JUST ONE NIGHT

CHAPTER SEVEN:

ONE PASSAGE

DECEMBER 2012

She had no reason to be at Hogwarts. No reason she could share with anyone, anyway. Not Harry, not Ginny, not Luna or Cecile, and most certainly not Ron.

It was the night before Christmas Eve. The Minister and the Headmaster had already had their end of calendar year meeting (no sex followed, much to her disappointment, as he said he had a late staff meeting with the Heads of Houses. She tried not to take it personally) and wouldn't need to see each other again for months, unless there was an issue.

Since he was attacked by Knights back in June, both had grown better at coming up with issues.

And, as of September, she'd shown up on more than one occasion for no reason at all, unannounced. But she had to be careful. They couldn't have anyone asking questions, wondering why the Minister for Magic had cause to be at the school all the bloody time.

In early October he suggested she connect the Floo in his office to the one in hers, making things easier.

Too easy.

That morning, she told her husband she intended to finish Christmas shopping for the children after work. In truth, she'd finished weeks ago, always one to get it done early and have everything wrapped and hidden away with plenty of time to go. The fact that he accepted her excuse for missing dinner without so much as a question both hurt more and helped ease the pain in knowing what she was intending to do. They had known each other since they were eleven years old, and been together romantically since the Final Battle. He ought to know her well enough to know she wouldn't be Christmas shopping for the children the night before Christmas Eve.

Damn him.

"Alright, 'ermione?" asked Cecile as she was packing up her things, ready to leave the Ministry after a long, difficult day. Hermione smiled at her assistant.

"Oui," said Hermione with a nod. "All's well, but it's late. You ought to be getting home now."

"You ought to be getting 'ome, too." Cecile was not shy in sharing her belief that Hermione Granger worked too much, though Hermione couldn't help thinking Cecile might benefit from working more. The woman was only two years Hermione's junior, a graduate of Beauxbatons, beautiful in both appearance and personality, and, though good at her job, was more focused on fun than career advancement. She was also currently Hermione's closest confidant, as the Minister could hardly complain about Ronald Weasley to Harry or Ginny. On the most difficult days, Cecile's presence around their little corner of the Ministry was all that kept Hermione sane.

Cecile's presence, and the promise of seeing Severus soon.

Hermione waited fiften minutes after her assistant's departure in case the woman returned

She flooed directly to Hogwarts, prepared to ask him to pull her hair and rough her up a bit; she was in need of serious tension release.

But Severus was not alone.

He was sitting in the hard-backed leather chair behind his desk, glaring disdainfully at a dark-haired female. From behind, Hermione could not immediately discern whether she was a professor, a student, or neither, only that she was tall, she wore head-to-toe black, and her hair was wild.

"Minister!" he said, either genuinely surprised or adept at feigning it. "This is unexpected. What brings you here?"

"A problem with paperwork." She wasn't the best liar - or actress - but she'd managed a quick and believable response, and, even more impressively, she hadn't heaved a relieved sigh upon doing so. "My assistant was set to file the minutes from our last meeting tonight, but we have a couple of discrepancies to go over. Being the holiday, I thought it would be faster to see you about it in person, rather than awaiting a reply by owl. But I apologize for interrupting."

"No apology necessary." Though his words were kind, his tone was dry and flat. "Come in. We were only having tea."

The female in the chair opposite Severus turned. This time, it was harder for Hermione to fight her reaction.

The resemblance to the girl's mother was uncanny.

She had her father's eyes and disdainful glare, but the rest of her - nose, cheekbones, complexion, wild hair - was unmistakably Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Delphini, meet Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic. Ms. Granger, this is my eldest daughter, Delphini."

"Nice to meet you," said Hermione, smiling pleasantly. "Your father tells me your Charms work is excellent."

"He has two others at home," the girl said, ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand.

"Others?"

"Other daughters. Iris is six and Imogene is just a baby. He likes them better than me. You have a daughter too. Rose, a first year." Delphini sneered. "Gryffindor."

"Don't let's be rude," scolded Severus, but still in that bored, dull tone, without conviction.

"People treat her differently on account of who she is," Delphini continued. "Because of who you are. They treat her better to her face, but talk behind her back. They used to talk about me behind my back too, because of who my mother was, but now they know better than to cross me." The girl looked Hermione up and down as if daring her to ask for further explanation.

"Delphini, back to your dormitory." Severus waved his wand, vanishing their tea and chocolate biscuits. "I shall see you in the morning."

"I won't be at breakfast."

"In the afternoon, then. We shall finish our discussion tomorrow."

"I am not interested in finishing our discussion tomorrow, or ever, Headmaster." The teenager tossed her hair, curled her lip, and glared at Hermione. "They think you're better than you are, but we know you're not, don't we?"

"Delphini! Out, now." He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and turned her to face the direction of the door. "You do not have to like Ms. Granger as a person or as a politician, but I'll not have your behavior reflect poorly on me in front of the Minister for Magic. Bad enough it reflects poorly on me as Headmaster of this school."

She cocked an eyebrow, greatly increasing her resemblance to him, but the effect was short-lived. The girl's face relaxed and she laughed. Cackled. It was her mother's cackle.

"You think it matters to me how my behavior reflects upon you? They're smarter this time, better prepared. All they've done thus far is play games with the wizarding world while testing the waters. By the time they're truly ready to make themselves known, that Mudblood and her Ministry will see how wrong they've been to underestimate..."

"Out!" He shoved her toward the door, his palm against her back between shoulder blades. "We shall continue this discussion tomorrow, and I want to hear nothing else of it until then! And you had better be at breakfast!"

"I'm leaving, then." She smirked at Hermione over her shoulder as she reached for the door that would lead down the winding stone staircase and away from his office. "Happy Christmas, Minister."

Once they'd heard the second door close and were certain she was well out of earshot, Hermione advanced on Severus, who was collapsing into his chair, pressing two fingers to each of his temples and looking exhausted.

"What in the name of merry Merlin was that?!"

"She's going through a phase."

"A phase? It sounded like she was threatening you, me, and the entire Ministry of Magic!"

"It's a 'threatening your father, his mistress, and the entire Ministry of Magic' phase. Don't all teenage girls go through it at one time or another?"

Ignoring having been called his mistress, Hermione dropped into the chair Delphini had vacated and shook her head in dismay. "No. That is not a normal teenage girl phase."

"She's the one playing games and testing the waters. She wants to get a reaction out of me, a rise. She very nearly did. She's not really in tune with the inner workings of the Knights of Walpurgis."

"How can you be certain?"

"I cannot. But she is being closely watched. She is not permitted to go on Hogsmeade visits as her guardians revoked her permission."

"The Malfoys."

"Yes. Her aunt Narcissa watches her carefully, too. We've been corresponding regularly since the start of this summer."

Hermione felt a slight pang. She'd seen him far too frequently over these last six months, and he hadn't mentioned to her that his daughter was in need of extra 'watching.' He lifted his wand halfheartedly and flicked it toward the cabinet by the window. Out flew a bottle of elf made red wine from his favorite French vineyard. This was no inexpensive bottle. He opened it and poured into two glasses that had followed his "Accio," then passed one across the desk to her.

"Thank you," she said. He nodded slightly before sipping. "Do you suppose the Malfoys are backing the Knights of Walpurgis as they once did the Death Eaters? We know, despite their reformation, that they still hold tightly to blood purity. Draco's sister-in-law, Daphne Greengrass, said Lucius and Narcissa offered Draco a large sum of gold if he'd call off marrying her, on account of how vocally pro-mixed marriage her parents have been since the war. Daphne's married to Oliver Wood, whose Mum's a Muggle."

"The Malfoys may be as steeped in blood supremacy as they always were, but I firmly believe they would never support another Dark Lord or anyone beholden to such ideals and in search of power. Having him in their home for several years, watching the carnage and torture, and sometimes falling victim to it themselves, had a profound effect on them. They wish to keep their bloodline pure for reasons of old-line pride, but no longer believe the wizarding world should exclude - or exterminate - Muggleborns."

"But Delphini..."

"I told you, it's a phase. But it is becoming a problem. Narcissa insisted she stay at Hogwarts over Christmas this year. And they refuse to take her back next summer. They've asked me to make other arrangements. After having spent the last fourteen years insisting upon raising her because it was Bellatrix's last wish, Narcissa is finally at her wits end - and Lucius didn't want the girl from the start. I think I'll have to take her back to my childhood home, if it can be sufficiently repaired, as Hestia refuses to allow her around our daughters."

Hermione took a long sip of wine, not because she was thirsty or even because she liked it, but because it was something to do while formulating her next sentence.

"She calls you Headmaster rather than Father. Is this a sign of respect or disrespect?"

"I believe it started because she wanted to fit in with the other students. But now she says it with a degree of viciousness that reminds me I mean nothing more to her than I do to any other child. She has gone from being desperate for my affection to being indifferent to outright hating me." He ran his fingertip around the rim of the glass, staring into its contents. "She recently assaulted a third year Slytherin in the library. She overheard the girl telling others they ought to carry chocolate at all times in case she comes around, as she sucks happiness out of the room like Dementor."

Hermione shifted to the edge of her seat, at once sickened and anxious and angry. She hadn't heard about any assault. Had he covered it up?

"What did she do?"

"She grabbed the girl by the throat and forced her back against the book shelves, and moved close to her, until their mouths were nearly touching. Then she said, 'Get in my way again and you'll wish I were weak as a Dementor. A Dementor's kiss only steals your soul. I'll destroy it.'" She left the poor child quaking and sobbing."

"And what was the punishment?"

"Me. Instead of tea once per week, we take tea once per day. I could think of no greater punishment."

"For you or for her?"

There was a long silence during which she wondered if she'd gone too far by asking the question. He finished his first glass of wine and poured another while she nursed hers. This evening was not going as expected. Perhaps Cecile was right and she ought to have been getting home too. Home to her husband and her children. They weren't perfect, but at least they weren't quite so damaged.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his face expressionless. "We are damaged, Delphini and I. We both spent our teenage years desperate for the love of our dead mothers and brimming with contempt for the fathers we blamed for their deaths. I should be grateful it took this long for her to hate me. I started thinking up ways to off my own father when I was only eight. But then, he beat me. I've never laid a hand on her."

"Your mother died?" Hermione's brows pulled together and up, her eyes went soft with sympathy, and she leaned forward, reaching out as if she wanted to take his hand across the desk, but he did not remove his from the glass even though holding it did not require two.

"She died when I was eleven, shortly after I left for school."

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? You didn't kill her." He downed the second glass of wine much too quickly, stood, and stretched. "Are you here to fuck?"

"I..."

He never put it quite like this, at least not in his office. Despite all the dirty things they'd thus far done to each other, that wording in this setting made her feel immoral and uncomfortable.

"You could stay the night," he said. "Just one."

"I... tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

"If you are unable to stay the night, we should say adieu now."

Adieu meant goodbye. It meant no sex, no nothing. It means he wasn't interested. He hadn't bid her 'adieu' in months. Years, maybe. She couldn't remember when he last denied her that way.

"You want me to stay the night?"

He shrugged as if he couldn't care less, but she could see through the facade despite his decades of proficiency in Occlumency.

"If you are so inclined."

"I want to stay the night."

"Very well. I need to finish a letter to the Malfoys. I'll join you in the bedroom shortly."

She set down her wine glass and let her mouth drop open. He'd never sent her along to his bedroom before. It felt... not right. But, unable to put into words any reason why she shouldn't wait for him there, she simply closed her mouth, abandoned the wine, and headed through the door that led to his sitting room, which separated the office from the bedroom.

She stripped down to her slip and undergarments, then crawled under his covers, but this, too, felt wrong. So she got back up, took his dressing gown off the hook on the door to the loo, put it on, and began perusing his book shelves. Between his office, sitting room, and bedroom, he must have hundreds and hundreds of books. She was surprised to see that he didn't seem to have any rhyme nor reason to the organization of these. Muggle fiction was set between wizarding textbooks, Shakespeare plays were placed beside mystery novels written by a witch named Agatha Gray, and he had a number of thick hard-backed tomes so old the gilded letters on the leather spines had all but worn away. She removed one of these and opened it, only to let out a surprised gasp when she discovered it was hollow, and another book was inside.

An erotic romance novel.

The cover was glossy and cliche. A tanned, muscle-bound man with a torn open shirt had one arm around the waist of a frail but buxom auburn haired vixen, and both were standing at the end of what looked like the plank of a pirate ship.

The Wench and the Wizards read the title. By Wendolyn Wyrd. Hermione flipped to the first page. Copyright, 1991. She tried to picture Severus in 1991. She was a first year, he was her potions professor. Snarky, subdued and serious, scowling down from the head table, dubbing Potter the school's "new celebrity," and ignoring her overeager waving hand. It was near impossible to picture that man curled up in bed on a cold winter's night reading... this? She flipped it to the back to read the description.

Lucretia Haversham Brooks has the name of a member of nobility and the purse of an unsuccessful beggar. She makes her living, if it can even be called such, by flittering around London, flirting for sickles and, occasionally, lying down for galleons. When she catches the eye of a a visiting wizard, she wonders if her fortune might change. Sir Thomas Greenthorne is handsome, wealthy, and talented, they have the loveliest things in common, and he seems to be smitten with her, enough to propose marriage and promise a lifetime of caring for her. But shortly after their unmistakable chemistry leads to a mutually-desired but vanilla consummation, Lucretia is kidnapped by magical pirates sailing the seas in search of women to take to their newly discovered island. Over the monthlong journey, Lucretia is chosen as 'wife' by a pirate named Cartwright McCarroll, as assignment she initially fights against out of loyalty to Sir Thomas, but when the pirate is able to introduce her to the island's erotic underground world, where wizards take witches in pairs but it's the witches who hold all the control, she starts to wonder whether she still wants sweet Sir Thomas to save her.

"Find something interesting?"

Hermione leapt into the air, tossing the book across the room. Her entire body began to blush, a feeling that intensified when he Accioed over the novel. He blanched upon realizing what she'd had in her hand.

"This is not mine," he said, staring down at the cover, stone-faced.

"No?" she asked. Realizing he was just as embarrassed (as opposed to infuriated) helped her relax a bit. His next statement helped her relax a bit more.

"No, it is not. I found it."

"You found it?"

"That is correct. I found it."

"Did you find it inside this hollow book?" asked Hermione. She opened it to tap an inscription along the inside front cover. "The one that reads 'Property of Severus Snape'?"

"I..." He cleared his throat, straightened his spine, and stared down at her as defiantly as Delphini had stared up at her earlier. "Very well. It is mine. But I purchased it for research purposes only."

Hermione couldn't help snickering. "What were you researching? Magical pirates and their erotic underground islands?"

"You should understand and appreciate that some of us best learn from books," he said. "And there are some things even textbooks do not teach." He stalked to her, placed the novel back inside its hollowed hiding spot, and returned it to its shelf.

"Did these books teach you to be a good lover?" Now feeling emboldened, she slid one hand up from his abdomen to his chest to his shoulder. "Did they teach you to satisfy two witches at once while they hold all the control?"

"Let's get another witch in here and I'll show you."

"Or..." She removed the book from the shelf again. "We could get in bed and read to each other. I've never read an erotic novel, and now, knowing both that you have and that it was such an important teaching tool, all I can think is that I've missed out on tutelage I've desperately needed. You know I like to know everything. I'm an insufferable know-it-all."

"You want to get in bed and read?"

"Why don't we flip through until we find one of your most educational passages. I'll read it aloud to you and then you can act it out for me, as I may need practical instruction as well as..."

She couldn't finish her sentence because his mouth was on hers. They stumbled toward the bed, falling into it as if melded together by extreme heat.

Scarcely fifteen minutes later he was sitting with his back to the wall, completely naked and painfully hard. She straddled him but would not let him touch her, nor would she touch him - not there - as she continued to read aloud. Her breasts brushed against his chest every time she inhaled, and though it was difficult he obeyed her instruction not to grab her arse or palm her tits, not to squeeze her thighs or bury his hands in her hair. No, he kept both down by side sides, clutching the blankets, as she reached one of his favorite parts.

"She'd never tasted another witch before, never even considered it, but as her lips traveled down the soft, suppled skin of the woman writhing below her, she couldn't help going wet at the thought of doing to the wench what Cartwright had only moments ago been doing to her. She stopped to suckle lightly at the witch's breast, flicking her tongue over the hardened pebble in the center, eliciting a breathy moan that so resembled her own it made her pussy clench with want. Cartwright must have heard the faint sound too, for he let out a low growl and reclined on the bed beside them, his thick, hard wizard's wand securely in his pumping hand. Lucretia was further aroused by this, by knowing that her actions not only excited the woman underneath her, but the man by their side. She continued her southern trek, briefly dipping the tip of her tongue into the witch's naval before reaching her intended destination.

"The witch's legs fell even more open, now spread so wide the right was slung across the legs of their lover, who continued to wank and groan and watch them closely. She flicked out her tongue, making first contact with the swollen nub between the wench's slick slits..."

"You have to fuck me," Severus said, no longer able to adhere to her rules. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, needing to be inside. "Please, you have to. I'm in pain Herm...minister. Minister. Please."

She nearly dropped the book.

Never, not in all the years since this started, not in over four years, had he called her Hermione, not even close, never a slip up. And yet, there it was. Herm...minister. Herminister.

"Headmaster?" she whispered, wondering how he'd react if she called him Severus tonight as she came (she was certain he'd get her there, though sometimes he didn't. Tonight, she was already so thoroughly aroused, a cocked eyebrow could probably get her there).

"You'll fuck me, and read to me, and stay the night."

"In that order?" She crawled closer but lifted her body higher, so she was positioned over his presumably throbbing cock, but not yet ready to give him what he was begging for. "After we're through, you want me to continue reading?"

"Unless you have something better in mind?"

"We could switch roles. You could read to me." Using her hand to guide it, she let the tip of his cock slide inside her, just enough for him to feel it when she clenched her interior muscles.

"You'd like to listen to me read an erotic novel aloud to you?"

"You're serious? You could read the bar menu from the Hog's Head Pub and I'd be a sopping mess by the time you're through. Reading this? I may have to swim out of here tomorrow; it'll be as if the tide has come in."

His hand made its way under her hair, to the back of her neck, as he pulled her in for another searing kiss. She finally lowered herself onto him, taking him completely, with her inner thighs flush against his outer thighs. He cried out when she began to bounce and used one hand on her arse to help them find a rhythm. The other remained entangled in her hair as he kissed her again... and again... and again.

"I want to watch you taste a witch," he growled into her ear, pulling her closer until her breasts were painfully smushed against his chest. "I want to watch you do to her what you'd like me to do to you."

"Yes, yes, Headmaster, yes!" she moaned as she rode him. Though this had never quite crossed her mind before, she now found herself finding the very idea of it thrillingly arousing. Not just to be with another woman, but to do so with him watching, with him wanting her but having to watch her with another. Her now-dead sex life with Ron had always been of the Sir Thomas Greenthorne vanilla variety. She needed a pirate.

He rubbed her clit with her fingers as she bounced and thrust and grinded in his lap, and he whispered increasingly dirty requests in her ear until she bit down on his shoulder and shook with the power of the best orgasm she'd had in months, including those she enjoyed solo in the tub with the detachable shower head positioned 'just-so.'

He followed soon after, and after a quick spell to clean the sheets, they slipped under the covers. The days of barely touching his pinkie with hers were long gone; rather, she relaxed into his embrace as he spooned her from behind. She placed her hand over his as he kissed her shoulder several times. Both were too tired to pick up the novel again tonight.

She was nearly asleep when his low, deep, resonating voice was in her ear, so softly it was almost in her head.

"Do you have sex with your husband?"

"No," she whispered. "Not in years. Why?"

"I do not want you with him." He pressed his lips the back of her shoulder again. She knew this was one of his favorite parts of her body. "Or with anyone else."

"Are you having sex with your wife?" she asked, jutting out her chin even though he couldn't see the truculent expression on her face.

"No, not since I learned she'd conceived again."

"That was nearly a year ago."

"I know." His nose brushed aside her hair, giving him better access to her neck. He sucked her skin, surely leaving a mark. She had told him off for this before; there was absolutely no reason - or excuse - for so-called 'love bites' after age twenty or so, but she suspected he liked knowing he had something to hide upon leaving him; a visual representation of their sordid affair.

"You haven't been with her in nearly a year?"

"There's only one woman I want in my bed."

Hermione's heart fluttered. What was he saying?

They'd always been very clear about the nature of this arrangement. It was physical. Not emotional. Not romantic. They were shagging, not dating. They didn't even use each other's first names, not even when bringing each other to the precipice of ecstasy and over.

It was always just one night.

Just one kiss.

Just one touch, one caress, one conversation... one lick or suck or fuck...

"Who do you want in your bed?" she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand, pressing it against her lower abdomen.

His response was the light snoring she'd grown accustomed to during these "just one" nights.

In the morning, before she had to leave for home, she'd ask him to read. Not much. Not a whole chapter.

Just one passage.

Just one.