I returned to Hogwarts the next day.

Professor Snape was waiting for me, pacing slowly as I walked to him from the Apparation Point. He took a long, appraising look at his watch before he looked up, his eyes narrowing as he said, "Ten forty-seven, Miss Weasley."

I attempted to look as innocent as I possibly could when I responded, "I was waylaid."

He grabbed my arm and walked me to the waiting carriage. When we were both seated, he covered me with a heavy green blanket to protect me from the ice cold air. Once he was satisfied that I was warm, he hissed into my ear, "Are you baiting me on purpose?"

"Why would I do that, Sir?" I asked. I reached a gloved hand out from underneath the blankets and touched his wrist gently.

He licked his lips, eyebrows furrowing together as though he were in pain. "Don't," he said. "I've missed you too much. Your presence here is … needed."

"I missed you too, Sir," I said.

"Your brother seems to not disapprove," he said as the Thestrals took us to the castle.

I nodded. "But it wouldn't matter to me if he didn't. I'm happy."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a shy, hesitant smile. "As am I," he said in that achingly tender voice that gave me butterflies every time he used it.

My breath caught in my throat. I could only smile back at him and nod, dumbly, as we rode in silence past Black Lake.

"Has Bill told your father?" he asked.

"I don't know, Sir. Bill and I didn't discuss it."

Professor Snape sighed and looked ahead as the castle came into view. I leaned against him, hesitantly at first, putting my head on his shoulder when he didn't object. He stiffened against the action, then relaxed and put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. His scent and warmth and nearness were what I wanted – almost as much as the hands that were going to give me the punishment that I needed when we got back to his office.

"You're wearing my gift," he observed as he smelled my neck and hair.

When I blushed, it had nothing to do with embarrassment. "It seems to suit me better than anything else I've ever worn."

The castle was much closer now, making my heartbeat race and that silly smile slide across my face. Filch was standing by the bridge, waiting for us. I pulled back from the Professor's embrace reluctantly when the carriage stopped.

"Did you have a Happy Christmas, Miss Weasley?" Filch asked as he helped me down.

"It was lovely," I said. Filch had been a cantankerous man when I was a student, but now that I was in a position of authority I understood him better, and we almost had a friendship – or at least an understanding of intentions and were friendly.

"Snape," Filch said, as the Professor stepped down after me. They nodded at each other as he took my bag and walked with me to the castle.

The portraits waved at me, welcoming me home after my short absence. Even the Fat Lady came through several paintings to see that I was back. I smiled at them all as we descended to the dungeons. The smiling pictures were soon replaced by the horrific grimaces of the statues and gargoyles that I'd become accustomed to.

Professor Snape walked me to my office and into my suite of rooms. I took my bag from him, leaving him in my sitting room as I took it to my bedroom to unpack later. My rooms hadn't changed much since I had moved in the previous summer. They were still sparsely decorated, as I didn't have many things other than pictures of my family to place on the tables and walls, but the smiling faces of my family and old school friends filled it with enough warmth to make up for it. I sat my bag next to my wardrobe and quickly checked my appearance in the mirror as I removed my gloves, smirking at a picture of George and Angelina at the family store.

I felt him behind me when I took off my cloak, surprising me. I just took it for granted that we would go back to his office, as we always did. His hand grazed my neck and back before he pulled it away, leaving me with the desire to lean against him.

"Palms on the bed, face as close to the coverlet as you can manage," he said, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

I did so immediately, sighing as he stroked my bottom before pulling up my skirt. It was then that he saw the reason I was late – I'd made a detour to Madame Malkin's and had bought a red garter belt with thigh high stockings.

And as requested, I'd worn no knickers.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a word I could not discern. Years later, he admitted that the word was "beautiful".

He rubbed the skin of my bare bottom and said, "Only wear this on the weekends, or I'll never make it through a single class without wanting to bend you over one of the tables to examine you."

"Yes, Sir," I said, grinning.

"Is this why you were late?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," I said again.

"It won't get you out of your punishment, Miss Weasley, though it might earn you a reward."

I blushed. "Thank you, Sir."

"Tell me, why are you being punished?" he asked.

"Because I was late," I said, purposefully quiet.

His hand slammed down against my arse, then started to caress my skin again. "Wrong answer. Why are you being punished?" he asked again.

"I was late getting back," I said, a little louder.

Another spank, followed by more soft touches. The alternating sensations were making my skin sing with sensation and were making my core hot and wet.

"Why are you being punished, Miss Weasley?" he asked a third time.

"Because I didn't follow your instructions," I said in a loud, clear voice.

"No, you did not," he said.

Professor Snape took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt as he had the previous day. I snuck a look back at his arms as he unbuttoned the top few buttons of the collar of his shirt. His pale skin glowed in the soft candlelight of my room as he began to spank me. But, instead of feeling free and relaxed as I normally did during our time together, the combination of pain, arousal, and the waves of awakening desire in my body were making me as tense and tight as a string being pulled between two points. I would come if he continued, I could feel it. I tightened my thighs together, trying to stimulate myself as he spanked my arse and touched my skin.

I knew he was aware of it when he groaned and sat on the edge of my bed, pulling me over his lap and spanking me over his knee. The pins fell out of my hair, my red locks spilling over my face, further releasing the scent of my perfume into the small room. The bulge at his groin rubbed against my belly with each slap of his hand against my skin, and soon it was too much … too much … too much …

"Now," he whispered. "Come, Ginny. Let me see you fly."

I came with a scream – fast, hard, and free. Tears rolled down my face as I shuddered and spasmed against him. He continued to spank me in time with each tremor, though he was stroking my bare skin more than he was spanking now. I came again just after I thought the first orgasm was over. It had been long before my visit to St. Mungo's since I'd touched myself, and during my months of despair I hadn't realized how much my body had missed this kind of pleasure.

Then it was over, my body still and completely fluid. But the tears continued as the release had triggered something else within my mind to break free, and all the emotions I'd held in for so long finally came out as I sobbed in his arms.

I cried for everything I had lost in the war.

I cried for everything I lost after it was over.

I even cried for The Boy Who Lived, who became The Man Who Broke My Heart.

In the end, I cried for the man who was now cradling me in his lap. My head rested against his shoulders as the tears continued to flow.

I loved him. But I was afraid that his heart might still lay in the grave of a woman who had been dead as long as I'd been alive. A woman with bright, ginger hair, so much like my own, that I could merely be a substitute for. It was my deepest, darkest fear, which I had been bottling up like the memories that Harry had poured into the Pensieve the night of the Battle.

I put my arms around his neck and shifted my position so that I was straddling him, wanting desperately to get lost in his warmth and strength. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the heat of his body and the beats of his heart as it pounded rapidly against my cheek. That subtle scent that only belonged to him – so complex that I still can't even describe it accurately in words – tickled my senses as the wool of his frock coat rubbed against my face.

"Let it out, my girl," he whispered, hugging me to him as he rocked me until my tears were completely dry.

Even after I had calmed, he continued to hold me, stroking my back and bum gently at first with a soft touch that grew firmer and more insistent when my breathing sped up. That part of him that had softened with my tears came alive again, slowly at first, then large and firm against my naked flesh. When I looked up, his eyes were bright again and burning with lust.

With his hands guiding me, I rocked my hips against his, tentatively at first, then with more fervor when his hips rose to meet mine. Though we were separated by the fabric of his trousers, I imagined that he was actually moving inside me with each lift of his hips and nudge of his groin against mine.

We moved and rocked together, over and over, never taking our eyes off each other as the rhythm of our hips built upon every previous movement. My clit hit the buttons on his trousers, just enough that I knew I could come again, and the look of desperation in his eyes let me know he was close, too. The low moan deep in his throat met the groan growing in mine as one of the hands on my back moved stealthily, sliding down my body until his fingers cupped my aching, wet mound.

The pleasure of just the sensation of tips of his fingers on me was overwhelming, making me bite down on my lower lip as I continued to move with him, instinctively riding his hand as my body began to shake with the orgasm that threatened to overtake me. His eyes widened as he watched me, his hand stroking gently until every last tremor was wrought from my body. Then he finally joined me, his mouth parting as he sighed and pulled me onto his chest.

We rocked on my bed, silent and unaware of the world around us, until an Alarm charm began to chime impatiently.

"Do you have a Potion you need to check on?" I asked.

Professor Snape nodded and buried his nose in my hair again, sighing as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

Though I was reluctant to move, I slid off his lap and lowered my skirt back into place, casting a quick cleansing charm on us both.

"You will …" he said, clearing his throat as he stood, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I'll brew today, Sir. I'm sure Madam Pomphrey will need her stores replenished before the start of term," I said, smoothing my hair back into place.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes already beginning to dull before he looked away.

"Why?" I asked.

"I should have stopped," he said as he scrubbed his face with his hands.

"I'm glad you didn't. I didn't want you to stop," I said, looking up at his face. When our eyes finally met, a smile danced across his lips before he brought them back into control.

"You'll tell me if I go too far?" he asked.

"You know I will," I said. I absently touched my bracelet and asked, "What does it really say? It's not my name, is it?"

He looked at me cryptically before he answered. "It says that you are bound to me," he said. He took both of my hands in his and brought them to his face.

"I am bound to you, Sir," I said, smiling up at him.

This time he didn't stop his small, half smile. "And I to you. You do realize that, don't you?"

I nodded.

"I need to hear you say it, Ginny," he said softly.

"I know you are bound to me," I said.

"Good," he said, kissing the palms of my hands until the Alarm charm howled.

We fell back into our regular routine after the students returned.

My lessons became even more demanding with the start of term, giving us even more time together than we'd had the previous year. Professor Snape was determined to teach me how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion by the end of the spring term. It was the most difficult potion in our world to learn, and I knew he was nervous as any error on my part could ruin a very expensive and much needed potion. The werewolves were slowly coming back to our world after the deaths of Fenrir Greyback and Remus Lupin, and their monthly consumption of the potion was crucial to their safety as well as the safety of our world.

He began to lecture me on the potion whenever possible, and to ensure my perfect attention he bound me to the chair of my old desk in Dungeon Five. When I protested that I would be unable to take notes, he pointed out that I needed to learn to rely on my memory for perfect recall, as this potion required such rapidity in steps that the time to stop and look at a page of notes could ruin it.

I would sit and memorize his every word and action as he lectured and brewed the potion in front of me, until I was freed with a muttered "Relashio". At first he worried over me, making sure that my hands and feet were not in pain or numb until I assured him that he could trust me to tell him if I were uncomfortable. It didn't take long before he did this during all of his private lessons with me, not only the ones for Wolfsbane.

Sometimes, I think we wanted to see just how far we could take the idea of his control over me.

I didn't question it, just like I didn't question many of his ideas when it came to what we did when the doors were locked and warded behind us.

And even now, I still don't question what we do.

He's never given me a reason to.

Bill started calling me regularly over the Floo, and began a ritual of meeting me at Hogsmeade every Saturday for lunch. At first I think he was merely checking up on me and my odd relationship with my Professor, but after he really realized that our arrangement worked for us and that I was happy, we became closer than I ever thought we could be.

As Bill was the oldest, and I the youngest, with us both going to boarding school at different times, we never got to know each other. Now, we were friends, and even that stubborn part of him that would always view me as the baby who needed to be protected started to waver as he got to know me as a woman who was bound to a man who wanted my happiness.

Neither Fleur nor Professor Snape joined us on these lunches, though Hermione did come with him on occasion if work, and Harry, let her. After the third or fourth lunch she came to, I finally began to realize that our friendship would rebuild with time. And with any luck, perhaps one day my friendship with Harry would, too.