure of his lips.

That is until a coarsely thin, yet somehow still resounding , female voice rose up in shout, seemingly, from the open doorway below them:

"Severus Tobias Snape, you best not be fornicating on my roof!"

Upon hearing the irritatingly shrill, though ethereal, inflexion resound in his ears, all thoughts of intimacy, their past hour's antics, or how the bloody hell they were supposed to spend the rest of the fucking night, let alone weekend without something dangerously close to carnal occurring, came to a full, and sudden, halt.

'Severus Tobias Snape' jerked his head upwards and visibly blanched, glancing down at Hermione's bemused face before he finally managed to issue out a groughly-worded explanation.

"Fuck me sideways with Athena's strap-on, Mother's portrait has been… awakened…. "