A/N: Thank you to the lovely orlando switch for the 'doubter'. From my conversations with this gorgeous reader, I have learnt that this term is often used in Holland to refer to older, smaller double beds. I found it so charming that I couldn't resist using it here.

Forgive me please - I cannot reply to all reviews for the last chapter. The small person of our household hasn't been sleeping well and computer time has been few and far between. Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying the story! I am so thrilled with all of the responses.

Chapter 15

Darlin' you've got to let me know,

Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine,

I'll be here 'til the end of time.

The Clash

"And then what did you do?"

Severus groaned and leant forward in his chair until his forehead met the cool surface of his desk. "Imighthavegonebacktobed."

"Repeat that," Poppy deadpanned. "Go on. Say it again." She was perched on the edge of the chair opposite his desk. He'd altered the story somewhat, giving the impression that his wife had been dreaming rather than the more… explosive version that he knew to be true.

"I said," he hissed, "I went back to bed. And," he added, still avoiding her gaze but anticipating her growl of displeasure, "I won't hear one more word about it!"

"Should've told someone else, then!" she sniffed. "You're a bloody fool, boy. I do love you – oh, don't give me that look – but at forty one, don't you think it's time to get your head out of your arse and smell the lilacs?"

"Poppy, you've got the saying all wrong again-"

The older witch slammed her hands down on the desk and shot him a glower that instantly reduced him to an awkward thirteen year old sod again. "Surely you do not mean to tell me, Severus Snape, that you haven't noticed how much the poor girl is head over heels for you?"

"I really don't think-"

"Sod what you think! I haven't seen any indications that you're in your right mind at all." Poppy flopped back into the chair. "Severus, it's now Friday. This occurred on Tuesday."

"Your point?"

She shook her head and removed her cap before saying, "Good grief. You've been letting her stew on it, haven't you? That poor, poor girl!"

"Poor?" Suddenly the injustice of it all crashed over him and he found himself standing. "I'm the bloody poor one! Stuck in a house with an attractive woman who happens to be married to me, and I can't do anything about it!"

"Did you fall down here the last time it rained? What on earth made you think that you couldn't do anything about it?!"

"She's only just recovered!" he exclaimed, drawing back. "The last thing she needs is –"

Severus watched, his lips twisted into a scowl as Poppy nodded slowly and held up her hand. Her usually harsh voice softened along with her gaze. "Ah. Wait a minute."

He wasn't of a mind to wait. Severus was almost entirely sure that it was Hermione who needed to buck up and speak to him first, and it wasn't out of a lack of confidence. He'd been shy for too many years to resort to that with his own damn wife, but there was not a chance that he was about to attempt something that she might not be emotionally ready for. It was, as far as he was concerned, the most sensible and sensitive way to approach it.

Still, Poppy stared him down until he huffed and settled himself back in the chair.

"I think," she began delicately, "that you're coming at this from the wrong direction, Severus." The witch tapped her chin as she planned her next words then said carefully, "What if instead of being the last thing Hermione needs, she considers it to be the only thing she needs? Don't object just yet," she ordered, waving a hand towards his frown. Severus closed his eyes and nodded, resigned to her meddling.

"Think about it," Poppy continued. "Hermione has had three years to come to terms with the fact that you're her husband. I say three years because we all know you barely gave that girl the time of day when you were both here. She remembers your visits, and she knew you were hers. Now she's well again and can you even imagine how eager she would be to just get moving? She's found some work, you've got the house, and you've got that ruddy cat. The only thing she doesn't have is her husband!"

"She does!" he protested. "I'm there every day!"

"No you're bloody well not, boy!" Poppy fumed, resorting to stamping her foot on the dungeon floor. "I'm not going to spell it out for you – oh sod it, yes I am! How many more hints can she give you? If you don't take her to bed soon, you're going to drive her mad!"

He couldn't breathe; couldn't think.

Instead he sat there as if petrified, staring at Poppy with all of the shock that was coursing through his veins.

"I've been a right fool," muttered Severus, wiping both hands over his face. "Bloody hell."

The nurse who had known him for longer than his own mother crossed her arms and grinned. "Judging by your face, I think it's high time you went home."

"I can't Apparate," he breathed immediately. "I'll splinch myself or I'll end up in the middle of the bloody lake."

"Well what are you waiting for then?" she pressed. He looked up at her, rising to his feet at the same time that Poppy extended an arm towards the door. "Go to her, Severus! You have a fully functioning pair of legs."

"No time," he hurled back then herded her out of the office, ignoring her knowing smirk. As soon as Poppy was out of the room, Severus looked down at his robes and smoothed his hands down over the fine wool.

He allowed himself one deep breath to quell the nerves. Truthfully, while Poppy had mentioned Hermione being wary of wasting time, Severus didn't believe that for a second. After the bizarre experience of being married to a student then caring for her for years, slowing down this new joined life was vital. Hurtling into something would never have worked; no matter how much he desired her, or how strongly she might return such feelings, he was glad because of each delicate moment they'd shared.

They deserved to relax. After the war, they were damn well entitled to take their time.

And Severus had enjoyed it – oh yes, he certainly had never felt perturbed by looking up from his book to see his wife glancing at him from under her lashes, or to finally know how it felt to intentionally brush past her in the kitchen, their bodies pressed against each other for one fleeting second.

If she had been wooing him, then at the very least, he had let her know that it was welcome.

Despite Poppy's exasperated remarks, Severus was no idiot. Though sometimes a fresh, albeit subjective, opinion could be useful.

He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat.

"Tink!"

…

Hermione dropped the leaflet she'd been reading while standing in the kitchen and shrieked when he flashed into existence at her side.

"Sorry," Severus muttered, turning away to hide his grin.

His wife shook her head, seemingly gathering her thoughts, and elbowed his side. "Were the roads busy? Too much traffic for a Friday evening?"

He was already moving out of the kitchen, intent on a shower before broaching the intriguing subject of attraction. Still, he laughed, pausing only quickly to throw over his shoulder, "Not at all. I have a pressing matter to attend to."

"Oh?" Hermione trailed after him, stopping at the foot of the stairs and eyeing his retreating figure. "A pressing matter?"

The flash of curiosity in her eyes was gratifying and spurred a self-satisfied grin to light his features. "Indeed," he remarked slyly, closing the door to the bathroom so he wouldn't be tempted to hurry back down the stairs to the enticing woman on the ground floor.

As the hot water cascaded over his skin, he pictured her face, so open and welcoming. This was what he wanted – to return home to see a woman, his woman, smiling purely because of his presence. Severus had always thought it utterly impossible, that such a woman like her would ever react to him in such a way. She was so young, so bright – all the better to see her, he supposed, considering his own penchant for dark attire. Next to him, she was positively radiant; and yet, there was a strangeness about her. A kinder man would name her unique, but he knew that in his wife he had found a woman that didn't quite fit in as well as others assumed that she did. It was far from off putting – it only endeared her to him further.

He scrubbed the residue of the day's work from his skin, his hands halting on their way to his scalp then continuing on as he shrugged. May as well. Choosing one of his own nondescript bottles from the shelf, he washed and rinsed his hair, noting with surprise that he'd forgotten to have Tink cut it since Hermione's release from hospital. It came to rest just past his shoulders; perhaps his wife preferred it this way. She often smoothed a hand over it, after all. He left the shower with the mental note to procure some leather bands to tie it back.

…

Tink's idea of subtlety was outrageous. He'd asked for a quiet dinner, yet by the time he came downstairs in a fresh pair of trousers and a navy silk shirt, Hermione was staring at the table with a dazed expression on her face.

"Too much?" he asked in a low voice, trying to decipher the curious look in her eyes. The candles on the table gave a soft light to the sitting room, making shadows dance over the wall. Hermione's wide brown eyes reflected the flames; they flickered over the whiskey coloured orbs, framed by thick black lashes. The fine china plates and crystal glasses could only have come from Hogwarts; the lilacs in a vase in the center were straight from his private garden not far from his old quarters.

She turned to him slowly, her head tilted to the side. He watched as her features displayed her emotions, beginning first at wonder to curiosity then, if he could even believe it, admiration and desire.

"You look lovely," she breathed, eyes drinking in every inch of his frame. Severus allowed a small smirk to escape.

"Thank you." He inclined his head and extended a hand. "Would you join me for dinner?"

"Like this? No!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Give me five minutes. No – ten!" Her voice disappeared as she pounded up the stairs, obviously intent on changing out of her usual jeans and comfortable shirt to something befitting of the occasion.

Not that there was an occasion.

But he rather hoped that this night might mark one to be remembered in the future.

"Tink?" he hissed as soon as the shower was turned on upstairs. The elf appeared with a triumphant expression that morphed immediately into one of defiance. "You were supposed to be subtle! This is about as subtle as what I would get if I allowed Hagrid to make the arrangements."

The elf glanced at the table. "This is being subtle, Master! Tink is being subtle!"

"Well it's too late to change it now – she's already seen it! Christ, am I going to have to do this," he thrust his hand towards the table, "every night?"

"Master should romance Madam Snape at least four times a week!"

"Good bloody lord," Severus grumbled. "Where'd you learn that?"

"None of Master's business," the elf shot back.

Severus blinked. "Did you just –"

"And Tink is also changing the doubter, Master!" Tink's chest puffed up and his big ears wiggled. "Madam Snape and Master Snape will be very happy!"

"I haven't the faintest idea what a ruddy 'doubter' is, Tink, but if you're so good at romancing, then why haven't you fixed my ceiling, hmm?"

"Too old," Tink evaded, staring at the stairs. "Tink isn't sorry. Master will just have to use the main bedroom."

"Tink!" Severus growled, clenching his fists. "You are setting the bar quite high for the beginnings of a courtship and –"

"Master is married!" Tink cried. "Master is married and Tink will fix the doubter and Tink won't fix the ceiling!"

"What is the bloody doubter!"

"Tink is glad Master is asking!" The elf made a wobbly bow, much to Severus' exasperation. "The doubter is neither here nor there – it's not sure what it wants to be! For one person or two. It's doubting. Doesn't Master see? The doubter is needing some help, just like Master and his wife!"

"I could throttle you," hissed Severus. "If you ruin this, I swear I'll –"

"Severus?"

Man and elf eyed each other warily at the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Severus, I'll just be one more moment!"

"Of course, wife," he returned, miming a crude gesture in the elf's direction. "Take your time!"

To his credit, Tink merely winked and shrugged his thin shoulders. "Master will see! Master will be very happy!"

And in the next moment, the elf was gone.

…

He had to ask her. The question couldn't be held back; Hermione was stunning. She was sitting opposite him in a chocolate brown dress that matched her eyes and bared her shoulders, making his mouth dry from all of the newly revealed silken flesh.

His wife was beautiful.

Severus had always known this – as well as he knew his craft, he knew that Hermione was beautiful. But having her here, displaying her beauty for him was… more than he could ever have hoped for.

They spoke softly to each other, most of the words having barely any meaning beyond polite trivialities. At least, they would have no meaning to anyone else. For Severus, he found that he genuinely enjoyed listening to her speculate on avenues of research that she may have missed, or the way she tittered as she shared random little tidbits from her day at the hospital. In turn, she gave him her undivided attention; everything he said was thought over and commented on.

It wasn't hard to make a man like Severus feel valued and appreciated, yet he knew that she did it without even trying.

Still, he had to ask.

When their plates had vanished and he'd taken a fortifying sip of wine, he tackled it head on.

"Hermione?"

She set down the dessert spoon that had been used to punctuate her latest point and smiled. "Severus."

Steadily he asked her, "Do you feel obligated to me?"

It was clear that Hermione had either been deliberating over this very subject or she had expected him to bring it up. He didn't know how to feel about that. She was so calm as she stared at him with a faint smile; like he was laid bare and she knew all of his secrets. Underneath the table, his fingers gripped the fabric of his trousers.

"I don't," she said simply. "Do you think I should?"

Severus leaned back in the chair, narrowing his eyes as he mulled it over. "Perhaps."

"Well, that isn't an answer now, is it?" Her voice stayed low and teasing. "Would you care to explain?"

"Not particularly," he answered, "for I do not have any solid reasons."

"Only possibilities?"

He inclined his head. "Indeed."

"All right," she said, rolling her shoulders. "I've done my research, you know."

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows. "Have you now? Research on what? Me?"

"Yes, husband." Hermione smirked, though the twist of her lips contained none of the venom that his would usually feature. He tried to brush off the thrill that he felt upon hearing her take on his habit and refer to him by his title and role. The brush off failed.

"You're grinning like the cat that got the cream," Hermione remarked, her own smirk widening. "But yes – I've done my research on you. Not with any real life case studies, mind, just my own observations."

"So you haven't had little chats with Poppy, then?"

She spread her hands then joined them, resting her chin on her linked fingers. "Oh, we've had chats, but not about you. Regardless, we're off track. My point is that I know you. You think I should feel obligated to you because of this," she waved a hand around the room, "and because of you visiting me over the years. You think that I think I am indebted to you. That I've been doing all of…" She faltered finally, her confidence tapering off for a moment as she gathered her courage to refer to the wooing, which had previously gone unmentioned. He stayed silent.

Hermione tapped her cheek as she thought, then smiled again and said, "You think that I'm attracted to you, that I care for you, because I feel that I should."

She can read me like a book, he realised, stunned that he felt no discomfort at all. No, discomfort was not what had made him sit rigidly still, his mouth open wide and his heart pounding.

He was absolutely thrilled!

Severus got straight to the point. "You're attracted to me?"

"Isn't that obvious?" she crowed. "I am! I always have been!" At this, she looked to the side, suddenly shy. He took that as a sign that he should take over somehow and though he had no clue on how to do so, Severus decided to trust his instincts.

He slid out of the chair and rose to his feet. "I wish to try something," he announced, examining her reaction and biting back a grin when she all but leapt to her feet and nodded eagerly.

"Yes, yes," she agreed. "Let's… let's try something."

As if by some unspoken agreement, they threaded their way around the chairs and came to stand together in the middle of the small sitting room. A wave of his hand extinguished the candles on the table, and Hermione's skin glowed from the light of the fire.

Severus trailed the back of his hand down her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. The wedding band on his ring finger glided from her cheekbone to her neck. Her hair was loose; the chestnut strands tickled his fingers.

"Hermione," he whispered, smiling down at her. "Would you let me… May I kiss you, wife?"

The words sounded ridiculous – asking permission from his wife, of all people – but he wanted to do this properly. To show her, even if he lacked the verbal talent to explain, that he wanted this.

Because he did. More than anything, Severus wanted his wife.

Hermione returned his smile and before he could remove his hand from her cheek, she reached up and pressed it to her face, turning to place a small kiss on his wrist. Her tongue darted out to taste him, and Severus was undone.

"I would love it if you would," she said, pressing her trembling lips together.

The first touch of his mouth to hers was hesitant. He kissed her once then drew back, grinning at her mewl of disappointment. It was all that he needed.

Cradling her face between his hands, he kissed her again, overcome with the need to know the flavour of her mouth, her tongue. When she opened for him, her tongue slipping into his mouth before he could even attempt the movement himself, he groaned at the sweetness of his wife.

Before he could even register the intent to do so, his fingers were digging into her backside, pulling her flush against his body. She moaned, her arms around his neck tightening, and his desire for her rose until he could no longer hold himself back.

Severus broke away, relishing the way she tipped her head back as he kissed and nipped the skin that her dress displayed. He knew of a base craving to mark her as his, to sink his teeth into her neck and suck until red bloomed under his laving tongue.

"Do it, oh, Severus – please," whispered Hermione, grinding herself against his erection. "I want you to do it."

He satisfied her, his fingers in her hair as he backed them towards the stairs. She clutched at his shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder-blades.

"Bed, bed," she chanted, pulling his face back to hers. He reveled in her responsiveness, in the passionate and fierce kiss that she granted him when he chuckled. Severus took her in his arms to begin the trek to her room on the second floor. There was no chance that the bed in the spare room would fit two.

"Not too soon?" he mumbled against her lips, memorising her giggle as he kicked the door shut with his foot and felt around for the zipper of her dress. "Are you sure?"

"Oh god," she breathed, "Severus, I've wanted this since we were wed. Don't you even think of st-"

His delighted laugh made her stop mid command and she blinked owlishly then smirked, her eyes containing a thousand secrets of femininity that he wanted to spend his life learning. To think that he could have done this years ago!

"You're laughing at me," said Hermione flatly, backing towards the bed with a devilish smile playing on her lips. "Should I punish you?"

"On the contrary, madam," he returned, rubbing his hands together, "I do not think that anything in this room could ever amount to punishment."

"Oho!" she cried, chortling as she reached behind her back. He made to move forward, to discover the elegant curve of her back for himself, but she wagged a finger in the air. "Tut, tut," Hermione drawled. "You laughed, husband."

He groaned, the impatience becoming excruciating but he couldn't find any will to stop her. The way that she had turned away from him to allow her dress to fall to the floor was delicious. She bared her body to him with quiet confidence, looking at him from over her shoulder. He ached to go to her, to touch her, to make love to her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, tracing the lines of her body with his eyes. "So very, very lovely, wife."

"Do you want to look?" she asked, grinning impishly when he clumsily pulled his shirt over his head and sat down heavily on the end of the bed.

"Yes," he agreed readily. "But…" Severus stared at the black lace knickers that adorned her backside. "Not too fast. I find that my current view is… delectable."

Hermione answered the dark moan that rushed out of him as she turned with a little titter, her hips swiveling slowly as she came to face him.

…

He was lost in her willingness, her certainty.

Without any trepidation, she laid herself bare on the bed, her fair skin flushed to a stunning shade of pink. And the taste – the taste of his wife's skin! The faint tang of perfume that he sampled as he licked between her breasts, the clean musk that entered his mouth as he suckled…

The taste of her sent him nearly mad with desire.

She was so lively, so fiercely involved in the act that each cry of pleasure, each deep, breathy moan almost ended him.

There was no part of her body that went untouched by his hands or tongue. He committed to memory each sound, each intake of breath, each gasp, each tightening of her fingers in his hair as his tongue brought her to the brink over and over again. Any mediocre skills he may have placed at her feet were for naught – this woman was unlike any other, and he took the time to educate himself, to truly please her.

That he should have her at last… his wife…

"My beautiful wife," he sighed, kissing his way up her body again, taking one dusky rose areola into his mouth on the way. "Beautiful, beautiful witch."

It was too much when she slid down his body, aiming to reciprocate. His wife – though in this moment she was his cruel and sweetly tormenting lover – took him between her lips. Slow, long licks of her tongue were complemented by the way she carefully explored his thighs, his buttocks, his sack.

Severus let his head fall onto the pillow.

He could stop her now…he could pull her up, enter her in one thrust, join with her.

And yet…

When his climax came, beginning with a tightening in his groin and ending with so much warmth as she moaned triumphantly around him, he knew that there would be more.

…

They bathed together, the intimacy of the scene an interlude before the final act. He washed her skin, her hair. The tiles on the shower wall that he leant on grew to a comfortable temperature, the initial sharp chill diminished by the way she pressed her body against him, her tongue languidly dancing with his.

How could he explain this? Severus searched for words yet found none. It was like a culmination – a culmination of everything he had wanted without ever really comprehending it. And how could he have understood? How could Severus ever have grasped that in his wife, he had found a woman that cared for him, that felt affection for him? Their beginning had not been conducive to such ideas.

But their second beginning certainly was.

The warm water flowed over Hermione and between her breasts that fit perfectly in his palms.

He wound her curls around his wrist and managed to keep his voice long enough to tell her that he would keep her here, beside him always. It was the most that he could muster.

If he admitted to anything else, he feared they would never make it out of the shower.

Hermione smiled and when she, too, tugged on the black locks that fell down past his shoulders, he placed a kiss of approval and acceptance to her soft pink lips.

"The doubter," she said slowly, flicking her eyes to the shower door.

"You've heard of it?" Severus asked, running his hands down over her hips. "You have my condolences."

Her tinkling laugh echoed throughout the tiled room. "I have! He must've done it while I was up here getting ready for you. It was the bed – my bed. Did you notice?"

He most definitely had not noticed anything apart from her naked body and he told her so shamelessly, smirking wolfishly.

"Well," she explained, "it was neither here nor there, yes? One of the tiniest doubles I've seen."

"Yes…"

"Now it's not. Now it's decided. It's a bigger bed. For two."

They left the bathroom soon after and he dried her body, determined not to ruin the night by needing to think about everything. He kissed her instead.

…

The walls were tight; they held him, gripped him. Heat enveloped him until he saw nothing bar stars.

When Severus entered her fully, finally cleaving to his wife, he understood what he had been chasing after: that nameless emotion that had kept him at her bedside; that had taken her in; that had treasured her.

It felt the way he had imagined love to feel.

…

"You didn't tell me," he said, his voice just above a whisper.

"I assumed you knew." Hermione's breath tickled the hairs on his chest. He traced circles on her back, enjoying the weight of her body. Her cheek lay over his heart, and she had wormed a leg between his thighs. It was peaceful; perfect. A wave of his hand brought a lilac covered sheet up to cover them.

"I didn't presume… that is, I didn't really think…"

"You thought I had done this before?"

He shook his head. "Not that; I just didn't think at all. Not about this happening. I hoped, but I didn't…"

"Words have escaped you, haven't they?"

Severus sighed and gave a small shrug. His hand on her back delved further down, splaying over her buttocks as he curled his fingers into the soft skin there. "Can you blame me, wife?"

Hermione giggled and squirmed. "Well, all right, husband. Your lack of verbosity is flattering, I suppose," she declared laughingly, her sweet revenge following seconds later as she lightly dragged a nail through the trail of black hair on his stomach.

"Thank you," said Severus suddenly, staring down at her when she pushed up on his chest and rested her chin on his torso to see him better.

Hermione tilted her head and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "What for?" she whispered, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

He exhaled with a soft grin. "For choosing me - for choosing me to be your first." It seemed trite and unoriginal to say it, but he wanted to express himself. And words of thanks were far suited to the quiet, gentle atmosphere than the juvenile, smug thoughts in his mind that all ended with: 'Me, me, me!'

"Oh," she murmured, blessing him with a beam, "well, then. You should know that it never would have been anyone else. I always wanted…" Hermione looked away, then shrugged and burrowed her face into his neck. "You were the one I always wanted. You are the one I have always wanted."

"Ah."

He suspected then, in the delicate time between her declaration and the way her breaths evened out soon after, indicating that she had fallen asleep, that the reason why his heart was not bursting in response was quite simple, really.

It had already taken flight.

It had left him, left the barren land where it had abided and instead found a place with his wife.

Perhaps it had left him long ago.

Severus closed his eyes and fell easily into a deep, calm sleep.