A/N: *tiptoes in and drops off the newest chapter*

*scuttles away before you throw things*

xx-Kitten

Limerence Laws

By Kittenshift17

CHAPTER NINE

Hermione wasn't sure she could return to the dungeons and face Snape or Sirius again so soon, but she really did need to get a dress if she was going to be married in short order. Biting her lip, she tossed up the merits of asking Professor McGonagall if she could use her Floo instead of having to go back to the quarters of her soon-to-be-husband where one, or perhaps both of the men she was expected to wed might still be waiting.

Her cheeks were still pink from the reaction she'd had to Snape's voice and Sirius's hands, she was sure. Her heart seemed unable to regain a normal rhythm and the idea of seeing either of them again so soon made her jittery and nervous. Glancing at her watch, Hermione noted the time. It was almost lunch time. She needed to get going. She didn't doubt that Dumbledore would push the three of them to be wed just as soon as Sirius was cleared at the Ministry and she didn't want to miss out on getting a dress and shoes and everything she needed to at least make this farce of a wedding seem a bit like it was what they all wanted.

Screwing her courage to the sticking place, Hermione collected her purse and stomped out of the Common Room and all the way back down to the dungeons. She hesitated outside Snape's office, raising her hand to knock before recalling that she'd left Snape and Sirius alone inside. They were probably fighting or trying to kill each other and likely wouldn't hear her even if she bothered to knock. And anyway, as of that very evening, these would be as much her quarters and Sirius's as they were Snape's.

Gods, she didn't even want to think about how awkward and infuriating it was going to be, living with the two volatile wizards, and while she was still a student, too.

Pressing her lips together before turning the handle and letting herself into the room, Hermione frowned at the ominous silence that greeted her. The room was a mess, and Hermione's brow furrowed, knowing they hadn't left it this messy when she'd gone to get her purse.

"Snape?" she asked quietly, her brow furrowing when she spied him sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes were closed, and he didn't react to her question or her entrance.

Hermione's heart sped up and she frowned, looking around the room, wondering if he'd finally lost his temper and killed Sirius. She scanned the area quickly, not spotting the Animagus anywhere, and seeing no blood. Maybe Sirius had just left? Maybe they'd just gotten into another argument and Sirius had left to keep them both from killing the other.

"Granger?" Snape's voice interrupted her racing thoughts when she checked the rooms off the main sitting room to be sure Sirius wasn't lying somewhere, dead.

Hermione spun toward the Potions Master, spying the fact that though he was still pinching the bridge of his nose as though suffering a nasty headache, his eyes were open and fixed on her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, frowning at him. "Where's Sirius? Have the two of you had another fight? I knew I shouldn't have left the pair of you alone."

She hurried across the room toward him as she spoke, moving close enough to reach for the hand he was pinching his nose with, intent on making sure he didn't have a broken nose. Hermione squealed in surprise when Professor Snape reached for her, tugging her down by the front of her robes and toppling her right into his lap. She wriggled immediately, the nature of her fall having left her straddling the dour wizard, but before she could squirm off his lap, he looped his arm around her waist and pressed his palm flat against the small of her back.

Sliding against him thanks to the grip he had on her, Hermione found herself very much inside Severus Snape's personal space and very much afraid when he looked at her like that. She was alarmingly aware of the fact that though she wore jeans, her core ground against his sinfully, especially when he held her pressed to him like that.

"Sir?" she asked in a small voice, suspecting that right then he was the very farthest thing from being her teacher.

"Don't call me that," he purred in that wicked voice of his that so made her want to do unspeakable things. "I'm not your teacher, anymore."

"I…. um… yes, sir. I mean… erm…" Hermione blushed crimson and she found him watching her intently.

"I make you uncomfortable," he pointed out, seeming intrigued.

Hermione wanted to argue with him, frowning.

"I'm straddling you, Snape," she said.

"You are," he nodded. "By this evening, you will likely be doing so whilst naked."

Hermione's blush grew even hotter.

"Um…" she said unintelligibly.

Snape's lips twitched like he might smirk, his arm around her remaining rigid when she squirmed, thinking it might be best to get off him as quickly as possible. It was clear that he was in no mood to be being nice or even polite to her, and he wasn't acting like himself.

"What happened in here?" she asked, trying to distract him. "The room is a mess."

Snape shrugged. "I lost my temper with Black."

"You haven't killed him, have you?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"It crossed my mind," he said, frowning a little. "I'm not the type of wizard who likes to share, Granger. Especially not with the likes of a mutt I've hated since adolescence."

"You're worried about having to share your space with Sirius and I, after the wedding?" she asked, frowning at him.

His dark eyes bored into her with such intensity that Hermione quivered in his hold, gulping audibly beneath his scrutiny an unsure what to make of the fact that their positions, and his intensity, were having an effect on her body that she wasn't sure she knew what to do with.

"After the wedding you will be my wife, Miss Granger," he informed her in a low voice, his eyes tracing over her face as though he were trying to memorize her features, burning them into his mind.

Hermione's heart clenched, though with fear or something else, she wasn't certain. She'd never heard a man sound so possessive in all her life and she gulped audibly a second time, unsure how to respond, but sensing that he most certainly wanted her to say something.

"And Sirius will be your husband," she reminded him.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Not if I kill him," he said. "And then there would be no call for sharing."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Am I of such value to you already that you would put your soul in jeopardy just to avoid sharing me, Snape?" she asked, confused by this version of him, which she'd surely never encountered before.

He seemed unerringly calm, but very much like there was a storm raging under the surface that threatened to break free at any moment with truly devastating effects. It was clear to her that he wasn't at all kidding when he suggested that killing off Sirius might be a better idea than having to share her and Hermione suspected that didn't at all bode well for their upcoming nuptials.

"You mean nothing to me," he said coldly, and Hermione winced at the utter truth that rang in his tone. "But, by Ministry decree, you are to be my wife."

"And Sirius's," Hermione said stiffly, trying to tamp down her hurt feelings at his utterly cold admittance. "No matter how uncomfortable the notion makes all three of us."

"Black can fuck off," Snape said, surprising her with his vicious language and his bluntness.

"Black is going to be as much my husband as you, and there is nothing else for it," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes on him. "Believe me, Snape. None of us are happy about this. You're not the only one considering murder to avoid this mess. But we agreed that it was best that we go along with this ridiculous notion for the sake of continuing the war effort. Now, if you have issues about sharing, you will either have to learn to control them, or keep them to yourself. You don't care about me, as you've just said, so there is little cause for you to be acting possessive. I would appreciate it if you would release me so that I can be on my way to collect my dress, and if you could regain control of your faculties while I'm gone because, honestly, you're scaring me."

He curled his lip at her hatefully, never once taking his eyes off her and refusing to release the grip he had on her.

"This is your fault," he informed her.

"We've established that," Hermione snapped. "I'm sorry that I happen to have a type and that, much to my horror, you and Sirius happen to both be that type. But this is how it's going to be. Now, are you going to continue being a complete wanker, or do I need to hex you?"

"You couldn't if you tried," he smirked, and Hermione got the distinct impression that this intense and fierce version of him she was seeing was the real Severus Snape. The person he truly was on the inside, when he didn't have masters to jump through hoops for, and when he didn't have dunderheaded fools to teach.

He was cruel and cold and beyond terrifying. She could practically see the Darkness swimming in his eyes as he looked at her, and she felt very much like a tiny mouse caught in the claws of a wretched cat, intent on playing with his food before devouring it.

"Why have you pulled me into your lap?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her head and think rationally, suspecting that threats would get her nowhere, and that he was just itching for a good duel, and thus, pulling her wand on him would be an unfortunate idea.

"As of this evening, you will belong in my lap," Snape informed her. "Perhaps you ought to get used to it."

"Perhaps I ought to remind you that we are not married yet, and that manhandling a woman against her will is considered a crime," Hermione retorted frostily.

"Don't pretend you are afraid of me, Granger," Snape drawled, his hand on her lower back pressing into her, forcing her to shift in his lap until her core ground against him in a way that made her squirm.

"I am, actually," she admitted quietly. "You are… taking liberties that frighten me."

"Because you have such limited experience with men?" he asked, tipping his head to one side and regarding her like some fascinating experiment he'd cooked up.

"Because this morning you were my Potions teacher and had never looked at me sideways or paid any attention to me beyond sneering at me and insulting me when the opportunity arose. Forgive me for finding it alarming that a scant few hours later, you've pulled me into your lap and are attempting to grind me against your apparently growing erection whilst informing me – very possessively – that you want to kill the other man I'm expected to marry and that as soon as we're married, I will belong on your lap, preferably naked. It is out of character and it's making me nervous, so please, for the love of Merlin, desist!"

She squeaked in surprise when he suddenly released her, dropping his hands and sitting back as far as he could in his chair, regarding her coolly.

"Get off, then," he snapped.

Hermione wondered if it was possible to get whiplash even whilst sitting still. Because she was surely in danger of it with Snape acting like this.

Sighing heavily, and putting her hands on his shoulders, Hermione leaned back a little in his lap, but she didn't move off him. He was right. In very short order she was going to be his wife, and come the evening, she was going to be expected to have sex with him and with Sirius, and that was hardly going to be easy if she couldn't even sit, fully clothed, in his lap without panicking.

"Are you feeling alright, Snape?" she asked, frowning at him.

"I'm expected to wed my nemesis and one of my least favourite students," he drawled. "What do you think?"

"I think you're angry," Hermione said. "But right now, you don't seem angry so much as… prideful, and a bit arrogant, if I'm being honest."

"Try to be less honest," he sneered, though he looked wickedly amused, rather than insulted.

She shook her head slowly, tracing her eyes over his features and trying to commit them to memory, knowing that in the coming days – Merlin, in the coming decades - she was going to have to get used to peering into his face. He was by no means handsome, she noticed. His nose was too long and too hooked, and he had a perpetual sneer that seemed to have worked its way into the few lines on his face. His hair was long, brushing his shoulders in twin black curtains and framing his rather pointed and sallow face in a way that made it obvious he preferred not to be looked at very closely.

"You're staring," he drawled, and Hermione suspected he was using Legilimency and listening to her thoughts as she eyed him.

"I know," Hermione said softly, lifting a hand and reaching toward the dark curtain of hair that covered the left side of his face. "May I touch you, Snape?"

Snape eyed her for a long moment while her hand hovered, not quite touching him, before he shrugged and looked away. Hermione carefully gathered his hair, tucking it back behind his ears so that she could better see his face and he flinched minutely when she traced her fingers across his forehead, noting the heavy frown lines marring an otherwise proud brow.

Slowly, she trailed her fingers over his dark eyebrows, smoothing them before carefully tracing the tip of her finger down the length of his nose. He looked like he wanted to pull away, clearly sensitive about his nose, but he didn't say anything. Smoothing her thumbs across his cheeks, Hermione took note of the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if he got enough sleep. Knowing even a little of what he was expected to do as a Death Eater made her doubt he slept very well. He shuddered minutely when she drew her fingers along the length of his sharp jaw before trailing them toward his lips. She'd never noticed his lips before, but they were surprisingly sensual for so hard a man.

When she drew the pad of her thumb along his lower lip, Snape took a slow, shaky breath, his eyes darting back up to clash with hers.

"Not what you hoped?" he sneered. "After all, if your tastes run more toward pretty wizards like Black, then I expect this must be very disappointing for you."

Hermione realised with a twitch of her lips that he was both self-conscious, and disdainful, clearly loathing the fact that Sirius was pretty when Severus wasn't.

"Actually, Snape, the enactment of the law and your matching up with me and Sirius would suggest that my tastes run a little deeper than aesthetic appeal, don't you think?" she asked, still touching his lip and wondering how he might react if she were to kiss him.

It was an alarming sensation, the sudden urge she felt to kiss the lips that had formed such harsh words to hurt her in the past, but it pervaded her mind just the same.

"I'm to believe you care more for intelligence than appearances?" he asked, raising that infernal eyebrow that so often made people want to swear at him.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I don't delude myself into believing that I am all that beautiful, sir. I have always valued my intelligence over my appearance. I don't care what you look like."

"But you would prefer to be seen with the likes of Black, rather than with me," he inferred.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I confess, I like Sirius. He makes me laugh, when he's not encouraging Harry to do something reckless and not mistaking him for James. But there are also times when I positively hate the man for being the stubborn, belligerent, arrogant sod he can be – especially when he's been drinking. As for you…"

"You hate me," he said, and Hermione began to suspect he had a bad habit of jumping to conclusions and trying to put the words in other people's mouths.

"No," she shook her head again, smiling a little. "I like you, too. Admittedly, I know less about you beyond the fact that you are often boorishly unkind when the mood strikes, and that you are an extremely capable teacher – no matter your habit of belittling and provoking your students. I admit that just as there are times when I hate Sirius, there are times when I'm certainly uncharitable in my thoughts of you. But there are also times when I find myself admiring you, and despite your frequent cruelty, I respect you very much, sir."

"Stop calling me sir," he hissed, narrowing his eyes on her.

"Stop thinking you know my mind better than I do and stop jumping to conclusions, then," Hermione said. "Look, Snape. During my interview with the Ministry where they extrapolated the Limerence for these silly matches, the only things I listed as being of interest to me were personality traits, and dark hair. And it must certainly be said that you fit the bill, as you've got dark hair, and so many wicked personality traits that I'm certain I could spend a lifetime with you and still not entirely understand all of them. What little I know of you suggests that you are intensely driven; focused; witty; exceedingly intelligent; sometimes cruel; utterly volatile; you have a wicked temper, and I would be willing to wager that when you find something that takes your fancy, you are unwaveringly and intensely passionate about it. And though it is hardly what you want to hear, I expect you will find that you share a number of those traits with Sirius. So, while it is clear that none of us are overly thrilled by this match, there's nothing for it but to try and make the best of things."

"The best I could make of it would be eliminating him form the equation," Snape muttered.

Hermione traced her thumb along his lower lip again.

"If you did, you would still be stuck with me, you know? And there would be no one else to distract me from nagging and whining and taking my foul moods out on you," she said. "Make no mistake, Snape, this will be a mess trying to have the two of you cohesively live together, but I am by no means easy to live with. When we are married, I expect there will be times when you're grateful Sirius is here, lest you be faced with the full force of my annoying personality alone."

"An annoying personality can be dealt with by bending you over something and fucking you until you forget whatever bee was in your bonnet," Snape drawled, and Hermione's cheeks turned pink at the suggestion.

"Well…" she said, clearing her throat and not at all liking the wicked smirk that flashed across his face. "Maybe the same tactic could be employed whenever Sirius annoys you."

He lost his smirk immediately.

"No!" he said coldly.

"You're going to have to live with him, Snape," she reminded him. "And I'm certain that Sirius swings both ways."

"I don't," he argued.

Hermione tipped her head to one side, regarding him curiously.

"You seem awfully sure of that fact," she pointed out before daring to ask; "Tried it before?"

It was his turn to blush, and his expression grew murderous.

"That's hardly your business, is it?" he sneered.

"Well, since you'll be my husband in less than twelve hours, I think it might be, sir," she said.

"If you call me sir one more time, I'm going to snog you until you forget how to speak, witch," he warned her.

Hermione couldn't quite fight the smirk that pulled at her lips and she watched the way the dour Potion Masters's eyes lowered to fix upon them. Licking them nervously when the tension between the two of the spiked, Hermione slowly traced the pad of her thumb across his lower lip one more time before very deliberately meeting his gaze and whispering.

"Yes, sir."