Professor Snape stormed into my office Friday afternoon, on the first day of February. I looked up from my research on the Wolfsbane potion; he was making me write an essay on every single ingredient used to in its preparation before he would trust me to brew it alone.

On Wednesday of this week his third year Potions class had managed to explode ten cauldrons as a practical joke and had earned themselves two weeks of nightly detentions one of us. We'd both been so busy over the last couple of days with managing their detentions that we'd had no time to spend alone with each other after his last class. It was leaving us both feeling very …

His eyes were savagely bright when he locked them on mine.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said, slamming the first draft of my ScarMend Paste down on my desk.

I looked at the parchment, which was almost completely marked through with red gashes, and swallowed.

"You can't dice unicorn horn. Dittany is a liquid, not a powder. Bromelian added at the final stage would make the compound a liquid. Are you ignorant, daft, or just completely stupid?"

I looked at the freckled hands on my desk, trying to figure out how to answer appropriately.

"And other thing," he said, slamming his hands down on my desk in front of me and leaning in so that we were face to face. "You haven't eaten a single dessert since those little cretins pulled that stunt."

"I don't like lemons, Sir, and that's all the elves have been – "

He put up a hand and ignored me, continuing on as he said, "And yesterday when pulled your own little stunt with me in the supply closet during class, you had on pair of knickers."

"It's been very cold," I said solemnly, remembering the look on his face when I had casually bent down to search the bottom shelf while trying to find the last of the gillyweed, pulling up my skirts a little too high in the process. If we'd been alone, I think he might have -

"We need to talk about your behavior, Miss Weasley," he said, standing up.

"What about my behavior, Sir?" I asked, biting my lip as my bottom started to tingle.

"I think you know," he said as he warded the doors, locking them with only a spell he could break. "Take off your shoes and tights."

I nodded, feeling his eyes on me as I removed the requested items and handed them to him. I trembled in anticipation of what would happen next as I waited for him to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves.

"Stand in front of your desk, palms down, nose as close to the wood as you can manage."

"Yes sir," I said assuming my favorite position in front of him.

He paused. "Pull up your skirt and spread your legs as wide as you can," he said softly.

I looked over my shoulder at him, fear prickling my body. As much as I desired him, loved him, wanted to be with him, I didn't want it to be like this.

He frowned at me. "I'm not going to fuck you. Now do as I ask, and pull up your skirt to your waist."

I put my nose back down to the desk and did as he asked, feeling the cold air of my office hit the wet skin of my sex. He stood behind me and sighed as he rubbed my arse with both hands until I felt dizzy with the desire for him to punish me. The air over my lower body vibrated, gooseflesh rising over my arms and legs as I waited, trembling in anticipation, until his hands left my skin to unbutton his trousers.

He paused, waiting for me to say no.

I'm not going to fuck you, he'd said.

My mother had given me endless lectures on what good witches did and did not do before I went to school. She'd told me to save myself for marriage, and since I first met Harry when I was ten years old I had been saving myself for him and that imagined wedding night that happened with another woman.

But my mother was not in control of my body. She never had been. I was, and so was my Professor as an extension of me. I gladly gave him the control he desired because I knew I could trust him with it. I'd learned in the beginning of this that I could stop him any time, and he immediately would.

Only, I never wanted to stop.

I nodded, and said, "Yes."

He spit into his hand and began to stroke himself, slowly at first and so silently I almost couldn't hear him, save for the small sighs that occasionally left his throat. As the sound of hand on flesh began to quicken, I closed my eyes and listened to him as he touched himself while he looked at my body. My skin flushed and my nipples peaked as they rubbed against the desk with each shaky breath I took as I imagined the expression on his face.

I wished that I could watch him. My fingers trembled with the need to touch him and to be touched, but I knew I would stay still until I was instructed otherwise. I screamed to him with my mind, pleaded with him in my thoughts to let me see, to let me roll over.

He listened, just as he always did.

"Turn over on the desk, but keep your eyes on mine," he said between strokes. "Unbutton your jacket and blouse, and pull down your bra." His voice was strained. "Keep your skirt up, and spread your legs so I can see you. And touch yourself, Ginny. I want to watch you make yourself come," he said, almost whimpering.

I scrambled over, popping buttons in my haste to undo my clothes. I kept my eyes on his as he continued to stroke himself, slower now as he waited for me. My bra was a front clasp, letting me free my breasts in a second. He moaned when he watched me slide my fingers through my wet folds, using both of my hands to pleasure myself, slipping two finger inside my pussy while rubbing my clit. He continued to stoke himself, faster and rougher by the sounds of his hands slapping against flesh. But I didn't look. I kept my gaze fixed on his glittering, wild eyes as they shifted up and down from my body to my face, and lost myself in his lust.

"Come, Ginny," he grunted. "Fly again."

I came, hard, my entire body tingling and shuddering as he continued to stroke himself.

"Say my name," he said through gritted teeth.

"Pro-"

"No – Ginny, my given name … please," he grunted, almost at the edge.

"Severus," I sighed as the last wave of pleasure rippled through me.

"You are mine," he said.

"Yours, Severus. I'm yours," I said, willing him to let go.

He groaned harshly as he whispered 'mine' again. I slid down a little on the desk as he came, my legs unable to hold me any longer, the hot spurts hitting my chest and breasts. His soft, sighing moans and grunts were like little symphonies to my ears and heart.

"I'm sorry," he said. He sounded like he was in agony as dropped down to his knees, head bowed to his chest.

"Why?" I asked, kneeling next to him on the stone floor.

"I don't know why I'm like this. I should have tried to get you that position at Salem instead of bringing you here to this dungeon with me. You deserve better than this – better than me," he said, unable to look at me.

I lifted his chin with my finger and made him meet my eyes. "I want to be here, or else I would have taken a cozy little desk job at the Ministry and stayed in my little room at the Burrow. I still could, if I wanted to. But I don't want that life. I never did. I don't want anything or anyone else, Severus. All I could ever want is you."

I brought one of my fingers to his lips. He sucked it into his mouth, and I thought I might come again with the sensation of his tongue on my skin. I used my free hand to pull my hair loose around my shoulders. When he saw what I had done, he groaned and released my finger, sank his hands into my hair, and kissed me.

My mouth opened to him and his tongue touched mine, seeking, exploring, tasting. I caught a taste of my musky flavor on his tongue and moaned against him. His hands moved down to the sticky mess on my chest and found my nipples, squeezing them so hard that the painful pleasure made tears run down my face.

"What happens next?" I gasped when his lips travelled to my neck.

"Anything we wish. I have no instructions for this," he said, smirking against my neck before he pulled away and examined my completely bedraggled appearance. My shirt and jacket were still hanging open like provocative curtains on my bare chest, though I had righted my skirt. He, on the other hand, was still clothed, though mussed and red lipped from our kisses.

"Let me bathe you," he said, taking my hand in his and leading me into his office, through it, and into his rooms.

I was amazed at how comfortable his quarters were. Perhaps part of me expected austerity from the man I had previously known to be restrained and harsh.

But these rooms … they were anything but.

His living space was decorated in warm, cherry-wood furniture upholstered in green, though the green was warm and inviting - the color of moss rather than the color of emeralds. The walls were lined with thousands of books, making me feel like I had walked into a fantastical library. I ran my hands over the velvet sitting chair by the fireplace as he led me into his bedroom. There were candles, everywhere, and with a flick of his wrist they were lit, illuminating the room in a warm, decadent glow.

"Wait here, but do not touch anything," he said as he opened the door that I assumed led to his bathroom.

Water splashed as a light citrus fragrance filled the air. I looked around the room from where I stood, trying to find something out about the man who had slithered his way into my heart. I saw much of what I needed to know in two small pictures that were on his dressing table.

The first was a picture of Harry's mother, and I gasped when I realized just how much I favored her. She was laughing and clapping her hands at something that was on the missing side of the torn photograph. Lily Evans looked very young and very happy.

The second was a picture of me taken a last year's Halloween Feast. I was still much too thin underneath my robes, and I was relearning how to smile. But, underneath my pallor and aloofness, I could see my fire already beginning to spark, just underneath the surface whenever my eyes looked to the man who would have been at my right.

My Professor.

I felt his hands around my waist before I realized he was in the room, so fast and catlike were his steps.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as his lips found my neck again.

I sighed when he found a spot where my neck met my shoulder that was especially sensitive. "That Lily will always be a part of you, much in the same way Harry will be to me."

I felt him nod, though it took him several minutes to reply with words. "You may be the only person who would ever understand that."

"I know she will always have a piece of your heart, Severus. But I won't lie and say it doesn't bother me that we look so much alike."

His lips stilled. "There could be nothing farther from the truth than that, Ginny. Although I will admit to having an obsession with ginger hair," he said while running his fingers through my tangled locks.

"Why keep her picture?" I asked.

"Because she will always represent what was the best of me for much of my life," he said, taking the picture is his hands. "Her memory gave me a reason to fight."

I sighed as he sat the picture down. He looked back to me, questioning. "What?" he asked softly.

"What do I represent?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"At first, possibility. And now, my reality." He looked very serious as he spoke.

"Of what?" I asked, hoping I understood.

He took my picture and stroked the side of it with his finger before he put it back down on his dresser. Instead of looking at the picture now, he brought his hands to my face, stroking my cheek with that same finger. "Love," he said softly.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

"'I am bound to my beloved'," he said between kisses.

"Is that what it really says?" I asked, kissing his crooked nose and pale cheeks.

"You could open a book an Ancient Runes and find out, you lazy excuse for an apprentice," he teased, laughing a little as I kissed his ears and chin.

I shook my head. "I believe you."

"You believed me all the other times too," he said, mocking me slightly.

"Are you telling the truth now?" I asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Then I still believe you," I said.

Severus removed my garments, exposing my skin to the soft glow of the room. His hands caressed every scar, both the ones caused by Dark Magic and the ones caused by my own hand. He left no inch of my skin untouched in his exploration, and I shivered when the touches became soft kisses over the worst ones on my shoulder. He found the one that caused my visit to St. Mungo's – a large, long cut on the inside of my left elbow, and the first one I ever made – a small, shallow cut on the top of my left leg that I made when he was still Headmaster and the Dementors took away the life from the school.

When he was done, he let me remove his coat and shirt as he untied his cravat. Twenty eight buttons to undo, just like my own, since mine were based on his. Fourteen more on his shirt, and then he was free for my eyes to see. He was hairless, except for a line of black hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his trousers. I mapped out his scars as he had mine, starting with the ghastly gouges on his neck where the snake had tried to rip his throat out. He had so many small starbursts all over his chest and back from being hit with the Cruciatus curse that I had to stifle a wail that threatened to escape. His back had the curse marks from his own Septemsempra that must have been used against him at some point. I touched and kissed every one, until I came to the one that bore him his shame – his Dark Mark. It was now faded with time, instead of bold and black and writhing, it was so pale that it could be overlooked if you didn't know to look for it. I ran my fingers over the scar and listened to him sigh with regret.

I placed my hand over it. "He Who Must Not be Named would have been victorious if not for you."

He smiled ruefully. "So they keep telling me," he said.

"Will you ever believe that your being a Death Eater caused us to win?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said. But the look of pain on his face let me know that some of his demons may never be completely put to rest.

He led me into the bathroom and watched me lower myself into the tub. I washed, following his instructions on what soap to use and what extra touches I could place on my body that would make him moan. He insisted on washing my hair, following my careful instructions on how to handle the long, fine tresses. When he was satisfied that I was clean he carefully dried me, rubbing me with a dark green towel until I was pink and sensitive all over.

When he took me to his bed, I'd expected him to want to make love, as I was mad for his touch now. Instead, he removed the rest of his clothes and slid under the cool sheets with me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pressing his nude, and very aroused, body against mine. But, ever the surprising and complex man, he told me to sleep.

My body and mind, so attuned to his instructions, obeyed.

We made love the next morning, as the sun shone through windows that he'd charmed to show a mirror image of the sun above the dungeons.

"I love you, Severus," I finally told him as he kissed his way from my clit to my breasts.

He looked up and locked his hands with mine, moving his body between my legs until I could feel him teasing the lips of my sex.

"My beloved … my Ginny … I love you," he chanted, leaning down to kiss me as he continued to gently nudge as though afraid that he would hurt me.

When he finally thrust inside and claimed every part of me as his, I sobbed with joy instead of pain. His pleasure and my pleasure blurred into one reality with no beginning and no end, and when we came alive together in love, the dullness left our eyes forever.

After I completed my apprenticeship, I became the Potion's Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Severus had opened the position in hopes of training his replacement, as he had been asked to resume his previous tenure as the Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts when the current professor's contract ran out.

By then, Bill had long since let my parents in on our relationship, and everyone else who knew was quietly waiting for us to open up about our affections for each other. I think my father was hoping that Severus would ask him for my hand, though he never did. We'd long established that my consent was my own, my submission to him was my own, my choices were my own, and our life together was our own.

At the Welcoming Feast in the Great Hall that year, he asked me to marry him by covertly placing his family's ring on my finger – the emerald and silver ring of the extinct Prince line.

"I still choose you, my beloved girl," he said in that soft voice only I care hear and is only for me.

I said "yes" and snogged him soundly before I remembered where we were.

The students were the first ones to notice, as there were always a set of eyes on us when we were together at the Head Table. They started to cheer with genuine affection for us both. His characteristic cold, hard glare shut it off as soon as it started, though we did take the warm congratulatory words from the Headmistress as well as the other members of staff, including Mr. Filch, who blew his nose and cried when I hugged him.

We were married at the Ministry of Magic, at the Department of Magical Marriages and Births over the Easter Holidays the next year. My parents, Bill and Fleur, and the Headmistress stood to witness for us. Instead of the white dress Fleur tried in vain to make me wear, I wore my regular teaching robes, still like Severus's down to the buttons. We took no honeymoon, simply returning to Hogwarts and to his rooms that we now had long shared.

Our daughter was born ten years later. Though Salem never responded to my letter when I was looking for an apprenticeship, they responded to Severus's when he asked them to consider Renee as a potential student. We'd both wanted to have her at Hogwarts with us, but when Severus became Headmaster again after Minerva passed away in her sleep, we decided that her education would need to be in a place where she was not the Headmaster's beloved only child.

They don't have our Houses in Salem, of course. When she came home after her third year, we finally settled the family argument by placing the Sorting Hat on her sweet raven black head and letting it finally declare where her placement would have been.

In ten generations of Weasley's and never in the Prince line had there ever been a Hufflepuff.

And still, to this day, after my last class and before dinner, I go to his old office in the dungeons - my office now - and set wards against prying eyes and hands. Severus is always there, waiting for me to arrive.

No matter how many years pass or how many times we do this, I always come to him with my body on fire and ready for him to touch me.

I lean with my hands and elbows against the table, my nose as close to the wood as I can manage, and I wait for him.

And I am never left wanting.

A/N: And so it comes to an end.

I use the phrase "I am bound to my beloved" in several stories. It comes from my interpretation of a verse from the Song of Solomon:

"16 My beloved is mine, and I am his;
He pastures his flock among the lilies.
17 Until the cool of the day when the shadows flee away,
Turn, my beloved, and be like a gazelle
Or a young stag on the mountains of Bether."
Song of Solomon, 2:16-17, NASB

That's oddly HP, isn't it? Plus, it's just a beautiful book that has a lot more to say about love than I ever could.

Thanks for reading.