Monday, April 20, 2009

Darkest Before the Light Chapter 3

Severus was not in the tent when Hermione woke up. She sat up slowly, ignoring the dull ache of her muscles. Her trousers, knickers, bra and shirt were at the edge of the tent where Severus had thrown them the night before. She scooted down the sleeping bag and reached for them. The cold air attacked her warm skin as she pulled her clothes on.

She pushed a shaky hand through her hair, knowing it wasn’t going to do much good as she debated whether to sit in the tent a bit longer or head outside. He was sitting on one of the rocks near the fire pit when she finally emerged from the tent.

“Do you regret it?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His head jerked up at the sound of her voice, and he turned towards her. “No.”

Hermione bit her lip, worrying the bottom portion with her teeth. Indecision was etched all over her face. She felt odd. The night before she had felt more alive than she had in years, yet this morning, waking up alone had caused nothing but doubts.

“I – last night…” she started to stay, but stopped. She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not very good at this,” she admitted.

“I’ve no complaints.”

“But… you…”

“I thought you might like some privacy this morning.”

“Oh. Oh! Privacy! That... was thoughtful.”

“But not necessarily what you wanted?”

“No,” she said in a miserable voice. “I was afraid that you were disappointed and had left.”

He stood up and walked over to her, tucking a thumb under her chin, he pushed her face up. “I was having similar thoughts and wanted to spare you any awkwardness.”

“I wish you had stayed.”

“What do you want from me? From this?” he asked her, his voice rasping out in some unnamed emotion.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her teeth pulled on her lower lip.

“Hermione…” he groaned as he watched her pink tongue dart out to slide along the lip she’d just abused with her teeth.

She dipped her head. “I told you I wasn’t very good at this.”

“Shall I assume that it was just a one off? Have a shag with your poor, pathetic older teacher, then run back and have a laugh with all your friends?” he asked ruthlessly, his body pushing into her personal space.

“No!” she gasped out. “How could you ask such a thing?”

His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, and his free arm wrapped around her waist. He pulled her hard against him, causing Hermione to suck in a startled breath.

“Then tell me what you want!” he demanded, and before she had time to react, he bent his head, capturing her lips with his. Hermione felt a surge of excitement spike through her. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her lips parted, allowing his tongue to enter her mouth. She let out a low moan, and Severus tightened his hold around her waist.

She flattened her palms against his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his shirt under her fingers, the warm, muscled plains of his chest, and the steady thrumming of his heart beating.

“I’m a bloody fool,” he muttered against her lips. Somehow his hands had moved, they gripped her upper arms as if he were about to push her away.

“What?” Hermione asked groggily, pulling back. Severus stared at her swollen lips, let out a strangled curse, and then pulled her hard against his chest again. Hermione’s mouth willingly opened, accepting the ferocious onslaught of his kiss. Warmth flooded through Hermione’s body, and she moaned into his mouth.

Severus broke the kiss again and started to shift his body. Hermione gripped at his shirt, trying to forestall his movement. She might not have been able to answer his questions before, but in this moment, she knew she didn’t want him to stop – knew that she couldn’t let him stop.

She opened her eyes. His face came into sharp focus above hers, his features set in a harsh expression. A frown creased his forehead, drawing his dark eyebrows down above his dark, glittering eyes. “Hermione,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

She licked at her bottom lip and he groaned. They sank to the ground, his weight pulling her down. His long, elegant fingers started unbuttoning the front of her shirt. She let out a shocked breath as his cool fingers worked their way under the material, and she let out a ragged groan as his hand palmed her bra-clad breast.

His fingers plucked at her nipple, and she arched towards his hand. “Oh, yes, Severus,” she whispered.

“Ah, Hermione,” he said, her name like a soft benediction as his lips skimmed across her flesh. “Sweet, sweet, Hermione.” He punctuated each word with a well-placed kiss against the column of her throat.

“What do you want?” he asked her again. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” she gasped out, arching into his hand, which was still teasing her nipple. “You – I… please, Severus.” Her hips writhed against his, and she could feel the burgeoning evidence of his desire against her.

He groaned and buried his face against her neck. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, his hot breath fanning against her skin. “I should leave you,” he muttered. “I should just go.”

Hermione didn’t say a word, but when he shifted his weight, she cried out in protest, afraid that he had meant those words. But then his warm hands were at her waist, those wonderful fingers unbuttoning her trousers; in his hand slipped, easing underneath the material and downward to the crux between her thighs. Hermione let out a sharp cry as one lone finger slowly caressed her. She moaned, shifting against his hand, wanting more but Severus only teased her with a soft, single touch.

Each slide of his finger brought a storm of sensations. Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on to his as tightly as she could, her whole body surging upwards towards his touch. Her body jerked uncontrollably, and she arched, angling her hips in such a way that would bring her more pressure, but it was to no avail. Severus deliberately kept his touch light and teasing.

He bent his head down to her chest and mouthed her bra-clad nipple. Hermione moaned low in the back of her throat and tilted her head backwards. He somehow worked the material down, so that her bra was trapped under her breast, and slowly slid his tongue against her nipple. The combination of his fingers and his mouth was overwhelming.

Hermione let out a strangled shriek of pleasure as she felt him draw out her nipple with her teeth. Severus suckled her, his teeth and tongue working in tandem with his slow fingers.

“Severus,” she hissed, bucking up against his hand. He let out a soft chuckle and withdrew from her.

“Patience,” he muttered, looming over her. He sat back on his haunches, pulling his clothing from his lean frame.

“What?” she gasped out in shock. “Shouldn’t we…” She nodded towards the tent as he threw his clothing over his shoulder.

“What for?” he asked, reaching over and tugging her shirt off her shoulders. He reached around and deftly unclasped her bra. The sailed over his shoulder and landed not far from his own clothing.

“We’re outside,” she squeaked, pushing his hands away.

“So?” He placed a small kiss on her stomach, his fingers slowly drawing her trousers down her hips. Hermione shivered. He trailed kisses down, moving lower, causing Hermione to loose her train of thought. Severus pulled the trousers down her legs, yanking her shoes off as he pulled the material completely clear of her body.

He eased his body between her legs, sliding his arms under her legs. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if she’d continue to protest. When she didn’t say a word, he nuzzled her thigh. Hermione groaned as he kissed her intimately, his tongue tracing around the folds of her sex. She whimpered, arching up, her fingers threading through his hair.

A hand made its way up between her thighs, his fingers probing her as his mouth and tongue teased her clit. Her hips moved against his mouth, her body shuddering in pleasure. “Please, Severus,” she begged. He continued to stroke her softly with his tongue, each lick causing her body to jerk in pleasure as she writhed under him.

“I need… I need…” Hermione gasped out.

This time he took pity on her. He moved, covering her with his own body, and she could feel the engorged length of his brushing against her mons.

“Yes,” she muttered, clutching at his shoulders when she felt the tip of his move against her. He groaned, kissing her throat as he flexed his hips, sheathing himself fully within her. He rocked, pulling back just a bit before surging deep into her.

She arched up, hitching her hips just so as he pushed forward again. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down against her and he rocked his hips, going incredibly deep. Hermione held on to him as he began to move forcefully, each stroke seemed to bring him deeper into her. She moved her hips against his, thrusting up, their rhythm becoming fast and frantic.

“Severus,” she cried her body tensing. “I – oh… I…” His head bent down, and he captured her lips, drinking in her cries of pleasure as her body convulsed. Her orgasm seemed to last forever. Then, suddenly, he let out a harsh cry, thrusting deep into her once more as his own orgasm violently streaked through him.

He collapsed against her, breathing erratically.

Part XX

They both jumped up from the ground at the sound of someone crushing through the leaves. Severus pushed Hermione behind him, in an effort to shield her from an attack. Hermione scrambled to grab at their clothing. She pulled her shirt on and threw Severus his trousers. They dressed as quickly as possible. From the thick growth of trees, two figures emerged.

“Potter!” Snape spat, taking a menacing step towards the shorter man. Hermione placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“Now, Severus,” Draco cautioned stepping into the light.

“Malfoy!” Hermione growled, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re not going to hit me again, are you?” Draco asked, hiding half-way behind Harry.

“You hit him?” Severus asked, placing his hand on top of hers.

“Once.” She gave him a chagrin look. “I was only fourteen at the time,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Once was enough,” muttered Draco, rubbing his jaw at the memory.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Then I suggest you explain this situation to us right now, else I’m apt to let Hermione have her way.”

“She really wouldn’t hit you,” Harry tried to assure the blond man.

Hermione glared at him. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you, Harry.”

“Ah, come on, Hermione…” Harry started.

“Really, Potter, you’re not helping,” Draco interjected, cutting Harry off.

“You’re trying my patience,” Snape growled.

“Right,” Harry gulped.

“Look, Severus,” Draco said at the same time. He gave Harry a look, and Harry simply shrugged his shoulders.

“One of you better start explaining…” Severus warned.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well – see… I knew Hermione had to take some time off.”

“And, well, I knew that you’d not be missed, Severus,” Draco interjected.

“You’ve just been so miserable, Hermione,” Harry continued.

“You can’t tell me that you’re not lonely,” Draco threw out. Harry nodded in agreement with Draco’s sentiment.

“You both so much alike –- so…”

“We figured we’d throw you together and see if something sparked,” Draco finished.

“So you Portkeyed us out here, without our wands because you wanted to play match maker?” Hermione glared at Harry. “You really thought that it was a good idea?”

“We’ve just been over there,” Harry said, waving his hand towards the west. “It seemed prudent to be near, in case you needed anything.”

“Or killed each other,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“You’ve been here the whole time?” Hermione gasped.

Harry nodded.

“You’ve been here the whole time,” Hermione slowly repeated herself. “And you’ve been watching us?”

Harry flushed. “I – err…”

“What he means to say,” Draco threw in. “Was that we’ve been close by, just in case… you know… an accident happened or something. Not that we’ve been watching you.”

“Yes,” Harry said quickly, grasping the safety line Draco threw to him. “We’ve only been near by for accidents, we haven’t been watching you. I mean, I certainly didn’t want to see you and Snape going at it like rab –"

“Harry!” Draco exclaimed.

“What?” Harry glanced at Draco, then up at Hermione’s face. She had that look – the one he remembered quite well from Hogwarts. “I – um… what I mean to say is we’ve been nearby. For worse case scenario things.”

“We’ve been wandless for a week,” Severus interjected. “I would say that is pretty much worse case scenario for Hermione and myself.”

“But you weren’t in any danger,” Harry retorted.

“Give me one reason not to turn you into a toad, Harry,” Hermione said through clenched teeth.

“Um – cause you love me?”

“Only a toad?” Severus asked her. “I can think of much worse things to do to the both of them.”

“Now, Severus… don’t be too hasty. You wouldn’t really do anything to me. Would you?” Draco asked, backing away from the taller man. “I mean, we’re practically family.”

“I’ve never let sentiment stop me before – why would I let it do so now?”

Harry’s green eyes grew large behind his glasses. “Hermione?” he squeaked.

“I’m inclined to agree with Severus on this,” she told him. She took a menacing step towards Draco.

Draco shot Harry a haughty glare. “If I end up as an eye of newt, you’re not getting shagged, Potter!”

Severus snorted.

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione shrieked. “Are you telling me you’re a bloody poofter?” She whirled around to face him. “Oh, this makes so much more sense.” She thrust a finger at him. “You’re worse than Molly! Finally in a relationship, so of course, everyone has to be as happy as you are.” She poked him in the chest. “It’s…” She poked him again. “Not…” She poked him a third time. “Your bloody business!” She went to poke him a fourth time, but he moved back.

Harry raised his hands, palms out, in supplication. “Hermione…” he sighed. “Ron’s dead.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” she yelled at him. “Don’t you think I have to live with that every day?” She turned from him and walked towards the tent, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress the sob building at the back of her throat.

“This is a bloody disaster,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Severus arched an eyebrow at him. “Yet, it appears you were a willing participant.” He turned away from both men and went to Hermione. She let out a shuddering sob as he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her to his chest.

“Hermione,” Harry called out desperately. “Don’t… don’t cry. I –” He walked over to Hermione. Severus glared at him as he placed a hand on her arm. “I just want you to be happy.” He brushed the tears from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re the closest thing I have to a sister,” he sobbed.

“Look, Granger,” Draco said from behind them. “He – we had good intentions. And, you can’t tell me that you two haven’t connected.” He threw a look at Severus.

“I know you, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “You wouldn’t have willingly gone along with some plan just to set you up on a date – you’ve been dodging Molly for how long?”

“Too long,” she said wearily.

“Too right.” He gave her a small smile.

“And,” Draco interjected. “You wouldn’t have been willing to either, Severus. I know you. So, we had to be inventive.”

“Still, Harry,” she sighed. “Can’t you see how wrong this was?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I thought…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t thinking,” Severus told him. “Neither of you were.”

“You’re right,” Harry said dolefully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Now that we have the matter of your ineptitude settled, give us our wands.”

Harry shot Draco a look, and he shrugged as if to say ‘up to you’. Harry turned back to Severus, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Only if you promise not to hex us.”

Severus released Hermione and took a menacing step towards Harry. “The only thing I can promise you is that if we do not have our wands in two seconds, I’m going to beat you to a bloody pulp.”

“I – uh,” Harry gulped.

“Severus,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

He let out a sigh, and muttered, “Fine.”

“Give me our wands, Harry. Severus isn’t going to hurt you.”

“You shouldn’t make promises for me, Hermione.”

She lifted her chin just a notch and gave him a quelling look. He sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Potter.” Hermione smiled at him. “No matter how much I might be inclined to,” he muttered under his breath.

Hermione held out her hand. “Now, if you please,” she told Harry. Again, Harry shot a questioning look at Draco, and the blond man merely shrugged.

“We really did have your best interests a heart,” he told Hermione, digging into his robes for her wand. He pulled the slender wood from his wand pocket, and handed it to her as Draco pulled Snape’s wand from his robes.

“Harry, I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, taking her wand from him. "All I want to do is go home, take a long hot bath, and forget the past couple of days." She wagged a finger at Harry. "You're quite lucky I'm in a forgiving mood, because if I weren't, I swear you'd be missing some pertinent bits right now."

Harry instinctively covered his crotch. "Aw, Hermione."

"No. Not aw, Hermione. I'm done, Harry. I want to go home. And I'm sure Severus wants the same." She shot a glance at Severus, and he nodded his head. "I'll talk to you when I feel more human. But, Harry -- it's going to take me a long while before I reach that state."

"Okay," he sighed.

Hermione gripped her wand, preparing to Apparate home. "But, what about...?" Harry asked before she could depart.

"What about what?"

Harry nodded towards Snape. "You know... him?"

"What about Severus?"

"You're not going to just take off on him, are you?" Draco asked, indignant on Snape's behalf.

"Why shouldn't she?" Severus asked.

"But -- you..." Draco spluttered.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Draco mumbled.

"It's been fun, Severus. Perhaps I'll see you around," Hermione told him before Disapparating away.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me," Severus said as soon as she disappeared. "Hermione had a rather grand idea -- a long bath sounds just right." He flicked his wand and was gone in a moment.

Draco gave Harry a confused look. "Shouldn't they be thanking us or something? I mean, they did spend the week doing... that."

Harry shrugged. "I guess we didn't do such a hot job."

"Straight people," Draco sighed. "They're just bloody confusing."

"Should we take pity on them? I mean they did work so hard to get us together..."

Severus shook his head. "They should suffer for a bit." He placed his hand under her chin and tipped her face up. "Just think of all the trouble they'd get into if they realized their plan worked," he muttered just before brushing his lips across hers. Hermione rested her palm against his chest and leaned into his kiss. "Could you imagine," he whispered against her lips, "who'd they try to get together next? I've nightmare visions of Longbottom and McGonagall."

Hermione giggled and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "Be nice," she warned him.

"Really! I wouldn't put anything past those two -- they could try all sorts of combinations; Flitwick and Firenze, Trelawney and Hagrid." Severus shuddered.

Hermione groaned. "Enough all ready. You've made your point. Those two are entirely too dangerous."

"Exactly," he whispered, kissing the base of her neck. "Now, can we talk about something important?"

"Hmmm, important..." she repeated.

"Oh yes, very important," he said, taking her hand and sliding it down to his crotch. "See how important it is?"

"Oh, my... yes," she said huskily. "This time, though, I'd like a real bed."

"As you wish," he groaned against her skin.

Authors’ Notes: This is actually based on the art prompt I chose to fulfill. I worked on the art piece, and suddenly I felt as if I just had to write the story that went along with the artwork. It somewhat fits your third story prompt, so I do hope you don’t mind.

Many thanks to S for her super fast beta job; you know I love ya! Any mangling of the English language is solely due to me.

Original Prompt: Severus disappeared after the battle of Hogwarts. Years later, he bumps into Hermione in an exotic location. What is she doing there? Is she married? Do they have hawt sex0ors (yes please)?

Original Art Prompt: In the Forbidden Forest. Dark, atmospheric. Creatures looking on.

Artist's Notes: Created with ink and charcoal, and based on a stained glassed window.

Cancer survivors who have lost their voice box due to cancer of the larynx often need a mechanical larynx – it produces a mandible vibration to allow speech. While survivors can no longer breathe air in and out of their mouth, some survivors can work air into their throat muscles enough that they can speak without the mechanical device. This causes tonal vibrations, which, with some speech rehabilitation, they can turn into audible speech. Sometimes they have to use their thumbs to create tonal variations. I know this for a fact because my grandfather is a 15 year larynx cancer survivor. He was initially given an electrolarynx but he disliked it so much that he learned to “talk” without it.

I know, I know, y’all are wondering what this has to do with anything… Well, I postulate that the poison from Nagini’s bite damaged Snape’s larynx, so his voice and way of speaking will be remarkably different… quieter in some instances and more deliberate (as he has to use his hands) in others. Remember, not every injury is magically fixable in the Harry Potter universe.

Note after the exchange:
My grandfather, the one who I used as inspiration for this story died in Jan... so the story is a bitter sweet testament to how much he impacted my life.
Back to Chapter 1

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Darkest Before the Light Chapter 2

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Hermione accused him two hours later. He was sitting on the ground, his back against one of the rocks near the campfire, drinking a mug of tea. “We should be doing something, yet all you're doing is sitting on your arse.”

He turned his head and gave her an appraising look. “Just what should we be doing?”

“Well, we could pack up the tent and leave.”

“And that served you so well last night, didn’t it?” He took a sip of tea. “Just how far did you get last night before you found yourself back in camp?”

Hermione muttered something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Hermione gritted out, “not far – but that could mean anything.”

“Yes, I’m sure it could,” he replied. “However, I don’t relish the prospect of chasing my tail for hours on end only to find myself in the same bloody spot I started out in.”

“We just can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“Then give me a productive suggestion – anything other than wandering around aimlessly. What do you think we should be doing, Granger?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, that’s such a helpful suggestion,” he retorted.

“Don’t be such a prat,” she admonished picking up a clump of dirt. Without a thought, she tossed it at him, much as she would’ve had it been Ron or Harry there with her. It hit him on the shoulder.

“Did you just throw dirt at me?” he asked in a soft voice. Hermione paled. She remembered that tone of voice quite well – it was the dangerously quiet tone Snape had before he struck. “Did you just throw dirt at me?” he asked again, in that same tone when she didn’t reply.

“I… uh…” she spluttered.

“I can’t believe you’re juvenile enough to throw dirt at me,” he said softly. He turned towards the fire and made some motions that Hermione couldn’t see. “Especially when mud is so much better,” he finished, tossing a gooey gob of mud at her. It struck Hermione on her forehead and slowly oozed down her face.

She let out a shriek of outrage. “No fair!” she yelled.

Severus arched a dark eyebrow. “You have the audacity to screech about fairness to me? Especially after you tossed a clump of dirt at me?”

Hermione scowled at him. “Fine,” she hissed, stalking over to where he sat. Severus watched her with a wary expression as she tried to scoop the remains of mud from her face. “I won’t talk to you about fairness.” She leaned over him, and he looked up. Her shirt gapped in such a way that he had a wonderful, full view of her breasts clad in a lacy white bra. Transfixed, he watched them jiggle as she smeared her muddy hand down his cheek, muttering, “I’ll just take revenge.”

He jerked back as soon as the cold mud touched his cheek and rasped, “Brat!”

“Not so cavalier when it’s you with the muddy face,” Hermione huffed.

“No” he conceded. “However, the view was well worth it.”

Hermione glanced down and noticed how much her shirt gapped, blushing hotly as she realized how much of view he had. “Pervert!” she yelped, yanking herself upright.

A small smile curved at the corner of Snape’s lips. “Can’t blame a man for looking, especially when the wares are so well displayed,” he replied smugly.

“Oh you… you…” she seethed, stalking over to the tent. “You plonker!” Without a backward glance, she darted into the tent.

Part XII

“Here,” Severus muttered, thrusting a pan through the tent flap. “This should help.”

Hermione stared at his hand protruding through the tent entrance. “Why are you being so nice?” she asked suspiciously.

“It’s not a matter of being nice,” he said, placing the pan on the floor. “I’d rather not sleep caked in mud. And since you’re sleeping with me, if you’re muddy, I’m going to get muddy. I’d really rather not.”

When she made no move towards the pot, he exclaimed, “Don’t be naff, it’s only water.”

“It might only be water, but I’m not sure I trust you,” she said with a sniff.

“Don’t be a daft cow.”

“Oh, as if you’ve a right to talk, pillock.”

“Slag.”

“Sleeveen,” she shot back.

“You’re a right cheeky monkey.” He chuckled.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she replied.

“Now quit being daft and use the water before it turns cold,” he admonished, moving away from the tent entrance.

“Don’t think that this makes us even,” she called after him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Part XIII

“Are you going to spend the rest of the day inside the tent pouting?” Severus yelled.

“I’m not pouting!” Hermione hollered back.

“Oh, right, you’re not indulging in an incredible sulk.”

Hermione stuck her head out of the tent. “I’m not sulking, pouting, moping, or whatever else you want to call it!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Severus guffawed. He turned from her and started sorting through the supplies to the left of the tent. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Curiosity caused Hermione to lean more out of the tent. “What?”

Severus shot her a sly look. “You want to know? You’ll have to come see for yourself.”

“I’m not sure I’m interested,” Hermione replied, pulling back into the tent.

Severus shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just means more chocolate for me.”

Hermione surged out of the tent at the word chocolate. “Oh, I don’t think so, mister.” She stalked over to the supply area and snatched the package of chocolate out of his hands. “You,” she raised the package up, “don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you,” Severus replied, snatching the package back. Hermione darted forward to steal the chocolate back, but Severus raised it over his head. “I don’t think so.”

Hermione glared at him. “If you don’t give me the chocolate, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” she told him through clenched teeth. She grabbed his arm, trying to pull it down so she could reach the package of chocolate.

“Blood-thirsty wench.”

“Only if I don’t get some chocolate,” she said in such a serious tone that he barked out a harsh laugh.

“Well,” he told her, keeping the chocolate out of her reach. “You’ll just have to wait until later. We’ve loads of goodies, and this is only part of it.”

“Really?” Hermione asked suspiciously. “Like what?”

“A bit of wine, some steaks to grill, and potatoes.”

“All that?”

He nodded. “As well as the chocolate.”

Hermione shook her head. “Why would they send us all of that?”

Severus merely shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Do you think it might be poisoned?”

“I doubt it. There are much easier ways to get rid of us.”

“That’s true,” Hermione conceded. “Still, I find it awfully odd that they’d send all of that to us.”

“Odd enough to avoid it?”

“No." She snorted.

“Right, then, who’s cooking?”

Part XIV

“I’ll say this for you; you definitely know how to cook,” Hermione said with a sigh, licking her fingers. “I don’t know when I’ve ever had anything that tasted this good.”

“You’re just saying that because you want more of my meat,” Severus quipped. He reached over, picked up the bottle of wine and poured himself a healthy measure.

“Top me off?” Hermione asked, handing him her cup. Severus poured the rest of the bottle into her metal mug. “I can’t believe we’ve finished off the bottle all ready.”

“We’ve still a few more. I’ll go get another bottle,” he replied, standing up.

Hermione took a small sip of her wine, and then watched Snape over the rim of her metal mug. He moved with a casual grace; but then he’d always been graceful, even when he stalked down the halls of Hogwarts. His figure was very mesomorphic – he had a solid torso, with wide shoulders yet a tapered, narrow waist. He looked long and lean with muscles in all the right places.

He has such a grab able arse, she mused to herself as he bent over to search through the supplies. That thought caused her to snort softly into her mug of wine. Snape would kill me if he knew I was ogling his arse.

“Here we are,” he said, walking back to the campfire. He settled himself on the ground beside her and handed her the package of chocolate.

Hermione unwrapped the top part and broke off a piece, popping it into her mouth. She groaned in pleasure as the chocolate hit her tongue and passed the packet back to Severus. “This is so peaceful,” she said, once she swallowed her piece of chocolate.

Severus shot her a questioning glance.

“Don’t look at me like that; I can appreciate the peace and quiet out here.”

“You’ve been quite vocal about your distaste of the situation up ‘til now.”

Hermione let out a soft sigh. “I know. But this is different from the last time I had to camp – no one is trying to actively kill me, at least I hope not.” She stretched forward, flexing her fingers in front of the campfire. “I could almost come to like this; no one wanting my attention at all times, no need to rush off and do this, or hurry there to do that.”

“It does feel like that sometimes, doesn’t?” Severus mused.

“If I’d known adulthood would be so… stressful, I might’ve enjoyed my childhood more,” Hermione confessed.

Severus snorted. “I’d hardly call dodging psychopaths an enjoyable childhood.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, no. But there were many good times between all that rushing around and trying not to get killed.”

Severus made a disbelieving harrumphing sound in the back of his throat.

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Hermione reassured him. “Really, until our fourth year and Cedric Diggory died, it didn’t really feel as if any of it were real.” She shook her head, letting her curling hair fall into her face. “In retrospect, I’m appalled at how blatantly we chased after the mystery that was Voldemort – we just didn’t realize the real cost of our charging into danger.”

“Part of that was due to Albus Dumbledore,” Severus said gruffly. “He had a plan for Harry, and you got dragged along.”

“I wouldn’t call it being dragged. Not really.” She sighed, stretching a bit on the ground, her knee brushing against his leg. “Harry was my friend, and I knew he couldn’t do everything on his own, I don’t think anyone could have – and Ron… I think Ron wanted glory at first, but then chased after Harry, too, because not chasing would’ve been unfathomable.”

“You were children – all three of you. Had I my way, none of you would’ve been involved with it at all.”

Hermione nodded. “I think I can see that now – you weren’t happy at our involvement at all.”

“Why would I be? You were all decoys – little play things thrown out to capture the mad man’s interest so that we could out flank him. It’s really an amazing feat that there were only a few casualties at all those first few years.”

“Hand me more chocolate,” Hermione demanded. “If we're going to talk about depressing things, I need more.”

He handed the package over to her, and she broke off another piece. “We could always talk of other things,” he said, when she handed the package back.

“We could,” she said, slipping the piece of chocolate into her mouth. She rolled it around her tongue before continuing, “But I think we’d still end up with a depressing topic.”

“Probably true,” he replied, snapping off a piece of chocolate for himself.

“What does that say about us?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, didn’t we do enough – suffer enough with Voldemort? I thought… Wasn’t it my time for some happiness? And for a little while, I had that. Then it was gone, and I… when Ron died, I wanted to go with him.”

“That’s not the way things work,” Severus said softly, draping an arm around her shoulder.

“No,” she said with a soft sob. “It’s not. And it’s patently unfair.”

“Things are hardly fair in this world,” he told her.

“Don’t be so reasonable,” she admonished him. “You have just as much right as I to rail over the unfairness of it all.”

“It does no good.” He took a slow sip of wine. “All it does is cause a mouthful of remorse and a bloody harsh head the next day.”

“That’s it? That’s your sage advice?”

“If you’ve come for sage advice, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I just try to do the best I can each day, and hopefully it’s enough.”

“I suppose that’s good enough,” she replied, leaning back into him. “Sometimes, I do wish things had been different.”

“You mean with Ron?” She nodded, sipping her mug of wine. “I never understood what you saw in him,” he said, causing her to splutter into her cup.

“Ron is – was wonderful.”

“Yet hardly your intellectual equal.”

“Why would he have to be? That’s not why I loved him.”

“But it must’ve been hard…”

“Not really. You forget we’d known each other since we were eleven. I had no illusions about Ron, and he had even less about me. Yet, despite all of our differences, together, we worked. He was… home.”

“And now he’s gone.”

Hermione shivered. “Now he’s gone,” she repeated softly. “And sometimes I think I’m lost without him.” She stretched, arching her back against his side; she tucked herself back into the small curve of his body. “I still stand by my first observation, this is really peaceful.”

“Even if you’re out here with me?”

“Maybe because you’re out here too,” she said in a slurred tone, her eyes closing.

Severus watched the flickering light flash across her face for a time. She let out a soft little snore and cuddled in closer to him. She was right; it was utterly peaceful. That thought startled him.

With a sigh, he eased her off his shoulder. She rolled against the rock and muttered something in her sleep. He stood up and stretched, his warm, relaxed muscles protesting. He corked the last of the wine, and stored it with the supplies. The rest of the food was gone – that alone should’ve made him feel wary, but he was pissed enough not to care.

Walking back to the fire, he sprinkled a cup of water of the small flames. He used a large stick to stir the wood and ash in the pit and slowly poured more water over it. He repeated the process until he felt no heat emanating from the pit. He then gathered up some dirt, dropped it on top of the pit ashes and stepped down. As soon as he was sure the fire pit was taken care of, he returned to Hermione.

“Severus?” she asked sleepily as he lifted her from the ground.

“Shush, Hermione,” he said softly, shifting her weight. He started walking towards the tent.

“’S sleepy…”

“I know, we’re almost there.” He nudged the tent flap open with his foot and stepped inside.

“… ‘S you… nice?” she asked as he gently placed her on the sleeping bag.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, brushing some stray strands of hair back from her face. Hermione let out a soft sigh at his touch and then rolled onto her side. He waited a few heartbeats, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept, before pulling off her shoes. Once that was done, he shrugged off his own shoes, followed by his trousers and shirt. He slipped into the sleeping bag beside her, and she immediately curled around him.

Part XV

Hermione instinctively snuggled closer to the source of the warmth next to her in her sleep. Her cold body wrapped itself around the source, trying to draw in the comforting heat. The source tried to move, but she would whimper in protest, her sleepy body trying to cuddle close again.

“Hermione…” a sleepy voice next to her ear breathed.

“Hmmm mine,” was her incoherent reply. She wrapped herself around Snape’s body, burying her head into the nook of his shoulder.

His body went from sluggishly asleep to instantly aroused as Hermione rubbed herself against him in an effort to get warm. He took a deep, calming breath in an effort to slow his body’s response. Instead of peace, he caught the subtle scent of Hermione – even the small sponge bath she’d taken earlier couldn’t diminish the small subtle hint of vanilla that clung to her flesh. His semi-erect cock thrummed with arousal.

Hermione shifted in her sleep, her thigh swinging over Snape’s legs. Each movement she made brought a surge of blood to his cock. Try as he might, all he could think about was how warm and soft she felt. Every instinct he had screamed, ‘turn her over and bury yourself deeply within her’. It took all his will power to lie still.

He didn’t fall asleep until nearly dawn.

Part XVI

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Severus yelled, sticking his head into the tent. Hermione was wrapped around the sleeping bag, her shirt bunched up her stomach, her trousers twisted around her frame. She merely rolled over at the sound of his voice.

He ducked into the tent and nudged her with his foot.

“Go the fuck away,” she muttered, throwing the sleeping bag over her head.

“You’re a right bitch when you have a hangover, aren’t you?” he mused.

“And you’re a fucking git! Now go away.”

“Now, now, don’t slag off on me, else I might not help with that pounding headache I know you’ve got knocking around.”

“Bastard.”

“Hermione Granger,” he said in the tone he’d often used with students, “rise your lazy arse up and get out of the tent. I’ll not tell you again.”

“You’re evil incarnate,” she moaned sitting up.

“Possibly.”

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“I can’t believe you got pissed on such a small amount of wine.”

“Oh, please stop being so loud.”

“Move your arse, and I’ll pour you some coffee.”

Hermione groaned, her stomach rebelling at the thought of anything touching it. “That sounds revolting.” Severus reached out a hand, intending to help her up. Hermione eyed the hand with a wary expression. “I don’t think I should trust you,” she mumbled.

“Quit whining, Granger.”

“You’re no fun,” she hissed, grabbing his hand. She deliberately made him pull her up from the ground, arching an eyebrow, as if daring him to comment on her weight.

“I’ve never been accused of being fun,” he chuckled, releasing her hand once she was on her feet. “Now, why don’t you wash the dried drool off your face and act like a normal human.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, and she ran a quick hand over her face. “Ugh,” she let out in horror. “Go,” she ordered him, trying to resist the urge to hit him as he left the tent, his shoulders quaking as he suppressed his laughter.

Part XVII

“I would kill for a bath,” Hermione muttered, leaning against a tree. “A nice, hot, bubbly bath.”

“Not going to happen any time soon, Granger.”

“I know, but I can wish, can’t I?” She shook her head. “I don’t know how you can stand it. Don’t you feel grimy?”

Severus had the good grace to blush. “Err…”

“You don’t even look as if you’ve been in the forest for three days,” she went on, as if he hadn’t made any noise.

“Actually,” he interjected, “I’ve… There is a small stream.”

“And you didn’t share?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m surprised you didn’t find it, the way you’ve been pacing around the area for days.”

“Do you think I’d be this grimy if I had found it?” she practically shrieked.

“I think you’re fine.”

“You are such a man,” she huffed. “I feel gross, and you think it’s natural.”

“Now that’s going a bit far, I didn’t say it was natural, I just said I think you’re fine. It’s not as if you smell repellant or anything.”

“Ugh, please. You don’t honestly believe that.” She put her hand on her hip and gave him a scolding look. “I think you’d better show me this small stream, it might not be as good as a hot bath, but at least I can clean off the muck of three days.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder... is it deep enough to actually swim in?”

“I don’t think you’ll want to go that far; the water’s pretty frigid.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a wand right about now.” Hermione sighed. “We could Transfigure something into a bathtub, heat the water, and be blissful for a few hours. Ah well, no matter. Even if the water’s near ice, I need to clean up.”

“I still think you’re fine as you are.”

Part XVIII

An hour later, Hermione sat before the fire, slowly drawing her fingers through her hair in an effort to dry it. She watched Snape through the corner of her eye; noticing how every so often he’d press a thumb against the base of his throat. It was an action she’d seen him take countless times over the last few days, though she didn’t know why.

“Why do you do that?” Hermione asked softly.

“Do what?” he asked, pressing on his throat.

“That thing with your hands.”

“This?”

She nodded.

“I sometimes have to.”

“But why?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

Severus sat back on his heels, surprised she asked. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just wondered… You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have pried.” She set her metal plate on the ground and raised her hands up in the air near the fire. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get some heat into her freezing fingers.

“Nagini,” Severus whispered into the darkness. The snake’s name seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Hermione sat still, her fingers soaking in the heat. “In a way,” he continued, “I was rather lucky. Voldemort wanted her to rip out my throat – he thought that… that I owned something he wanted and that only my death would give it to him.”

“The Elder Wand,” Hermione muttered.

Severus nodded his head. “Yes, the Elder Wand. Even though he had it in his possession, he thought that I was the owner of the wand because I had killed the great Albus Dumbledore,” he said bitterly. “It was inconceivable to him that the wand would pass to another’s hands without bloodshed – so it never dawned on him that it might have belong to someone else.”

“Who?” Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

“Potter’s never told you?”

Hermione shook her head. “He – he spoke of some of the memories he received from you, but he never went into details about anything. I think once it was over, he just wanted to forget it all.”

“I see,” he said softly. “The night Albus,” his voice cracked over Dumbledore’s name, “died, Draco had forcibly taken his wand. That small act transferred ownership to Draco.”

“So then the wand was Draco’s?”

“In a way, for a bit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What happened to Harry’s original wand?”

Hermione blushed hotly. “I broke it. I hadn’t meant to – I had cast the Confringo spell in an attempt to stop Nagini at Godric’s Hollow, and it ricocheted around the room, before hitting Harry's hand. When the spell hit his hand, it broke his wand. I felt awful about it.”

“And?” he prompted. He shifted his body, easing down onto the ground to near Hermione to make himself more comfortable.

“And what?”

“Well, obviously Potter didn’t go without one for…”

“Oh, that’s true. He stole Draco’s…” Understanding lit her eyes.

“Exactly. Potter took Draco’s wand.”

Hermione shook her head. “Still, it wasn’t the Elder Wand that Harry took; it was his normal one.”

Severus shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Potter was able to subjugate Draco, hence whatever was Draco’s now belong to Potter – that included the Elder Wand. Technically, even Draco could be considered Potter’s property.”

“But that’s barbaric,” Hermione gasped, clearly aghast at the prospect.

“Humanity is inherently barbaric,” Severus replied. “Some of the oldest magic had some untenable results – it is tied to our baser instincts; often to our own detriment.”

“Still… to be owned by someone simply because they were able to overpower you?”

“It’s a vicious cycle. Magic is drawn to someone who has the potential to be powerful. Those with potential often seek any means necessary to become powerful. The more powerful they are, the more magical ability they have, and the more they crave. Most people don’t know how to temper themselves once they’ve obtained it all.”

Hermione shivered. “And so the wand was Harry’s in the end,” she said softly. “Yet Voldemort believed you owned it because you killed Dumbledore.” Her eyes darted to his neck, a horrified expression flashing across her face. “He wanted Nagini to kill you for that wand – a wand you didn’t even own.”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“I had always wondered what had happened in the Shrieking Shack – by the time I arrived with Harry, all I saw was you on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. I –“ She broke off, a soft sob catching in her throat.

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” he said before she could continue.

“We could’ve tried.”

“I didn’t want that – I was quite ready to die.”

“You can’t mean that,” Hermione gasped, placing a hand on his forearm.

Severus looked down at her hand; it'd been so long since someone had touched him with even an ounce of compassion. “Hermione, I was ready,” he responded with a susurrant sigh.

“But, you –” She started to speak, but he placed a long, tapered finger against her lips, effectively silencing her. Her nostrils flared and her pupils dilated a fraction at his touch.

“It’s a moot point,” he said gruffly, pulling his hand away. “I’m alive. Nagini’s bite left me with some scars and her poison damaged my larynx, but it wasn’t enough to kill me.”

“May I see?” Hermione asked impulsively, leaning forward. She didn’t even wait for his response. He jerked slightly at the touch of her cool fingers against his neck then sat impossibly still. She felt, on some level, as if she were slowly petting some wild, predatory animal; he’d move and savage her at any moment.

“You’re very lucky, “she murmured, letting her index finger trace one of the scars.

“That’s one interpretation,” he replied caustically, causing Hermione to glance up at his face. He was staring at her – his eyes incredibly dark.

“Are you always this difficult?” she asked, sliding her finger across the rough ridges of the other scar.

“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” he muttered, hauling her into his arms.

Hermione let out a small gasp as his lips captured hers. It wasn’t the soft gentle sort of kiss Ron used to give her – this kiss was one of hunger; she could feel Snape’s need to possess her.

She could only clutch at his shoulders, as he slowly drew her tongue into his mouth. He sucked on it gently and then followed it as it retreated back into her mouth.

Severus tore his mouth from hers, panting slightly. “I’m not sorry,” he told her, quickly standing up.

In a daze, Hermione lifted her face up, her gaze locking with his. Slowly, her tongue flicked out against her bottom lip. Severus groaned.

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” she whispered in a husky voice.

“Still, I shouldn’t have,” he said, watching her with a wary expression as she stood up.

Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t mind.” She cocked her head to the side. “Unless… you didn’t like it?” Hermione stepped closer to him, watching his face. "You did like it, didn't you?" she asked softly, moving in front of him. "Because I did."

"Hermione..." he started, and then stopped, choosing instead to lean down and softly kiss her. His lips slowly moved over hers and she sighed, her right hand reaching up to grip at his shirt.

Severus pulled back, and looked down into her upturned face. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. The expression in Hermione's eyes must've reassured him. He kissed her again, moving his hands slowly down the front of her shirt.

She shivered at this touch. As his tongue licked at the edges of her mouth, his large, warm hands slid underneath the material of her shirt, skirting across her skin. Hermione gasped against his mouth at the feel of his hands, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue between her plump lips.

Hermione tugged at his shirt, dislodging it from the waistband of his trousers. The fabric bunched against his back as her greedy fingers worked their way up, flattening against the plane of his back. He felt so warm and so solid. Heat pooled in her belly.

Severus shivered against her, his probing kiss faltering as Hermione's hands moved around his waist and up his chest. Her pert fingers found his nipples, and he groaned into her mouth as she tweaked them.

"Do you like that?" Hermione gasped against his mouth.

Severus groaned and pulled her tight against him. "You've no idea. None at all."

Hermione laughed and tweaked his nipples again, raking her nails slightly across the puckered ridge.

"Do that again," he ordered.

"Hold on," she told him, pulling her hands out from under his shirt. He moaned in protest. The buttons of his shirt were so bloody small she ended up just pulling the shirt open, causing the buttons to pop off. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and bent her head down to his chest. He hissed in pleasure as her mouth latched onto his right nipple.

"Yes," he moaned as she rolled her tongue around his nipple.

He lifted Hermione off the ground and spun her towards the tent. The movement caught her off guard and she gasped.

"We should take this somewhere a little more private," he told her as he pushed through the tent flap. He set her on the sleeping bag, and then straightened. He stood above her, his shirt agape; he could feel her eyes roving over his chest like a physical caress.

Hermione leaned back on the sleeping bag, propped up on her elbows watching as Severus slowly peeled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. His eyes never left her face as he stepped out of his shoes, kicking them to the side. His hands drifted down to his waistband.

Hermione's eyes wandered down the length of his wry frame, down to the sight of his cock straining against the material of his trousers. She unconsciously licked her lips.

"Wanton."

She smiled up at him, trying to look innocent, but failing miserably. "It must be the company I'm keeping," she said in a husky voice, sitting up. "May I?" she asked, reaching for the waistband of his trousers. He didn't say a word as she slowly unbuttoned the top button. She looked up into his face as she lowered the zipper; his eyes glittered darkly as his cock sprang free from its prison of material.

Hermione pulled back, eager to see his body. Severus wasn't a big man by any means, but he was wholly male. His shoulders were broad, his chest nearly hairless, his waist tapered and narrow. She let her eyes wander over his body, down to the rigid member jutting up from his groin. She leaned down and licked the tip of his cock. It was just a small lick, more of a teasing preview of what was to come than anything else, but it caused Severus to utter a harsh, guttural groan of pleasure.

"Hermione..." he moaned, clenching his hands at his sides. She smiled up at him and impishly licked the tip of his cock again. Severus gasped, his dark eyes fluttering closed as he reached for her. "Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?"

"No," she replied with an impish smile. "I'm just trying to motivate you."

"Oh, I'm motivated," he replied, stepping completely out of his trousers, which had pooled at his feet. He straightened, standing before her completely naked, his engorged penis proudly jutting forward. Then, before Hermione could move, he leaned down, pushing her back against the sleeping bag. He placed an arm on each side of her head and pressed his naked body against her still-clothed one.

Hermione arched against him. She could feel the heat of his body through the material of her own trousers, sinking past the flimsy cotton of her shirt. Severus kissed her again, his mouth roughly taking hers. He kissed her as if she were the only woman in the universe, and Hermione reveled in that feeling. His tongue pressed past her lips, sweeping into her mouth, leisurely teasing and twisting against her own. His hands moved against her flesh, pushing and tugging at the material of her shirt.

The shirt was gone in a second, smoothly sailing over Severus's shoulder before his head dipped down to nuzzle between Hermione's breasts. He licked at the curve spilling out of her silk bra, sucking at the soft flesh, causing Hermione to groan.

She arched up, and his hands wound their way around her back as he deftly unhooked her bra. He pulled the flimsy material down her shoulders, freeing her breasts from their confinement.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as his lips captured one nipple. He wrapped his tongue around the tight peak, swirling and teasing the sensitive point until she let out a ragged, gasping breath. Her reaction seemed to please him, because Severus let out a low growl, then moved his mouth to her other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

Hermione clawed at his back, desperately trying to breathe in the onslaught of so many wonderful sensations. Her hips moved restlessly against him, her need to feel him inside of her mounting.

She pushed at him, pushing that glorious mouth away from her breasts, gasping, "Take these off..." All the while pushing at her trousers.

Severus gave her a sizzling look as he helped tug the offending material down her legs. His fingers hooked the elastic of her silk knickers and dragged them down too. He tossed them somewhere behind them.

Hermione moaned in pleasure as his hands touched her; it felt electric because this time there was nothing between her flesh and his hands.

Severus tried to pin her to the sleeping bag, but Hermione met him halfway, pushing him back until he was sitting beside her. She grabbed at his hands before they could continue to wander over her body. That earned her a haughty look.

She leaned in towards his chest, and whispered, "Not so fast," before licking at his nipple.

"You're going to kill me," he gasped out.

"No," she told him as she leaned in, casing him to fall back against the sleeping bag. "Just torture you a bit." She released his hands and straddled him as she nipped at his neck, her tongue tracing the path of the scar. His eyes closed and his hands gripped at her waist.

He licked his lips, his voice all hoarse and breathy as he called her a sadist. He rocked his hips up, positioning his cock at the crux of her sex. Hermione arched her back as he flexed up, sheathing himself fully inside of her. Hermione whimpered in pleasure, a strangled, "Yes..." hissing from her lips.

Severus reached up and pulled her down, groaning as his lips captured hers. He flexed his hips, arching up as his tongue swooped into her mouth, the tandem movements making Hermione squirm against him.

Back and forth they rocked, Hermione's hips rising and falling as she rode him, sometimes only taking a part of him into her flesh, other times taking the full length of him as deeply into her as possible.

Hermione placed her hands on his chest, using him for leverage as she moved against him at a faster pace. Her thighs flexed, the muscles tensing as she threw her head back in pleasure.

Severus slipped a hand down between them, his fingers searching until they landed on her clit. Hermione let out a strangled gasp. He stroked her clit slowly, relishing the way her inner muscles clenched around his cock with every light touch.

Severus arched up, his hand teasing at Hermione's clit as his cock moved inside of her with first a shallow, then a deep thrust, alternating until Hermione thought she'd go insane.

"Please," she whispered.

He moved both hands to her hips and moved her body with his, the thrusts becoming almost sharp and brutal. Hermione shifted a bit, and then suddenly she jerked, letting out a keening cry. Her eyes rolled back as she convulsed around him, the power of her orgasm clenching around him.

Severus let out a harsh groan, thrusting up one last time as his own orgasm overtook him.

Hermione collapsed against Severus's chest, her breath ragged and quick. Severus's hands stroked her back, slowly sliding over the curve of her spine as she tried to recover. He kissed the side of her neck, and she groaned in protest as he moved, easing them both onto their sides.

"That... that was..." she gasped out, trying to find the right words.

"Shush," he told her, placing a long, tapered finger against her lips.

Hermione opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but something in his eyes belayed her. She ducked her head, nuzzling against his chest as she closed her eyes. He let out a soft breath, reached over, and pulled what he could of the sleeping bag over them.

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Darkest Before the Light

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An Unconventional Moment Chapter 8

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The Feige Part 2

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The Feige

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A Bit of Faith

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Auld Lang Syne NC17

Title: Auld Lang Syne
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Completely disregards the epilogue. If that makes this AU–well, then I’ll gladly slap that label on.
Summary: The human mind is an incomprehensible machine… Years later, the ripple effects of the Memory Charm Hermione had placed on her mother, Ruth, coupled with her father’s death, cause unforeseen complications. Guilt hangs over Hermione like a cloud until, miraculously, an American wizarding and Muggle medical cooperative agrees to take Ruth’s case in the first phase of an experimental treatment, one that melds Muggle medical knowledge with Wizarding procedures.

Prompts from Author:
1) All that's left in the Shrieking Shack is a small pool of dried blood. What happened to Snape? (Hopefully answered)
2) Hermione and Snape travelling in some random foreign hot country. Bonus points for sex in a train/bus/car pretty much anywhere halfway public. (Somewhat fulfilled).

Author’s Notes: Many thanks to mariannelee for the beta read, as well as to shiv5468 and selened for helping when I was stuck. Any and all errors contained within are solely my own.



oOo

“You do realize that this treatment might not work,” the American Healer said, his long fingers absently toying with the mechanical pen. “It comes down to various factors, the first being the Memory Charm you placed on your mother ten years ago. While I am sure that it was done properly, the human mind is a tricky thing, so there really is no way to tell if this is a by-product of that charm, or a natural case of dementia.”

“She’s only fifty-six years old. These symptoms didn’t start manifesting themselves until my…” I broke off, trying to compose myself before continuing. “Until my father died.”

“As I said, the human mind is uncharted waters for both the magical and the Muggle medical communities. That is why Memory Charms, in all forms, are on the prohibited magic list, at least here in the States. There’s no telling what the actual, long-term effects will be on anyone. Quite frankly, it’s no surprise to me that your mother is having these sorts of episodes, not when you consider the considerable strain your father’s death must’ve caused; that in conjunction with the fact that you removed whole portions of her memory ten years ago.”

“It’s all my fault,” I whispered softly, interrupting him.

“No, Miss Granger, that isn’t what I’m saying at all. You are not responsible for this. Theoretically, there is no reason why the spell you placed on your mother, and later dispelled, should be causing this…” His voice trailed off. “In any event, laying blame does no good. This is a medical problem, and we shall do our best to help your mother’s situation.”

“What will I need to do?” I asked. I had every intention of doing whatever it took to make my mother well; it was obviously my fault she was in this state, despite what the doctor claimed.

The chair creaked in protest as he swiveled around and opened a filing cabinet just to his right. He shuffled through a few files before extracting a thick packet of documents.

“These,” he said, handing the papers over to me, “explain the process we’ll be undertaking after the initial physical and magical work up. The regimen of potions, along with observations from both magical medical specialists, in conjunction with the Muggle dementia and Alzheimer’s specialist we have on staff, should hopefully lead to, well, not a cure, but at least a lessening of her severe symptoms.”

I quickly scanned the first few pages while he continued talking.

“There is a time-table attached. If you’ll notice, about once a month she’ll be required to stay in our facility for five days of observation; this is an imperative part of the treatment, as we need to see how each and every patient reacts to the various combinations of potions.”

“Are they harmful?” I asked, interrupting him.

“While preliminary tests show no, you do have to remember this is phase one of the clinical trial, so we won’t know until we actually start administering them.”

“Wait a minute. This is still in clinical testing? How, then, did my mum become a part of this?”

“I assume through the normal channels.” He opened the chart on his desk. “These records indicate that St. Mungo’s was initially consulted about her condition, yet rejected because of her non-magical status. Despite St. Mungo’s initial rejection, it appears as though one of the attending Healers cared enough to forward your mother’s case on to us. From there, we contacted her Muggle physician. In fact,” he said, flipping through the pages, “it looks as if there was significant correspondence between one of our key specialists, Dr. Shaw, and your mother’s primary Muggle physician, after the Healer at St. Mungo’s contacted us regarding your mother’s case.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “Is that how it’s normally done?”

“On occasion. There’s also an introductory letter from your Ministry of Magic, I suppose that didn’t hurt either.” He closed the file and stood up. “Now, I’m sure you’ll want to take that paperwork home and read through it. If you have any questions at all, please feel free to use the clinical number provided in that packet.”

I quickly scrambled out of my chair, gripping my purse so hard my fingers were nearly white. “When will the treatments start?”

“Stop by the front desk. I’m sure we can schedule some sort of physical in the next day or so. From there we’ll decide which course of action to take next. I do caution you to read over that informational packet before your mother’s first appointment. Once she’s inducted into the trial, we’ll need you to adhere to the outlined policies.”

“Thank you, Dr. Albright.” I stuck out my hand, and he gripped it in a firm handshake.

“You are quite welcome, Miss Granger.”

oOo

Since Dad’s death twenty-seven months ago, Mum hasn’t been herself. It started with simple things, a missed appointment here or there–but it progressed past that very quickly. I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t notice. Or maybe I just didn’t care to notice.

I suppose it was rather easy for me not to notice. I lived in London with Harry and Ron at Grimmauld Place and rarely went to my parents’ house; the memories were too painful with Dad gone. I was too caught up in my life now that Voldemort was gone; too caught up in righting all those perceived wrongs of the British Wizarding world. I had taken the concept behind S.P.E.W. and, with some backing from Harry, ‘the savior of the wizarding world,’ had convinced the Ministry to create a new, adjunct position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was a rather tenuous position, since the long-held prejudices against magical beings were hard to eradicate; I’d been fighting an uphill battle for more years than I cared to admit, but I was filled with righteous indignation on their behalf.

I freely admit, I probably didn’t see what was happening with Mum because I didn’t want to see it. By the time one of Mum’s neighbors found a way to contact me in London and explained what they had witnessed, it was clear I couldn’t leave her on her own any longer.

At first I tried various options, from hiring a house-elf (which was a singular disaster of untold proportions on so many levels), to hiring a Muggle home aid to stay with her. Nothing worked. Mum didn’t react well to strangers in her house (or as in the case of the house-elf, strange creatures). It quickly became apparent that I had to live with her.

I applied for a leave of absence from work and started focusing on what was important, taking care of my mum. Things with Ron started getting strained after that. He knew how important this was to me, family is everything, and I thought that I could count on him and count on his support during this ordeal. Family is everything all right…when it’s his family.

Wait… I’m not being fair. Ron honestly tried. He was understanding, to a point, and he tried to be supportive, but I was (or rather am) obsessed with getting my mum well, and so everything else was… well, Ron wasn’t my number one priority any longer. It was as much my fault as it was his, and so it was without malice that we agreed to take a break from each other. I honestly believed we’d work things out once I got Mum on firmer footing.

After that I threw myself into seeking treatment for Mum’s symptoms. St. Mungo’s did an initial exam and said it could possibly be the result of a spell or that it could also be a natural progression of a Muggle illness, but they couldn’t (or rather wouldn’t) treat her because she was a Muggle. No amount of cajoling or endorsement from Harry would change their stance. The first Muggle doctor I took her to had no idea why she had slipped into dementia so quickly after Dad’s death and suggested I look for an assisted-living treatment center for her. The rest of the Muggle doctors I went to afterwards all had the same advice, and frankly, I found that untenable.

I was at my wits' end when I received an acceptance letter for Mum to this posh American medical facility. Now, I didn’t apply for it, and I honestly wasn’t sure how they got Mum’s information, but I was relieved. Not relieved enough to go running off to them without investigating the company (no easy feat when you’re an ocean away), but what I did learn was that the medical facility was a legitimate company, a collaboration between Muggle and magical medicine. It was an intriguing idea, a blending of two medical cultures in the hopes of servicing all. The fact that all the employees, Muggles and wizards alike, were from a magical background allowed the company to work around the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy.

The program required major upheaval; to take part in the program we’d both have to live in the States. I wasn’t about to send Mum off to a foreign country on her own. There was no telling how long the program would take, or even if–and yes, this was a major if–the program would work. When I initially sent back my first inquiry about the program, I mentioned the fact that living in a hotel for an undetermined amount of time whilst Mum was receiving treatment might not be the most economical plan, and that alone would make the treatments too financially exorbitant to consider.

I didn’t expect to hear from them again after that. It wouldn’t have made economic sense. If I couldn’t afford to put Mum through the program, then they wouldn’t want to use her; emerging medical studies had to be very conscious of the amount of money coming in and out of the clinical trial program.

A month later, I received a letter from the program director stating funding and living arrangements had been provided for Mum and me if we were still interested in the program. In all honesty, I had thought Harry pulled some strings, though he’d never admit to using his famous position for any gain. And I wasn’t about to complain, had he done so. Mum needed this.

It took nearly four more months to get to the point where we were ready to leave England–packing, making arrangements for the house, passports, visas (since Mum’s a Muggle, and Muggle authorities don’t take too kindly to the concept of open borders), and things of that nature. Thank goodness I didn’t have to worry about the dental practice. It was still technically Mum’s practice, but she and Dad had pared down their hours and hired two dentists before his death in anticipation of retirement.

It could’ve (or rather would’ve) gone far faster had I used magic, but Mum was skittish around it, so I decided it would be far easier, and less of a headache, to do things the Muggle way.

Ron and I had one of our biggest rows during this time, and he made it very clear that he wasn’t going to wait around, being second in my life when I should’ve been putting him first (time off notwithstanding). There was no way I could just abandon my mum. She needed me, and there wasn’t anyone else I could trust to take care of her. I couldn’t understand why he was being so stubborn about it. Had it been anyone in his family, he would’ve moved heaven and earth to ensure that they were taken care of. Why was my mum less important?

That was one of the last conversations I had with anyone before Mum and I flew to the States.

One of the clinic’s representatives met us at the airport, a nervously chatty witch who talked around a wad of chewing gum. In her nasally accent, she explained that the building we were going to be living in was actually owned by the parent company of the clinic. It normally housed various doctors, potions experts, executives and other employees, all of whom lived abroad but were required to spend weeks at a time in the States. It was far easier to have furnished apartments for these various people to move into than to send them to a hotel for an undetermined amount of time.

I was so tired; I don’t remember what else she talked about as she drove us to the apartment complex.

oOo

Between the packet of papers from Dr. Albright and the shopping I had to do afterwards, I was quite overloaded as I trudged into the apartment building. Our flat was on the tenth floor, and I for one was extremely glad the building had an elevator.

As I made my way to the elevator, I noticed a tall, dark-haired man entering it. I called out for him to, “Hold on a second, please,” but he must not have heard me because the silver doors closed just as I neared them. With a sigh, I pressed on the little up arrow, readjusting my grip on the shopping bags. The elevator seemed to take forever to reach me.

Mum was sitting in the reclining chair, stroking Crookshanks, when I barged through the apartment door, arms awkwardly full of chintzy plastic shopping bags.

“Margaret, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked in a startled voice.

“Mum…it’s Hermione,” I replied, kicking the door shut with my foot.

“Oh…Hermione…” She shook her head. “I swear you looked exactly like my sister Margaret for a moment.”

“I know, Mum.”

“Oh, do put those down, Hermione, and tell me why you’ve come to visit.”

“I live here, remember?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right… You live with me now that John’s gone.”

“That’s right, Mum.” I leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek as I moved around the recliner, the handles of the plastic bags cutting into the palms of my hands. “I’m going to put this stuff away, I’ll be right back.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that by yourself,” she said, getting up from the chair. “I may not remember a lot of things lately, but I think I remember how to put away groceries.”

oOo

Frustrated, I threw the hammer across the room. Crookshanks gave me an evil glare as I sucked on the finger I’d just mangled with the hammer. It isn’t as if I threw the damn thing in his direction. I wanted to scream out–wail at the enormity of what I had to do–the bitter tang of regret coating my tongue, but I couldn't afford to indulge myself.

With a weary sigh, I navigated around the enormous pile of packed boxes, haphazardly placed furniture shoved in different directions to make way for our own possessions, and other odd bits and ends, to where the hammer innocently lay. My finger throbbed painfully as I bent down to pick up the hammer, the weight of it resting heavily in my hand like a thick, cumbersome wand. I quickly dropped it again.

Crookshanks let out a plaintive “meow” and butted his face against my leg, scattering orange fur all over the black material. I scooped him up and hugged him tight to my chest before plopping (most ungainly my mother would say) on the lone piece of furniture properly set up.

“It will get better,” I whispered to myself before pressing my face against Crooks’s neck. His answering purr was almost enough to reassure me.

It will get better, I told myself. It had to.

I looked around the room, the sheer enormity of the mess almost overwhelming. I itched to dig out my wand, I wanted to do it the easy way and sort everything out with the flick of my wrist, but I couldn’t. I had to do things the normal–Muggle–way. My mum’s health and sanity depended on it.

Giving Crooks one last scratch under his chin, I set him on the floor and reached for the nearest box. It was going to be a long night.

oOo

“Who are you?” a voice screeched. “And what are you doing in my–”

I shot up, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I focused on the figure of my mother.

“What happened to my house?” she wailed.

“Mum,” I said thickly, trying to gain her attention.

She spun around, her face twisted in confusion. “Who are you?” she cried.

“It’s me, Hermione,” I said softly, sitting up on the couch where I must have fallen asleep the night before.

“Hermione?” She shook her head. “No, you’re not Hermione. Hermione is…” Her face crumpled as she backed up, bumping into the wall behind her. “John, John, where are you?” she sobbed. “Please, John, this isn’t funny.”

“Mum,” I said with a bit more force, causing her to gasp. Her eyes went wide and she wrung her hands. It was far too early to be dealing with something like this. I pushed myself to my feet and crossed the room to where my mother stood, cowering against the wall.

“Mum,” I said in a soft tone, gently touching her hands.

Her fingers stilled and she lifted her face up, blinking her bright eyes. “Hermione?” she whispered.

“Yes,” I breathed out with a sigh. “It’s me.”

“Oh, Hermione, I’ve had the most horrible dream.”

“I know, Mum,” I said gently, taking her hand and navigating her down the hallway to her room. “But I’m going to make things better, I promise.”

“You’re such a good girl,” she said with a soft smile.

“Why don't you get dressed,” I suggested as I opened her bedroom door. Her room was the only room completely unpacked. “You and I have an appointment.”

oOo

As soon as the nurse showed us to one of the patient rooms, I left Mum and ran to the loo. It never fails. I spend any significant amount of time in a waiting room, and a short time later, my bladder feels as if it has to explode. I’ve been this way since I was little. It's one of life’s cosmic jokes, especially since I spent loads of time in my parents’ waiting room when I was little–a quirk of fate that existed solely to torture me.

Washing my hands, I caught sight of my reflection. I looked horrible–far too pale with dark circles under my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to soothe its outrageous condition, and my fingers caught on a snarl. I tugged my way through it, but it was no use; I was a mess. I wearily rubbed my hand across my face and stepped away from the sink. I straightened my shirt, pushed another hand through my hair in a useless effort to control it, and then exited the bathroom.

I wandered back to the patient-room where Mum waited, pausing just outside. I could hear voices on the other side of the thick wood.

“Oh, please call me Ruth,” I heard my mum say through the door.

“Fine, Mrs. Grang–er, I mean Ruth.”

I stood there, frozen in shock. My mind whispered, That voice…I know that voice. It was a voice I hadn't heard in over ten years (and really shouldn't have heard now). I shivered; that voice still had the power to twist up my insides. Instinctively, I reached for the door handle, ready to barge in and confront the owner of that voice.

“Now then,” I heard that familiar voice say just as a nurse, dressed in a horrible green hospital uniform, interrupted my impulse with a soft, “Miss Granger?”

“Yes?” I snapped impatiently, turning from the door.

Her features hardened at my harsh tone and she gave me a scathing look. I’d obviously not made an endearing impression. “Dr. Albright would like to speak to you,” she said coldly.

“I…but…my mum. Shouldn’t I be in there with her?” I asked. “What if she has an episode? It would terrify her to be in surroundings she doesn’t know.” The nurse’s expression changed from one of harsh indifference to sympathy.

“I’m sure Dr. Shaw will be able to deal with any situation that might arise. Many of our patients find him soothing.”

“Dr. Shaw? I don’t think I’ve met him…” I said, letting my voice trail off. The nurse noticed my open-ended conversational gambit.

“Oh, he’s a shy one. Doesn’t care for many people at all–at least not us regular employees–but the patients all love him. Don’t be too surprised if you never meet him. If you're not one of the people he’s plying his potions to, then you’re not important.” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Now, Miss Granger, if you’ll please follow me, Dr. Albright is on a tight schedule and he does require a few moments of your time.”

I gave the door one last glance before reluctantly following the nurse to Dr. Albright's office.

oOo

I wish I could say that I gave Dr. Albright my full attention, but I was too preoccupied with my suspicions.

Rationally, I knew it couldn’t have been him–he was dead. Whilst I didn’t witness his demise, Harry had. I had seen the pool of blood staining the rotting wood floor of the Shrieking Shack. I knew how potent Nagini’s venom was. I’d seen, first hand, how it affected the human body when she attacked Arthur Weasley in my fifth year. Arthur had barely survived and that was with immediate medical attention.

Snape hadn’t been as lucky. Harry had seen the neck wound Nagini inflicted–had seen the man gradually lose consciousness. There was no way Snape could’ve survived in those circumstances.

Yet, the voice in the back of my head whispered that his body hadn’t been recovered.

I was mistaken. That’s all. Simply mistaken. One of Mum’s doctors merely sounded familiar–a voice garbled by the thick wood of a door.

I shook my head, trying to clear it as the voice in the back of my head whispered what if in a seductive manner.

“Do you have any other questions, Miss Granger?” Dr. Albright asked, cutting into my thoughts.

“No,” I said softly. “I think you’ve covered most of what I wanted to ask.” Then, giving Dr. Albright a weak smile, I asked him for directions to Dr. Shaw’s office. He gave me a puzzled look, until I lied through my teeth and told him I wanted to speak to Dr. Shaw about his initial assessment of my mum.

I would prove to myself that I was mistaken.

oOo

“It is you,” I whispered, stepping into his office. The door closed with a soft click behind me.

He spun around. “I beg your pardon?”

“I can’t believe it. You’re alive. I–we all thought you were dead.” I let my eyes wander over his body.

“I think you are mistaken.”

“No, I’m not,” I said softly, stepping closer. “You’ve changed; your hair is shorter and you’ve gained some color and weight, but it is definitely you.” I hesitated a moment, then whispered, “Professor Snape.”

He backed up a few feet and I had to fight off a fit of hysterical laughter. The man who’d terrorized thousands of students, who’d terrorized me and my best mates for nearly six years, was inching away from little old me with a look of abject horror on his face.

“What do you want from me, Miss Granger?” he asked, narrowing his eyes dangerously, dropping all pretenses.

“How about the truth?”

“The truth?” he scoffed. “The truth is I am quite happy with my life as it is right now, and I really don’t think I need to justify myself to you, nor to anyone else.”

“But, but,” I spluttered.

He quirked his left eyebrow. “But what? For all intents and purposes, Severus Snape is dead–may the miserable bastard rest in peace–and I would really rather he stayed that way.”

“What about all the people who cared for you?”

He let out an inelegant snort. “Surely there were people who cared for you…” I trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of someone knocking on his office door.

“Dr. Shaw?” a short nurse inquired, sticking her head inside his door. “Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were with a patient.”

“She’s not a patient, and I do believe we are done.” He gave me a measured look. “We are finished here, aren’t we, Miss Granger?”

His tone brooked no argument, so I simply muttered, “For now, Dr. Shaw.” He stiffened at my tone, but I wasn’t at all ready to let this pass. “I’m sure we can have a nice chat at a later date.”

oOo

Civilized society could not exist without takeaway. It’s one of my fundamental truths. What rational person would cook for themselves when there is such a variety of takeaway, made by people who possibly know more about cooking than the average person? I freely admit, I hate to cook. I hate it with a passion. Mum, even when she was in her right mind, wasn’t one for cooking either. That was always Dad’s domain.

Just around the corner from the apartment, there’s this lovely Indian restaurant. They serve (in my humble opinion) the world’s best chicken vindaloo and puliyodarai. Next door is a traditional Italian restaurant, so I’m able to kill two birds with one stone (Mum isn’t a fan of Indian food). Now, an intelligent person would use the restaurant’s delivery service, but I needed to get out of the apartment for a bit, so when I called in our order, I offered to pick it up.

Though it was only September, the air had a bitter bite to it; I bundled up in my winter togs. I strolled down the street, idly congratulating myself for solving the mystery of Dr. Shaw. While I didn’t know all of the particulars, I was pretty sure I could deduce why Snape chose this avenue.

I picked up Mum’s order first, then quickly went next door to pick up my own. The scent of exotic spices and cooking meat assailed my nose as I entered. On impulse, I added some garjarela to my order because I was craving something sweet.

Loaded with the food, the warmth tickling my fingers as I carried the bags down the block, I let my mind wander. I should have paid more attention to where I was going. I should have…well I should have done many things.

One minute I’m walking up the apartment walkway, the next, I’m sprawled over some poor bloke, the both of us covered in alfredo sauce and vindaloo chicken. I shifted my weight, trying not to notice how nice the male body under me felt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, I shifted my weight, trying to find a way to scoot off him without hitting any important appendages.

“Bloody hell,” came a muffled oath. “It would be you!”

“Professor Snape?” I gasped, scrambling back and accidentally kneeing him in the groin. “I… errr... what are you doing here?” Good Lord, that delicious body belonged to Snape?

He grunted in pain, muttering, “Bloody Arthur Weasley.”

That brought me up short. I scooted back over to him. Why would he be cursing Arthur Weasley? “Professor Snape?” I called out hesitantly.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed. “It’s Dr. Shaw or Sebastian.”

“Fine. Noted. Don’t call the lying bastard by his real name,” I snapped.

“I knew this was a mistake,” he muttered under his breath.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I live here,” he practically shouted.

“What? Here?” I was aghast. He lived here? “No. You can't live here. I live here.” I know I sounded irrational, but really, this was Professor Snape. Who in their right mind would want him as a neighbor?

“Really?” he said in a deceptively soft voice. I stiffened at his tone. He had a way of going deceptively mild before striking with a venomous tirade. “And why would your living here preclude my living here?” he continued. “Do you honestly believe that your venerated presence would be enough to keep the iniquitous and vile masses of the world at bay? Tell me, do you hold your Merlin First Class out from your beating chest like a holy crucifix to ward away those you perceive to be beneath you?”

I gritted my teeth, and then grimaced, giving him a toothy, false smile. “So nice to see that you’re as pleasant as ever, Dr. Shaw. As you can see,” I waved my hands, indicating my position on the hard cement, “I’m fairly swooning at your charm.”

“Your wit, as ever, Miss Granger, is startling,” he muttered, sitting up.

I sighed. I could feel a colossal migraine forming, throbbing painfully behind my eyes. “I see that time has whittled down the sharp edges of your tongue. Tell me, are you always this pleasant?”

He let out a harsh, barking laugh. It reminded me of Sirius Black. “I am as needs must when the devil drives,” he said, rising to his feet. He held out a hand. I simply stared at his hand, not quite sure I wanted to take it.

“I stopped grinding up the gristle and bones of little girls for my potions years ago, Granger, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said mulishly, grasping his hand firmly. I shifted my body so that he bore the brunt of my weight as I got up.

“And you’re certainly not little,” he grunted.

“How kind of you notice,” I shot back. I deliberately turned my back on him and bent down to gather the leaking food containers–supper was an absolute waste. I walked over to the glass door and yanked it open. All I wanted to do was go upstairs and lie down.

“Oh, don’t run away on my account,” he said in a mocking tone.

I spun around. “I’m not running away.”

He shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yes, and you’d know all about running away, wouldn’t you,” I shot back, then walked through the doorway. I barely heard his reply of, “Touché.”

oOo

The rest of the night wasn’t much better.

You would think that wizards–or rather British wizards (American’s didn’t seem to disdain progress), would have better means of communication across vast distances. This is one area where I am not hesitant to say that Muggle technology far outclasses anything the Wizarding world has come up with. American wizards on the whole prefer to use telephones or the public postal system. Apparently, it is far more reliable and faster too. British wizards are…well…less adaptable. They prefer the traditional means.

Floo calls across the Atlantic aren’t practical, and owls (which are what most British wizards prefer to use) take a bloody long time to deliver a letter. If the letter is urgent, it will be sent via Portkey to one of the local owleries, but it still takes an inordinate amount of time for mail to arrive.

I entered the flat, covered in various sauces and wanting nothing more than a shower and then a long date with my bed. As I entered the kitchen, I noticed the Weasley’s batty old owl Errol sitting at the table, a piece of parchment tied to his leg.

I opened the sodden container of vindaloo chicken and put it in front of the owl just before I untied the letter.

I had to read it three times before the words sank in. Ron was married.

There was no rational explanation for the sharp pain I felt in my chest upon reading those words.

Ron was married.

It seemed almost incomprehensible.

I crumpled to the floor, tears spilling down my cheeks as I clutched the letter to my chest.

“Margaret?” Mum called out, rushing to my side. “Whatever is wrong, dear?”

“Ron,” I whispered as she sank down to the carpet beside me. “He’s married.”

“Oh, Margaret,” she breathed against my forehead as she gathered me in her arms. “Oh, my poor, poor love.”

“I can’t believe he did it,” I cried against her shoulder as she rocked me back and forth, not caring that she called me Margaret.

Mum hugged me tighter, stroking my hair the way she use to when I was little, muttering, “It’s all right, love,” over and over again.

She said it with such conviction that I almost believed her.

oOo

The first few weeks of Mum’s treatments had her…well…almost normal. True, she called me Margaret more than I’d care to admit and there was a minor meltdown when she discovered we were in the States, but I couldn’t deny that she seemed almost like her old self. She shooed me out of the flat on more than one occasion, stating I “needed to go out and do the normal, everyday things young people do.” Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like going out. I just wanted to bury my head under the covers. The drawback to that, of course, was hearing all about Dr. Shaw.

Mum was clearly enamored of him. It was always Dr. Shaw this, followed by Dr. Shaw that. It was enough to make me want to throw up. I mean really, a personable Snape? Despite the fact that he lived in our building and was, by some horrible twist of fate, one of the specialists treating Mum, I rarely saw him.

Feeling depressed, redundant, and unneeded now that Mum’s treatments seemed to be working, I spent time doing research into American Wizarding society–how the Wizarding world meshed with the idea of the American melting pot as well as the Muggle world, and all of the laws surrounding how the various cultures seemed to thrive together. It was rather fascinating, especially given how the American Wizarding society worked. There wasn’t one core tradition, as in Britain and most of Europe. It was more a set of core traditions from the various settlers of America. There was the traditional Native American Wizarding culture, the European Wizarding culture, the Vodoun Wizarding culture, along with the various Asian Wizarding cultures. Each were distinct, yet hardly separate as cultures blended together.

I was in the middle of a fascinating book about the Vodoun Wizarding culture when my Mum’s voice caught my attention.

“Hermione.”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

I looked up from the book I’d been reading. “What’s that, Mum?”

Mum shook her head. “I swear, you’re as bad as your father. Nose buried in a book and the rest of the world just fades away.”

“I’m sorry.” I slipped my finger into the book to hold my page and gave her my full attention. “What is it you were saying?”

“Did you know that Dr. Shaw lives in our building?”

“He does?” I asked, trying not to groan.

“He does. Just a floor above us.” She wiped a hand down the front of her shirt. “I think we should have him over for tea.”

“What?” I spluttered. “But, but…”

“Now, don’t take that tone with me.”

“You want to have Dr. Shaw over for tea,” I said as calmly as possible.

She let out a small snort and shook her head. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Snape in my home was an unfathomable idea.

“Hermione Jean Granger, when did you become so ungracious? I raised you better than that,” she chided.

I bit my lip, knowing any further arguments would be met with resistance. I came by my stubborn streak honestly. “You’re right,” I mumbled a moment later.

“Brilliant.” She gave me a bright smile. I suddenly felt consigned to hell.

oOo

“Would you get that?” Mum called from the kitchen at the sound of someone knocking. She’d been in there practically all morning, baking. My mum, baking. Apparently the world was spinning backwards.

I pulled the door open, and my jaw dropped in shock. Snape…bloody hell…Snape was hot! I shook my head, trying to clear that errant thought, but it couldn’t dispel the vision of him in simple Muggle clothes.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked sardonically.

“Oh, right,” I muttered, moving aside. “If you would, Dr. Shaw.”

He slightly inclined his head and entered the flat.

“Sebastian,” Mum called out from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Indeed, Ruth,” he responded, walking towards the kitchen. I inwardly groaned. Just what I needed, my mum on first name terms with the incognito Snape–a hot Snape no less.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I heard my mum say as I slowly followed Snape into the kitchen. “Look, Hermione, he’s brought a lovely bottle of wine,” she said with a bright smile as she handed the bottle to me. “Why don’t you air it out, and we’ll have a nip of it in a bit.”

Alcohol, just what I needed! I searched around in the drawer for the corkscrew as Snape leaned against the wall. I could feel his eyes on me, like a physical caress. Grasping the corkscrew, I viciously plunged it into the cork–a small childish move, but it made me feel better.

I was just reaching for a glass (and nearly dropped it too), when my mum asked, “When did you first come to the States, Sebastian?” I shot Snape a covert glance as I poured the wine. I didn’t think he’d answer her.

“Almost ten years,” he finally said as I handed him a wine glass.

“Ten years?” Mum exclaimed. “Goodness, that was about the time of that Lord-what’s-his-name’s mess, wasn’t it?”

“Just about,” I quipped.

“Well, I’m just thankful Hermione was too young to be involved with that whole mess.” She patted me on my cheek, and I flushed. Snape arched his eyebrow.

“Yes, well technically,” he said, after a measured moment of silence, “that whole mess was around for years. I moved to the States towards the end of it. I had no desire to see factions of the Wizarding population congratulate themselves for a job well done when most of the bloody bastards did nothing at all.”

“Oh,” Mum muttered. “It sounds all…well, rather complicated.” She took a sip from her wine glass. “Were you a doctor there too?”

I snorted into my wine glass, waiting to hear his response.

“Technically, I’m not a doctor. It’s a courtesy title. In Europe I’d be called a Potions master. Here, I’m merely a mad scientist.”

Mum wrinkled her brow. “What exactly is a Potions master?”

“He’s someone who invents new types of medication, Mum,” I answered.

“Ah, that makes sense. So technically you are a doctor, just not a physician.” She gave Snape a bright smile, just as the oven alarm gave a slight ding.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Snape responded as Mum bent down to take the pan out of the oven.

“Oh, just perfect,” she exclaimed, pulling out a delicious smelling batch of raisin and currant scones. “Pity these Americans don’t understand the beauty that is clotted cream. Ah, well, we shall simply have to make do.” She set the pan on top of the range. “Hermione, grab the smoked salmon and dill sandwiches out of the fridge, and please slice them before setting them out. Sebastian, why don’t you take a seat at the table. We’ll be right there.”

As I pulled out the plate of sandwiches from the top shelf, Mum arranged the freshly baked scones on another platter. I moved around the kitchen counter, pulled a knife from the drawer, and started cutting them into little triangles. As soon as I had them all cut and arranged, I picked up the plate and placed it on the table near Snape, moving back into the kitchen to help Mum.

“Grab the tea kettle, would you, love?” Mum asked as she pulled some preserves from the refrigerator. I pulled the kettle out of the cupboard, scattered some tea leaves into the bottom of it, and poured the steaming water on top. I closed the lid tight and wandered back over to the table, sitting as far away from Snape as possible without appearing to be rude.

“This all looks so lovely, but you really shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble,” Snape said as Mum carried the preserves to the table.

“It was no trouble at all,” Mum replied, taking the seat across from him.

“Still, I appreciate the effort. It’s been some time since I’ve had a traditional tea with anyone.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from uttering a scathing retort to that admission.

“I’m sure it has been.” Mum lifted up the teakettle. “I think this is the first time we’ve had a proper tea since coming here. Milk or sugar before I pour the tea?” she asked, reaching for his cup.

“Neither.”

“Ah good. A man who likes a proper cuppa.” She poured the dark liquid into each of our cups. “Not too much sugar, Hermione. It isn’t good for your lovely teeth.”

I nearly groaned. “Mum,” I said as calmly as possible, ignoring the look of faint amusement on Snape’s face, “I do think I can handle putting the right amount of sugar. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Now, if only John–goodness, where is John?” She craned her neck around, confusion etched on her face. “Where am I?”

“Mum?” I called out, hoping I could gain her attention.

“Who are you people?” she whispered, eyes going wide. She scrambled out of the chair and backed up against the counter. She slowly inched her way around it into the kitchen. “You–you tell me what you’ve done with my John.”

“Mum, please.”

She cast about the small kitchen with a wild gaze, and then snatched up the small paring knife I’d used earlier. “Tell me who you are,” she hissed. “Where’s John? What have you done to him?”

“Does it normally happen like this?” Snape asked me in a soft tone.

“Sometimes, though mostly when she’s overly tired, which given the amount of baking and cleaning she did earlier, could be today’s case as well.” I turned my attention back to my mum. “Mum, it’s Hermione.”

“No, no, no, no!” she yelled. “You’re not. Hermione’s a little girl, a child. You’re some strange adult.” She brandished the knife in front of her. “Tell me what you’ve done with my husband.” I could only watch, helpless as she slowly descended into the midst of a horrible episode.

“Ruth,” Snape said firmly. “Look at me.”

“You keep away–you…” she ranted.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, pulling out his wand. With a swish of his wrist, he called out, “Petrificus Totalus,” and she crumpled to the floor.

I rushed to her side and tried to pick her up, but she was too heavy.

“Here, let me,” he said, picking her up as if she weighed nothing.

“This way,” I said around the lump in my throat, leading the way. He said nothing as we walked down the hallway. I wrenched open the bedroom door, holding it so Snape could follow.

“Turn down the covers,” he said as he stepped into the room. I quickly complied and he gently set her down on the bed. “Finite Incantatem,” he muttered, then coughed, as though clearing his throat. “I’ll just leave you to make her comfortable.” He hesitated for a moment. His hand twitched, as though he were about to raise it, but then thought better of it.

“If you need me,” he whispered, walking to the door. “Just call out.”

“Thank you,” I choked out, turning to the prone figure of my mum. I brushed back her hair from her forehead, muttering, “Oh, Mum.”

I pulled her shoes off, tucking them in the spot, just in front of her closet door, the spot she seemed to always assign to shoes. I thought about leaving her fully clothed, but I hated sleeping in a bra, so I went to the dresser and pulled out a nightgown. She didn’t stir as I propped her up to pull her shirt and bra off. I quickly slid the nightgown over her head, tucking her arms in each sleeve. Her trousers were more difficult. I unsnapped them and tried to pull them off, but I couldn’t lift her hips up enough. I finally just left them on her, unbuttoned enough to be comfortable.

“Why didn’t you use your wand?” Snape asked as I walked into the hallway.

I merely shrugged, and opened my mouth to make a smart retort when I caught his expression. The compassion on his face was my undoing. He gathered me close, and I, tired of being the strong one for so long, burrowed into his embrace. It was as if all the pain, frustration, and fear had finally released from deep within my chest.

“I want my mum back,” I sobbed into his coat. I was covering it with tears and snot, and lord knows what else, but I didn’t care.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly, patting my back awkwardly.

“It’s not…it’s not all right,” I wailed, hiccupping over the words. “It’s my fault she’s like this. I messed her up.” I snuffled into his coat.

“I doubt that, Miss Granger.”

“But, it’s true!” I clutched at the dark material, trying to dig myself into the warmth of his chest. “If–if I hadn’t made her forget me–"

I felt his hands grip my upper arms as he thrust me from his chest, his face inches from mine as his dark eyes caught mine. “Look, Miss Gran–Hermione–you can’t blame yourself for this; there was no way this could’ve been foreseeable.”

“If I hadn’t, somehow, botched that wretched Memory Charm, she wouldn’t be like this. She wouldn’t be forgetting who I am,” I wailed, pulling myself violently from his grip. “You can’t blithely say it isn’t my fault when you know damn well that it is!”

“Fine!” he ground out. “You’re bloody responsible for this mess. Now stop that useless sniveling and compose yourself. She needs your help, not your self-flagellation.” He stalked over to the closed door and yanked it open. “When you're done prostrating yourself on the altar of guilt, and ready to be of some use to me and your mother, you know where to find me,” he said in a scathing tone before walking through the door. It shut with a dull thud.

I stared at the door seething. How dare he. How dare he make light of the situation—make light of what I’ve done.

I threw open the apartment door and chased after him.

“You’re a bloody coward!” I yelled as I caught up to him at the elevator’s entrance.

“Like you have any room to talk.” He moved in closer, his face just inches from mine. “At least I’m not lying to myself.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“When’s the last time you practiced magic?”

“I…” I shook my head. “What has that to do with anything?”

“And you call me a coward,” he said softly. His breath fanned against my face.

“I’m not a coward.”

“Liar.”

I don’t know who moved first. One moment we were calling one another names, the next we were kissing. I clutched at his coat, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into mine. My tongue moved against his and I heard a harsh moan. I’m not sure if it was his or mine. It felt brilliant. Better than brilliant–like indulging in bitter dark Belgian chocolate. He gently nibbled on my lower lip, and I pressed against him. I was kissing Snape… Oh, gods, I was kissing Professor Snape!

“Ron,” I groaned as his mouth trailed down my neck. He immediately stiffened, and pulled from my embrace. Oh, bollocks… Had I really said that?

“No…” I moaned in protest, thumping my head against the hallway wall.

“I’ll not be a substitute for someone else,” he said harshly. His face was impassive.

“I–gods, this is so embarrassing…I’m…” I stuttered.

“Indeed,” he said softly, and walked into the elevator (goodness but he had remarkable timing). I watched as the silver doors closed, calling myself all sorts of names.

oOo

I kissed Snape…and I liked it.

I gingerly touched my lips. I could still feel him.

I kissed Severus Snape–no. I was ready to do more than kiss him.

I shivered, recalling the way his body felt against mine, the subtle taste of him.

This Snape was a man I didn’t know. He was kind to my mum, kind to others even, in a gruff way. It was hard to reconcile the memory of the man I had known with this gentler version.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

With a sigh, I got up from the couch and pulled the door open, only to find Snape standing there.

“You’re supposed to ask who’s there,” he said gruffly, thrusting a vial of greenish blue potion into my hands. “When your Mother awakens, give her two spoonfuls of this. It should help.”

“What is it?” I asked, my voice sounded entirely too husky. “Oh, never mind, if you say it will help, then it will help.” I set it on the small side table beside the door.

“Your faith in me is startling,” he said sarcastically.

“Look…I…” I ran a nervous hand through my hair. “About earlier…”

“I don’t think we have anything to discuss.” He turned to leave.

“Wait…please,” I cried out. “I–it’s not what you think. You… I wasn’t thinking of him. God, why is this so hard to get out?” I took a deep breath. “It was nice–no more than nice. It was… Well, what I’m trying to say is–”

“Fine, I believe you. You weren’t thinking of Ronald Weasley whilst my tongue was down your throat. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No…yes…” I groaned. “You’re not understanding me. Ron was the furthest thing from my mind. I don’t know why I said his name, but it had nothing to do with me wishing you were him. Believe me, it was…brilliant, better than brilliant. I–I felt things I hadn’t before,” I said in a massive jumble of words.

His expression said he didn’t believe me, so I did what any rational woman would do: I kissed him.

It wasn’t my best idea, and I soon realized that when he didn’t respond. I pulled back, startled by the harsh expression on his face.

“Are you happy now?” he spat. “You’ve convinced me how utterly faithless you are.”

“Faithless? I–What do you mean faithless?”

“Your future father-in-law called in his life-debt to get your mother into this program so that you’d not have to go through the pain of losing another parent, and this is the sort of respect you show him? I hope the Weasleys know how fickle you truly are!”

“No,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “You’re wrong. It was all Harry’s doing.”

“I’m wrong? I hardly think so!” He pointed a finger at me. “A wizard does not call in a life-debt for anyone other than himself, unless family is at stake. Arthur certainly had no compunction about pulling my strings to get your mother here. He demanded that I do everything possible to help her.”

I shook my head. “But, that makes no sense. I–Ron and I were together…but…” I backed up. “Wait here.”

I raced to my bedroom, pulled open my secretary desk searching for the letter. I rushed back, praying he hadn’t left in a pique of anger. I slowed down and let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. He was still standing in the doorway, his features dark and foreboding.

“It’s not what you think,” I said handing him the letter. His upper lip curled disdainfully as he took the letter. “Ron’s–he married someone else. We’re not together. Haven’t been together, really, for some time.”

“He called you his daughter, I assumed…” Snape said roughly.

I let out a small laugh. “I think I understand now. He–” I wrapped my arms around my waist, “–thinks of us, of Harry and me, as his children. He’s always treated us as if we’re a part of his family.”

“Still, to call in a life-debt…” He trailed off, looking perplexed.

“That’s Arthur,” I said softly. “He’s…a truly remarkable man.”

“More like a bloody fool,” Snape said with a snort.

In the distance, I could hear Mum getting restless. I picked up the vial. “I’d better give her a dose of this.” He nodded and stepped through the doorway and out into the hallway. I touched his arm, and he stilled. I arched up onto my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He dipped his head, and for a moment, I thought he’d kiss me, but he only whispered, “You’re welcome,” before walking down the hallway to the elevator. I watched him for a moment, feeling as if somehow I’d turn the corner into Wonderland.

oOo

The next few weeks were rather disquieting. All that I had believed I knew about Severus Snape was utterly changed, or perhaps he had changed, morphed into someone else when he threw on the moniker of Sebastian Shaw. He was still a ridged perfectionist, he didn’t suffer foolishness easily, and he could still reduce a person to tears with the sharp edge of his tongue, but all of those rough edges were somehow blunted.

He was also concerned about Mum’s everyday troubles, he took an active interest in every part of her treatment, and he took great pains to ensure that I was up to speed on everything they were doing, or planned on doing to her.

Mum’s treatments were going rather well. I think, after witnessing one of her episodes, Snape had a clearer picture of how her dementia affected her. He specifically designed his potions with her symptoms in mind. She, as a result, had more lucid moments, and while Snape wouldn’t take credit for her progress, I happily attributed it to him. I was happy she was doing so well.

That is, until her first overnight stay as required by the program’s schedule. I knew she had to stay at the clinic for at least five days–I’d even prepared myself for that–but the reality was much more difficult.

It shouldn’t have affected me this way. I’m a grown woman who’s lived without her parents since going away to boarding school. Yet, for some reason, leaving her there, at the medical clinic, with her little overnight tote and toiletries left me wanting to weep.

I was an emotional mess, though I thought I was disguising it well. And then, I ran into Snape.

I didn’t have to say a word. He just pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms. I snuggled into his warmth. He felt so strong and capable.

“Let me take you home,” he said softly, the breath of his words fanning against my hair. I nodded into his chest, afraid to speak lest I started crying uncontrollably. I could hear the audible “pop” as he Apparated us from the medical clinic.

I lifted my face from his chest to thank him, and my breath caught in my throat. I was caught by the intensity on his face, pinned down as his head dropped lower. His lips skimmed across mine in a soft teasing pattern. I lifted my chin just a fraction, and he groaned, deepening the kiss.

My hands slowly slid up his sides until I could wrap them around his neck, bringing my body flush against his. His sinful tongue swept into my mouth, and my knees went weak. His arms tightened around me in response, holding my weight. With little licks and nibbles, he devoured my mouth, sucking on my lower lip before sliding his tongue into my mouth for a small taste, only to retreat to start all over again.

Feeling light-headed, I pushed against him, and he reluctantly (or at least it seemed so to me) released me. I sagged against the wall, panting slightly.

“I–err…” I said softly, touching my lips. “I think we should–”

“Did anyone ever tell you,” he growled, moving into my personal space. My breath caught in my throat as he pulled me against his body. “You think too much?” Then his lips were on mine again–hot, demanding, so utterly sinful. This was no tentative kiss; it was a kiss filled with a promise of immeasurable passion. I moaned against his mouth as his hips flexed against mine, my arms once again finding their way around his neck.

I grabbed fistfuls of his hair, spearing my fingers through his dark locks as his mouth claimed mine. I could feel the powerful assault all the way to my toes and they curled in anticipation. I felt utterly desirable.

I gently sucked on his tongue, and he groaned in the back of his throat, his fingers digging into my hips as he held me. I shivered in anticipation as one of those hands slid upwards, under my shirt, and I gasped as his hand cupped my breast through my bra. I wiggled my hips against his, reveling in the feel of his erection pressing against my stomach as our mouths mated.

I could feel his fingers slowly inching under my bra. The heat of his hands seemed to sear my flesh, causing my nipples to harden. I whimpered, clenching my fingers in his hair as he lightly grazed the taut peak with the rough pad of his finger.

“I…shouldn’t we…” I said on a breathless whimper as his mouth moved across my jaw.

“Shouldn’t we what?” he growled before drawing the lower part of my ear into his mouth.

“Oh, dear lord,” I moaned as his teeth gently pulled at the fleshy bottom of my ear lobe.

“Shouldn’t we what?” he whispered again, releasing my ear lobe.

“…room…bed,” I gasped as his fingers pinched at my right nipple. I found it hard to form coherent thoughts, much less voice them.

“Please…Se…” I broke off. “Gods, this is so ridiculous,” I hissed as his mouth nipped along the length of my neck. “I don’t even know which name to call you.”

“As long as you don’t call me Ron,” he whispered in a chuffing breath against the base of my neck. “I don’t care what you call me.”

I groaned, dropping my head against his shoulder. “You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“And let go of an advantage?” he asked in an amused tone, grabbing my hand. As Snape tugged me forward, I realized he hadn’t Apparated us to my flat.

“Where…your…” I stuttered, following him down a darkened hallway.

“That is a bad habit you’re developing,” he responded, pulling me through a doorway. “Of course, it’s an improvement over your incessant chatting.”

I turned to face him. “You’re so charming.”

He crowded in, grabbing my hips. “Is that a complaint?” he asked, walking us backwards. The back of my knees hit the edge of his mattress.

“Not yet,” I muttered as his hands slid around my back and deftly unclasped my bra, before trailing down to my waist. I bit my lip as his fingers pulled at the hem of my shirt; a moment’s hesitation of worry. My body wasn't the greatest, and I'd never been comfortable naked in front of myself, much less in front of others. He moved without hesitation though, sliding his hands upward, taking the material of my shirt and bra up. I lifted my arms so he could tug them up over my head.

I had to fight the urge to cover myself. I felt so exposed.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of me, bared to the waist. Making a low groan of approval deep in his throat, his head bent down. I nearly jumped out of my skin as his tongue lapped at the underside of my breast. Gasping for breath, I arched up, my breasts pressing forward–a silent plea for more.

With a soft chuckle, he positioned his mouth over my taut nipple, sucking it into his mouth as one of his hands slid over the rounded curve of my stomach. He stopped just as he reached the fastener of my jeans, pausing a moment before tugging at the clasp. The button pulled free with ease.

I tried to close my thighs, an involuntary action, as his fingers slipped beneath the material. I quivered as his fingers trailed through the curls at the apex of my thighs, soft touches that had me tingling all over. As he sucked hard on my nipple, I gasped out, my thighs relaxing enough for him to slide his fingers into the soft folds of my sex.

I arched my hips into his bold touch, feeling them press deeper into my flesh. He certainly knows what he’s doing, was my fleeting thought as his fingers teased me. Eagerly, I tugged at his shirt, two buttons popped free, scattering into the nether regions of the room. I wanted to feel his flesh against mine.

“Impatient hussy,” he muttered, pulling his fingers from me. I whimpered in protest.

Stepping back from me, Snape's hands raised to the collar of his shirt, yet instead of unbuttoning it, he merely tugged it over his head, tossing it behind him. I licked my suddenly dry lips, and heard an answering moan of appreciation from him. His movements were so fluid and graceful that I couldn’t help but watch him, completely fascinated.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as his long fingers deftly unclasped the button on his trousers. I could only answer with a mute nod; I couldn’t help but remember how those same fingers had manipulated my flesh. I shivered in anticipation. His movements were slow and deliberate as he pushed the trousers down his slim hips. The material dropped down, pooling at his feet. I watched as he reached down to pull the trousers up just enough so he could toe his shoes off. When he was done he stood silently in place, waiting.

My eyes were fixed on his cock, jutting proudly from a patch of dark, curly hair at the apex of his thighs. I took an involuntary step forward, toeing my own shoes off. His cock seemed to swell under my gaze. It looked huge in the shadowy darkness of the room, and I felt a trickle of apprehension. I raised my eyes to his, transfixed by the raw, stark need I saw in them.

He crossed the distance between us, running a hand down the front of my chest, down my stomach to rest on the waistband of my jeans. His head dipped, and his lips met mine, all the while tugging my jeans and knickers down over my hips and thighs.

I broke off the kiss, stepping out of the material pooling at my feet and climbed into the bed. I could feel his eyes wander over my body, yet instead of feeling embarrassed, his heated gazed emboldened me. I raised my arms, beckoning him. The mattress dipped as he climbed in beside me, lowering his head to my breasts.

He blew a chuffing breath across my right nipple, causing it to pucker tightly. His fingers traced soft, circling patterns across the flesh of my left breast, as he slowly lapped at the taut peak of my right. When he lifted his mouth from my right nipple, I whimpered impatiently, threading my fingers through his hair and guided his face to the left. He quickly obliged me by sucking my nipple deeply into his mouth. I moaned, arching upwards.

Snape pulled his mouth from me and gave me a superior smirk. I itched to slap that self-satisfied look from his face–a thought that was quickly dispelled as he lowered his lips to my abdomen and began to kiss a trail down my body. My body quivered beneath his lips, his breath fanning across my overly sensitized flesh, causing me to arch my hips. I made a soft mewling sound as he spread my thighs wide with his shoulders, tucking my knees up on his shoulders.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, I tried to close my thighs, but his tongue flickered out, teasing my clit. I groaned deeply in the back of my throat, my hips bucking upwards. I could feel his tongue circling around it, teasing the sensitive area, only to retreat. He drew back slightly, then blew softly on my dampened skin before lowering his head again to slowly lap at my labia.

He teased me with his tongue, licking along the length of me, blowing cool air across my fevered skin, and suckling at my clit until I was writhing and pushing against his mouth. I grabbed at the bed sheets, arching up, seeking the orgasm I was just on the brink of. And when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he fastened his mouth to my clit, swirling his tongue around it at an impossible speed until I shattered, screaming, “Fuck... yes...”

As tremors swept through my body, he lowered my legs to the mattress. He shifted, rising above my body, drinking in the sight of my flushed, orgasmic body. I reached out, and trailed a hand down across his chest, across his abdomen. I hesitated as my fingers brushed the curly thatch of hair leading downwards. I wanted to run my fingers along the length of his cock, but was unsure of what to do.

“Do it,” he said in a husky voice.

My eyes darted to his face in surprise. Was he practicing Legilimency? Now of all times? I opened my mouth to chide him when he took my hand in his, guided it to his hard cock. He sucked in a huge, gasping breath as I wrapped my fingers around his length. I watched, mesmerized, as a small droplet of pre-come pearled at the top of its mushroom head. I ran my hand down the length of his shaft, experimenting with various strokes and was rewarded with another pearly droplet.

I reached out my other hand and gently cupped his ball sacs, when he moaned harshly, taking my lips in a deep, bruising kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue as plundered my mouth. He moved between my thighs, sliding his hands down my body as he positioned himself against me.

Grasping my hips, he tugged me against him, the tip of his cock settling against my entrance. Then, with an animalistic grunt, he plunged deeply into me. I closed my eyes, arching my back and hips against his wanting to feel him as deep inside of me as possible.

His fingers tightened on my hips as he slowly withdrew only to slowly push back into me. It wasn't enough though. He held far too still. I ran my hands down his back, my nails scratching at his flesh as I bucked up against him, trying to encourage him to move more. Snape sucked air through his teeth at my actions. I opened my eyes in time to see him clench his jaw as he struggled for control. Yet, being the perverse bastard that he is, Snape moved at a slow and steady pace.

“Please...” I whimpered. I needed, oh how I needed.

“Patience is a virtue,” he grunted, flexing his hips against mine.

“To hell with patience,” I countered, squeezing my muscles all around him again.

He groaned and nipped my shoulder as I clenched myself tightly around his cock; then he placed his hands on either side of my head. He raised himself up on those arms, and then drove into me with all the force he'd been holding back. Thrust after hard thrust he pushed into me and all I could do was moan and arch up against him in response. I grabbed at his arse, pulling him to me.

I screamed as my orgasm hit, my nails digging into his flesh. His harsh cry soon followed, and I could feel the force of his orgasm deep inside of me. Snape collapsed on top of me, his cock still buried within me.

Satiated, I ran my hands down his sweaty back, marveling at how right his weight felt. He kissed my lips softly, then withdrew from me, falling to the mattress on his back. I curled against his side, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into my pores. His arm draped over my shoulders, pulling me in close.

“This is so odd,” I said into the darkness. “Never... not in a million years would I've thought I'd be in this position... and with you.”

“Regrets already,” he said softly into my hair.

“No, not regrets...” I broke off, twisting my body. I propped myself up on my arm. His face was inscrutable, a mask of indifference. I hesitated just a moment, and then touched his face with my left hand. “No regrets,” I said firmly. “I’ve just–” I shook my head, my hair falling into my face “–never done this before.”

“And that's a terrible thing because?”

“It's not terrible,” I said, dropping my head against his chest. The wiry hairs tickled my nose. “Unexpected... freeing... strange... It's all jumbled up inside.” I brought my hand up and gently circled it around one of his flat nipples. He drew in a deep, gasping breath. “Is this natural? To feel this way, I mean.” I ran my nail lightly over his nipple and it puckered tight. “We just finished, and already I want you again, need to feel you again.” I raised my head. His dark eyes caught mine. “I want you inside of me again,” I admitted in a husky whisper.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he said with a growl, cupping my face with his rough hands. “That not only do you think too much, you talk too much as well.”

“Only you,” I said with a soft smile, as he twisted his body, maneuvering the both of us. I rolled onto my back, carrying his weight on top of me.

“Only me,” he whispered with a deep, low growl, threading his fingers through my hair. Gently cradling my head, he pressed his lips against mine in a bruising, possessive kiss.

The thought that this was–that he was–nearly too perfect to believe fluttered through my brain. It was pushed aside by the physical evidence of his need pressing intimately against me in a way I couldn’t deny. I felt wicked as he wantonly kissed me; it was a heady feeling. He wanted me. Severus Snape wanted me. I'd never craved anyone like this, nor had anyone crave me in the same sense. I shuddered, arching upwards.

I could sense the raw, savage hunger within him as he took my mouth, his body pressing into my soft curves, and it left me breathless. I felt the strongest desire to provoke the savage lurking underneath his tight leash of control. I wanted him to feel as helplessly lost in passion as I felt.

His hands moved down the sides of my body, my stomach clenching in anticipation as his rough fingers parted my thighs. As his fingers stroked the soft, curly flesh of my mons, my eyes closed. The sensations were indescribable. My breathing hitched in my throat, coming out in whimpering gasps. It felt as if my whole world narrowed down to the feel of him touching me.

I nearly bucked him off me when his fingers touched my clit, flicking at my sensitive flesh; my last orgasm had left me tender.

“Roll over,” he whispered. I rolled onto my stomach. The mattress dipped and shifted as he moved behind me. His hands curled under my stomach, pulling my arse up and back. I could feel him against my back as his body covered mine.

His mouth closed over the base of my neck as he pushed against me, the tip of his cock brushing against my labia. His hands slid up my stomach, and he cupped my breasts, his fingers gently pinching at my nipples. I groaned, thrusting my hips back.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, slowly sliding into me again.

I dropped my head down to the mattress, my fingers tightening on the sheets as he slowly withdrew only to surge deep into me. He felt impossibly thick and hard as he thrust into me.

“Please... Severus,” I cried.

He groaned, thrusting into me hard. “Again,” he demanded. “Say that again.”

“Severus,” I whimpered.

His tempo increased. I could feel his thighs slapping against my arse as he pushed into me. His hands returned to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he fucked me.

“I want to hear you scream my name as you come,” he grunted, driving himself deeply into me.

“Severus,” I cried out in a ragged breath, pushing my hips back against his.

“Again,” he demanded.

“Severus…Severus…” I chanted, moving with his every thrust. I was so close to coming. Wiggling and squirming, I pushed my hips back. I wanted him deep inside of me. “Severus…Oh, God…Severus,” I screamed out as my orgasm hit. He continued to thrust into me, driving as deep as he could until his own orgasm came.

Panting, we dropped to the mattress in a sweaty mess. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him. I could get used to this was my last thought before succumbing to sleep.

oOo

“Look at you,” Mum exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen. She’d been home since last evening, though we hadn’t had a chance to talk.

I blushed. “What?” I asked, running a nervous hand through my hair. “Do I have something on my face?”

Mum let out a tinkling laugh. “Of course not, silly.” She bumped her hip up against the counter. “You have that glow. That new love glow,” she teased.

“Really, Mum, there’s no such thing,” I snorted disdainfully.

“It’s quite all right,” she said blissfully. “I think he’d be rather good for you–stable. Unlike that redheaded boy.”

My eyes widened. “Mum,” I gasped. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Hermione.”

“You…I…Mum!”

“Close your mouth, dear. It’s quite unattractive, the way you’re standing there with it hanging open.” She moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. “Besides,” she continued, setting the juice on the counter, “he’s already asked permission to…oh how did he put it? Oh yes, court you.” She reached up, opened the cupboard and pulled out a small juice glass. “Isn’t that a quaint phrase?” she cooed, pouring a measure of liquid into the glass. “Courting you.”

“He… ah… he spoke to you about us?” Good lord, he talked to my mum about us? “What… mmm… did he say? No …” I shook my head. “Never mind, I’ll ask him myself. Will you be okay for a bit?”

“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t be. Though, you might want to change into something other than your pajamas.”

oOo

I raised my hand to knock on his door and knocked with more force than I intended. The door swung open to reveal Severus Snape, bare to the waist, wearing nothing other than a large bath towel around his hips.

“I–sorry. I can come back later,” I gasped out. I turned to go when his hand reached out and grasped mine.

“Don’t go on my account,” he said in a husky voice, tugging me into his flat. The door shut with a soft click behind me.

“You’re…clearly busy,” I said, trying not to stare at the bare expanse of flesh before me.

“Not too busy for you. What is it you wanted to talk about?” he asked, rubbing his thumb across the top of my hand.

“You…ah…talked to my mum about us?”

“It seems to be a sensible measure. I would hate to startle her one morning if I passed her in the hallway on the way to the bathroom.”

“Startle her...” I repeated dumbly.

“I don’t plan on returning to an empty bed,” he said, crowding in close. “And I know there are times when it wouldn’t be prudent for you to stay here with me.” He dipped his head, his breath fanning across my cheek. “I don’t plan on spending those nights alone.”

My lips suddenly felt dry, so I licked them. “You… ah… plan on sleeping… downstairs? With me?”

His lips twitched a bit, curling at the edges. “Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on sleeping–at least much.” He placed a soft kiss just below my ear. “Besides,” he whispered, “I’d hate to have her scrambling into your room when you make too much noise.”

“I–I do not,” I protested, backing up against the door. Before I could say more, he pressed his warm lips against mine. Whatever else I was going to say was lost as I kissed him back. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I parted them, allowing him to slide it into my mouth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I moved my tongue against his.

I gasped against his mouth as one of his hands inched up my side, those long, lovely fingers cupping the weight of my breast through the material of my shirt. Somehow he worked the buttons of my shirt loose. He dragged the material off my shoulders, pulling the straps of my bra down as well. Gently, he pushed one bra cup down, his fingers finding my nipple.

Our kiss became intense, his fingers teasing and pulling at my erect nipples. He pressed a knee between my thighs, pulling the material of my skirt up as he pressed me against the wall. I sagged my weight down on his knee, feeling the exquisite pressure of his flesh between my legs. My skin felt electrified.

I nearly screamed as his mouth closed over one of my nipples, his teeth scraping against the tender peak. It was like I could feel his hands everywhere on my flesh. My nails dug into his shoulders as he nipped along my sensitive flesh, teasing and tormenting my taut nipples with his mouth and fingers.

I shivered as his left hand slid down my stomach and over my thigh. His body shifted as he pulled the material up more, his fingers tracing along the edge of my knickers. He stroked me lightly though the material.

“Severus... please,” I groaned. I ran my fingers through his hair, and tugged his head back up for a kiss as he hooked a finger through the leg of my knickers. A quick tug and the material tore away, leaving me open and exposed to his expert touch.

I felt one of his fingers slide along the length of my labia, teasing the flesh with soft strokes before pushing in. I moaned deep in my throat as that finger found my clit. I arched my hips against his hand as he began to tease me with a rhythmic circular movement.

He roughly pressed his mouth to mine; the towel had disappeared. He shifted his hips, pressing himself against me. Those glorious hands cupped my arse, lifting and shifting me up a bit.

“Please...” I cried out, just as he pressed forward, burying himself deeply inside of me.

He held still for a moment, his dark eyes captured mine. I squeezed myself around him and trailed my fingers down his bare chest. He shivered as my nails scraped across his flat nipples. He bucked up in response, causing me to gasp.

“More, Severus,” I demanded, hitching my hips to urge him on. I needed him to move–to take me hard, against this door, and I needed it now.

He shifted and slightly withdrew from me. Then with a savage thrust, he was deep inside of me again. He dropped his head to my shoulder; I could feel the muscles in his body bunching as he moved. My lower back thumped painfully against the wooden door behind me as he slammed against me, thrusting into me with a hard, fast pattern.

I cried out as his teeth grazed my neck, nipping at the soft underside near my ear. He shifted my legs again, spreading them a bit wider so he could thrust deeper into me. I could only hold on, marveling at how powerful I felt in this moment–how utterly wonderful that I could drive him to this state.

“Severus,” I screamed as every muscle in my body contracted at once–I could feel myself clenching tightly around him and his low answering growl in my ear.

My fingernails dug into his flesh, my body going rigid as a powerful orgasm ripped through my body. I gasped out his name again–a fervent prayer as he continued with his powerful thrusts.

His mouth caught mine, drinking in my moans of pleasure as he thrust into me one last time. His fingers tightened on my hips, digging painfully into my soft flesh as he convulsed deep inside of me. He dropped his head to my shoulder, panting loudly.

“You do too,” he panted against my ear.

oOo

Who knew? Eight weeks ago, I would’ve called this whole situation insane. Me in a relationship with Severus Snape, how utterly laughable. Yeah, so laughable that I can’t wait to rip his clothes off and get him into bed again.

Mum will never be back to one hundred percent normal, though the potions Severus provides do keep her on an even keel. She’ll always need to be monitored, though Severus doesn’t mind her presence. In fact, he states she’s easier to deal with than Harry will be. He’s remarkably patient with her, and she adores him.

Speaking of Harry, I suppose I should eventually let him know my circumstances. It wouldn’t do for him to come visit the new Mrs. Shaw only to learn it’s actually Snape.

That reminds me. I need to send a huge thank you gift to Arthur Weasley.

oOo

posted by celisnebula @ 8:10 PM  

**~~**~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~*~**~~*~*~*~*~~**~~**

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Title: Blue Moon
Author: Celisnebula
Characters: Fenrir Greyback/ David Kessler
Genres: Crossover, Drama, Romance, Tragedy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character Death/ Violence
Summary: Fenrir Greyback’s propensity to viciously attack humans in an effort to create more werewolves causes problems for an American on vacation.

1981 – East Proctor, inside the Slaughtered Lamb Pub

“You can’t let them go,” the waitress whispered.

“Should the world know our business?” came the angry hiss from a middle-aged man, fingering the tip of his dart.

The chess player in the corner looked up, his hand hovering over the castle piece. “It’s murder then,” he said without inflection, as if discussing the weather, picking the chess piece up.

“Then murder it is!” The middle-aged man grunted, throwing the dart with all of his might at the board. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

The pub fell quiet again, save for the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. No one spoke, trying to pretend that it was just a normal raining night – trying to forget the monster under the bed.

“Perhaps they’ll be safe in the rain,” the waitress said, breaking the silence.

The chess player slammed his hand down on the table, causing the waitress to flinch. “No one brought them here!” he shouted. “No one wanted them here!”

“We could’ve told them,” she shot back.

“Are you daft?” the middle-aged dart player asked, whipping around to stare at the waitress. “What do you think they’d say? They’d think us mad.”

The occupants of the pub fell silent again. A faint, distant howl echoed above the pattering sound of the rain.

“Did you hear it? We must go to them!” implored the waitress.

The dart player stared at her for a moment. “I heard nothing,” he grunted, turning back to his game.

Another howl sounded in the distance.

“Nor I,” whispered the chess player, his face pale.

~~oOo~~

1981 – East Proctor, somewhere on the moors

Two young men trampled through the wet darkness, backpacking their way across the English moors. The rain, which had been pouring down upon them, slowed to a light drizzle. The howl of an animal, somewhere in the distance, broke their companionable silence. It was followed by another – long and loud – terrifyingly closer.

“Shit! David, what is that?” Jack asked with an edge of panic in his voice.

“I don’t know,” David replied. “Come on.”

“Come on, where?”

“Anywhere!” David exclaimed, walking faster. “I think we should just keep moving.”

Jack lengthened his stride, matching the brisk pace of his companion. “I vote we go back to the Slaughtered Lamb.”

“Yeah –

A low, guttural growl – followed by the sound of twigs snapping – interrupted David’s response.

“It’s moving,” David whispered.

“Fuck!” Jack muttered. “It’s circling us.”

~~oOo~~

1981 – East Proctor, somewhere on the moors

The scent of rain and sheep filled his nostrils, and underneath – the coy, sweet scent of two humans. He took a deep breath, no scent of magic, two Muggle humans.

Not only would he be showing his presence – as Lord Voldemort wished – he could also have a little fun. The wet grass tickled his feet as he stalked forward – his naked, wet skin itching as the time for transformation approached.

~~oOo~~

1981 – East Proctor, somewhere on the moors

The two travelers raced through the craggy fields, trying to outmaneuver the animal chasing them. A long, piercing howl brought them to an abrupt stop. Directly in front of them, in the far distance, stood a dark, hulking shape – barely discernible, save for its eerily glowing eyes and ragged breathing.

“Oh shit. What is that? Do you think it’s a dog?” Jack asked, panting slightly, panic making his voice squeaky.

“A sheep dog or something,” David gasped. “Turn slowly and let’s walk away.”

“Nice doggie,” Jack wheezed, walking slowly backwards. “Good boy.”

“Walk away, Jack.”

“Walking away, yes, sir.” Jack turned around. “Here we are walking away.”

They started to run, the air filled with the sounds of their heavy panting.

“See anything?” David puffed.

“No.”

Behind them, the animal howled.

“It sounds far away,” David said, slowing down. The adrenaline in his system couldn’t prevent the soreness of fatigued muscles.

“Not far enough,” replied Jack.

David suddenly fell, slipping in the mud. He let out a sharp “oomph” as his body hit the ground, startling Jack.

“You really scared me, you shithead,” Jack yelled, staring down at his mud-covered friend.

“Are you going to help me up?”

Jack leaned down, offering David his hand, when suddenly the animal pounced. It brought Jack down in one fell swoop – claws and teeth ripping into the helpless man.

David scrambled to his feet and started to run.

“Jesus fuck! David!” Jack screamed. The werewolf grunted as Jack fought back, but the werewolf was far stronger – pinning the man to the ground as he savaged him.

Jack?” David turned back. “Oh my God, Jack!” David ran towards Jack and the werewolf, only to fall again.

“Please help me! Please! David! Shit! Help me! Oh, God!” Jack screamed a final time.

David pushed himself up and raced towards the sound of Jack’s screams. On the wet, muddy ground lay Jack’s mangled body. “Jack!” he cried out. “Jack…”

The werewolf pounced on him, teeth sinking into David’s shoulder. Instinctively, he elbowed the werewolf, and he tried to flatten himself to the ground. The werewolf howled, scraping along David’s arms in an attempt to turn him over. In the far distance, shots rang out.

The last thing David saw before he fainted was a group of men from the Slaughtered Lamb running towards him, shotguns at the ready, torches hoisted high.

~~oOo~~

1981 – East Proctor, somewhere on the moors

“Do we know who attacked them?” the Obliviator asked, scanning the area.

“No, not really, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all to hear it was Greyback,” responded Villiers, the older Auror.

“Fuck me… it’s amazing that one survived then,” muttered McManus, a gangly Auror with scraggly brown hair.

“I don’t think he’d agree with you,” Villiers quipped. “Changing into an unthinking beast every month isn’t exactly my idea of surviving.”

“Will St. Mungo’s be taking him in, since he’s a Muggle?” McManus asked.

The Obliviator shook his head. “The villagers think they’ve killed a deranged lunatic – couldn’t entirely erase the idea that it was a werewolf from their minds, so I modified the memory so they think it was an insane person pretending to be a wolf. They’ll be sending the survivor to their own medical establishment.”

“We’ve got to do something,” McManus muttered.

“There’s nothing to do,” replied the Obliviator. “According to the Ministry, now that the Muggles have been contained – they think they’ve killed it – it’s not our problem.”

“But – but he’s been bitten!”

“As I said, it’s not our problem. The medical staff at St. Mungo’s has been notified – they’ll deal with the situation.”

~~oOo~~

London – St. Bartholomew's Hospital

Sunlight streamed into a small, sterile hospital room, bathing the injured man in golden light. With the exception of his right shoulder, most of the injuries covering his face and arms appeared to be superficial. On his left forearm, an IV of plasma slowly dripped down.

“Jack!” he screamed out, causing a nurse to rush into the room.

“Mr. Kessler?”

She rushed to his bedside, lifting his eyelids with her thumb so she could look into his eyes.

“Mr. Kessler?” she called out again, but there was no response. She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and quickly scanned it.

As she checked the chart, an older gentleman, wearing a customary lab coat, entered the room. The nurse handed over the chart.

“Dr. Hirsch,” she said hesitantly. “Mr. Kessler cried out, not more than a minute ago.”

“What exactly did he call out, Nurse Price?”

“He said ‘Jack’.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “That would be Jack Goodman, the boy who was killed.”

Nurse Price nodded her head and moved towards the door, pausing just as she reached it. “What happened to them?” she asked, hand hovering over the door handle.

“The police report said an escaped lunatic attacked them. He must have been a very powerful man…” he trailed off. “Though I don’t see how that is any of your concern, Nurse Price.”

“No, sir. Of course, sir,” she replied, opening the door. “Good day, Doctor.”

~~oOo~~

London – Alex Price’s London Flat

Alex walked into her apartment, withdrawing a slender wand. With a quick swish of the wand, the door closed securely behind her. She muttered a small, “Incendio,” pointing the wand at the fireplace.

Toeing off her shoes, she walked over to the mantel, reaching for an innocuous jar. Her fingers shifted through the grainy sand as she grabbed a fist full of Floo powder.

She threw the powder into the hearth, calling out, “St. Mungo’s – Hippocrates Smethwyck.”

A face appeared.

“Ah, Alex,” it said, “and how is our little Muggle doing today?”

“He woke up briefly – calling for his friend, Jack.”

“Jack?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, the young man who was killed.”

Healer Smethwyck looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps the Memory Charm is working then – it doesn’t always in these sorts of cases.”

“So…” Alex hesitated. “He might be saf –”

“No, I’m afraid not,” the Healer interrupted. “He is definitely infected – anyone bitten by a werewolf is infected.”

“Will he be moved to St. Mungo’s then?”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible – he is a Muggle… the repel charms wouldn’t let him through.”

“But he needs treatment,” Alex responded. “He can’t get the type of treatment he needs inside St. Bartholomew's – they’re already raising their eyebrows over how fast he’s healed.”

Healer Smethwyck sighed. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do. Whilst being a werewolf does make him a magical creature, the simple fact is he is a Muggle – the magical constraints on St. Mungo’s would make it impossible for him to walk through the doors.”

“It’s nearly time for another full moon. What are we supposed to do? Let him roam free?” Alex gave a harsh, barking laugh. “Oh, yes, I can see how well that will go over.”

“Then you’ll just have to invite him home. That way you can monitor him whilst giving him proper treatment.”

“What?” Shocked, Alex stared at the face in the fireplace. “You can’t seriously mean that!”

“There’s no other option, not at this point in time.”

“Surely the Ministry has someplace to put him – I mean it isn’t as if he’s the first Muggle to have been bitten.”

“Alex,” Healer Smethwyck drawled. “Don’t be deliberately difficult, you’ll be perfectly safe and well compensated.”

“Difficult?!” she yelled. “You think I’m being difficult because I don’t want a savage, mindless beast in my home? Are you bloody insane?”

“You’ve started slipping him bits of Wolfsbane Potion, haven’t you?”

Alex nodded.

“Then he should be perfectly contained.” Healer Smethwyck paused for a moment. “You know there isn’t any other choice right now. He has to be monitored until other arrangements can be made; he can’t just wander around.”

“This is going above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you think?” Alex waved her arms at the flat behind her. “This is my home!”

“What would you have me do, Alex?”

“I don’t know, something – anything else,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alex…” Healer Smethwyck sighed.

“I –” Alex started and then stopped. With a soft shake of her head, she began again. “There really isn’t any other choice, is there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

~~oOo~~

London – St. Bartholomew's Hospital

David cut off a gasp as the needle went into his flesh, blinking his eyes against the stark, bright whiteness of the hospital room. Nurse Price held a syringe in her right hand, while Doctor Hirsch took his pulse, and the estimable Mr. Collins from the American Embassy scurried out the door.

“How long have I been here?” David asked thickly, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

“You’ve been unconscious since you were brought in two weeks ago,” the doctor replied.

“Two weeks?”

“You’ve suffered some rather severe cuts and bruises – lost a lot of blood,” Doctor Hirsch told him. “Nothing too serious, black and blue for a while. You’ll have some dueling scars to boast of. That lunatic must have been a very fierce fellow. They do say a mad man has the strength of ten.”

“Lunatic?” David asked softly, feeling sluggish.

“Now we’ve given you a pretty strong sedative, so try to get some rest now,” Hirsch said, patting David’s arm. “Nurse Price will see to your needs. Rest now.”

Alex pulled the covers over David’s chest, straightening and smoothing the blankets over him.

“It wasn’t a lunatic,” David slurred.

“I beg your pardon?” Alex asked.

“It was a wolf,” David said softly, so softly that Alex couldn’t hear him.

“What?” she asked, bending her head down.

“A wolf,” he slurred just before he passed out.

Alex gave a panicked look to the doctor.

“Did he say a wolf?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” Alex replied weakly. “I believe he did.”

Doctor Hirsch gave David a thoughtful look and then shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Poor boy’s been through so much.”

~~oOo~~

London – Diagon Alley

Alex rushed down the cobbled path of Diagon Alley to Eeylops Owl Emporium. Brandishing the required Galleons, she selected one of the rental owls to send Healer Smethwyck a quick message.

He thinks he was attacked by a wolf.

~ Alex

“Please see that this is delivered immediately,” she told the owl, giving him a small stroke. “It’s very important.”

The owl nodded its head, spread its impressive wings, and was off in a flash.

~~oOo~~

London – St. Bartholomew's Hospital

David bolted upright in his bed, furiously blinking as he tried to gain his bearings. He focused on the sleeping figure of Nurse Price, crimped up uncomfortably in the side chair, a copy of Connecticut Yankee folded on her lap. Taking in a gulping breath, he tried to calm himself – the dreams, while vivid, where just that – only dreams.

He slowly reached over and switched the lamp beside his bed on. Then, as gently as possible, he tugged the book off Alex’s lap. The movement startled her, and she snapped awake.

Blinking her eyes, she let out a small yawn, and then smiled softly at David.

“Hello,” she said sleepily. “Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” David whispered softly.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, stretching in the chair. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you.” David shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “Just keep me company for a while.”

“That’s easy enough,” Alex laughed.

David leaned forward, cultivating an air of confidence. “I keep having these really terrible dreams,” he whispered. “They’re getting worse, and I can’t seem to stop them.”

Alex sighed softly, gently cupping his cheek.

“David, your dreams will stop,” she assured him. “You’ll leave England and all your bad memories – all of this – will all fade away.”

He looked into her eyes.

“Will you come with me?”

“What?” She dropped her hand from his face.

A smile lit his face, making him look youthful, carefree, and terribly handsome. He reached for her hand.

“I’m serious. You don’t know me, and I don’t know nothing about you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “We have a perfect relationship.”

Alex threw her head back, and let out a lovely giggle. “Now, David,” she said, still laughing. “I said I would keep you company, but I meant right here and now.”

David tugged her hand to his chest, placing her palm right over his heart.

“Will you think about it?” he asked earnestly.

“How did we get from your bad dreams to my taking a holiday with a patient?”

“Not just a patient.” He shot her another bone melting smile. “Me.”

Alex blushed and pulled her hand from his chest.

“You’re being awfully forward, aren’t you?” Her tone was serious.

“Forgive me,” David said, trying to backtrack. He had obviously gone too far. “I’m trying to cheer myself up and,” he smiled again, “an affair with a beautiful nurse seemed like just the thing to do it.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “All I am to you is a sex fantasy then?”

David’s face flushed.

“Now I’m embarrassed,” he said softly.

“Good,” she replied firmly. “I thought for a moment I was the only embarrassed one in the room.”

An awkward silence filled the room, and David sighed. He handed the book back to Alex.

“Where were we in the book?” he asked.

~~oOo~~

London – Alex Price’s London Flat

Alex grabbed a fist full of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. She called out, “St. Mungo’s,” and stepped into the greenish fire.

The fireplace spat her out on the ground floor. Alex stalked down the hall towards the staircase, ignoring the comments of the portraits trying to get her attention. She took the stairs to the first floor, two at a time, until she reached the Dai Llewellyn ward.

Then, without even knocking, she entered Healer Smethwyck’s small office, stating, “We’ve got a problem.”

Hippocrates paused, quill in hand – a dollop of ink pooling on the parchment – and muttered, “Hello to you too, Alex.”

“I’m serious.” Alex closed the office door, crossed over to Hippocrates’ desk, and plopped down. “He’s not eating – and since he’s not eating, it means he’s not getting the Wolfsbane Potion down.”

“Ah, your pet werewolf.”

“He’s not my pet werewolf,” she protested.

Hippocrates snorted.

“He’s not my pet,” Alex muttered. “He’s an unfortunate man – a man who might bloody well cause no end of problems if something doesn’t happen.”

“He obviously likes you…”

“So?” Alex narrowed her eyes.

Healer Smethwyck shrugged. “So use it.”

“But – I – err – but,” Alex stammered, her face flushing.

“I see.” Hippocrates set down his quill. “You know it’s perfectly natural, just because he’s been bitten doesn’t mean he can’t, or won’t, affect women on a basic level – in fact, there have been several studies recently that suggest a male werewolf’s pheromones during the rising moon cycle are astronomical, so of course you’re affected by it.”

“Yes, well, that is not the issue,” Alex stated, blushing harder.

“It doesn’t have to be, unless you make it one.” He sat back in his chair, tapping the quill against the top of the desk. “In fact, this could work to our advantage. He has to come to your flat – so why not use the attraction you both obviously feel?”

“That’s highly unethical, Hip!”

“Oh, Alex, it’s only unethical if you were his physician – you’re not, so there’s no conflict of interest.”

“It’s only until the full moon passes, Alex. I’ve contacted someone overseas in the American Wizarding community, and he’s assured me that they can quite handle his situation.”

“So basically we’re shipping him off, pretending that it’s not our responsibility? How is that not unethical? One of our werewolves bit him – we should be the one ensuring he is taken care of!” Alex hissed.

Hippocrates dropped the quill and brought his hands up, as if to ward off her anger.

Alex glared at him.

“I’ve followed policy, Alex. He’s a Yank – and there are certain protocols that must be taken care of.”

“I’ll try – I can’t guarantee success,” she said after a moment.

“Just get him the Wolfsbane – hopefully we can neutralize him enough so he doesn’t infect others.”

~~oOo~~

London – St. Bartholomew's Hospital

A scream from the vicinity of David Kessler’s room reverberated against the hospital walls. Alex paused for a moment, then pivoted around, racing towards the sound. Without knocking, she burst into his room.

David was thrashing from side to side in his bed, whimpering softly.

Alex rushed to his side, pulled the table tray away from the bed, and sat down.

“David! David?” she called out, pulling him into her embrace.

David jerked away from her, his body shuddering wildly.

“David,” Alex said forcefully. His eyes snapped open and focused on her face. He shuddered once last time, before relaxing.

“What’s wrong?” Alex whispered.

He leaned his forehead against hers, and sighed softly, sinking against her softness.

“Dav –”

The rest of his name was cut off as his lips descended on hers in a soft, tentative kiss. Alex gripped his shoulders, returning his kiss.

“I’m a werewolf,” he said quietly against her lips.

“A werewolf?”

She pulled him tight against her, and then suddenly, realizing where they both were, released him. David tried to compose himself.

“Are you better now?”

“I’ll let you know the next full moon,” he said savagely.

“You’re to be discharged tomorrow.” She hesitated a moment, and then placed her hand on top of his. “Will you be all right?”

“My friend Jack was just here,” he confessed, his voice so low and soft Alex wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

“Your dead friend Jack?”

David nodded. “He says that I will become a monster in two days. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “You mean about the possibility of your becoming a monster in two days? Or about the visits from dead friends?”

David sighed. “Perhaps I was dreaming again?”

“I would think so.”

“Yeah,” he said, as if voicing the sentiment, it would make it true. “I would think so too.”

Alex stared at David for a minute, gauging his receptiveness, before finally saying, “Do you have a place to stay… in London, that is?”

~~oOo~~

London – Diagon Alley

Alex practically ran down the cobbled pathway to Eeylops Owl Emporium.

“I’d like to purchase parchment and a quill, please,” she told the store clerk, panting.

“Three Sickles,” the clerk said, setting a stained piece of parchment and a tattered quill on the countertop.

Alex dug through her purse, pulling out the required three Sickles and an extra four Galleons. She handed the Sickles over to the clerk, and quickly snatched up the quill.

He thinks he’s seeing his dead friend, Jack. I’m not sure if he’s dreaming it, or really believes this to be the case.

He firmly believes he’s a werewolf… is there anything I should do to dissuade him of that notion right now?

~ Alex

She folded the parchment up, handed the Galleon over to the clerk, and requested the fastest owl. “It’s very important,” she assured him.

The clerk palmed the Galleon and disappeared into the back, returning with the same owl Alex had used last time. She hastily tied the parchment to the owl’s leg and watched with some trepidation as it flew off.

~~oOo~~

London – Alex Price’s London Flat

David languidly traced a pattern on Alex’s back. Hard to believe that he was here – in her flat, much less her bed. Alex turned her head on the pillow, giving him a sleepy smile. David leaned over and gave her a soft kiss.

“Alex?” he asked, pulling back.

“Yes?”

“Will you be here in about fifteen minutes?”

Alex wrinkled her brow. “Of course.”

David gave her a leering grin and said, “Good,” in a suggestive voice.

Alex rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow, studying him for a moment.

“David, you don’t honestly believe that your friend Jack rose from the grave to breakfast with you the other day? Do you?”

David dropped back against the bed, his amorous mood squashed.

“I was awake,” he said flatly, “and he was in my room.”

“But, David…”

He turned his head to look at her.

“I wasn’t hallucinating, Alex.”

She stared at him for a full minute before softly saying, “Tomorrow’s the full moon.”

“That’s good, Alex,” he said sarcastically, pushing a rough hand through his hair. “Reassure me.”

Alex giggled, and gave his neck a small kiss, as if to say I can reassure you.

“It’s all right,” he sighed. “I know I’m being insane.”

Alex trailed kisses down his sensitive neck, across his shoulders, dipping down to kiss his chest.

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed as she kissed her way down his stomach. “I’m properly reassured!”

She let out a soft giggle as her head slowly traveled lower. David reached up, tightly grabbing a hold of the headboard.

Closing his eyes, he whispered, “This is very reassuring. I’m feeling very reassured.”

~~oOo~~

London – Alex Price’s London Flat, night of the full moon

Hippocrates Smethwyck’s face appeared in the fireplace. He watched Alex sitting on a side chair, clutching David’s torn t-shirt in one hand whilst trying to read a book.

He coughed, startling her.

“Hello?” she asked warily, before spying him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Has he come back yet?” Hippocrates asked.

“No,” she said woodenly. “He hasn’t come back yet.”

“You’ll Floo me if he returns?”

“Yes, yes I will,” she said then paused. Hippocrates started to withdraw from the flames, when she continued, “I feel so helpless sitting here doing nothing, Hip.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Alex,” he reassured her. “The Aurors are looking for him – they’ll take care of everything if they find him.”

“Yes, I know, Hip. Thank you.”

“We will find him,” he told her again before ending the call.

~~oOo~~

London – Alleyway somewhere in the city center, night of the full moon

Alex burst out of the taxi carrying her and Doctor Hirsch, racing towards the police barricade.

“Let me through,” she screamed, trying to wedge her way past.

“Stand clear, miss!” yelled one of the officers, stepping in front of her.

“I must get through!” She dodged around him, racing into the alley, ignoring the shouts of, “stop,” from the police officers behind her.

The werewolf snarled, causing her to rear back in fear. Pulling her wand out, she walked cautiously towards the darkened end of the alley.

“David?” she called out. “Is it you?”

She gripped her wand so hard the wood grains bit into the flesh of her palm.

“David? Please…” she yelled again.

The werewolf reared up, and suddenly the police start to fire. The bullets tore into his flesh, and he howled in pain.

Under her breath, she muttered, “Petrificus Totalus.”

For some strange reason, it worked, binding David to the floor. She cast a Disillusionment Charm, concealing David’s werewolf form from the public, and then quickly Transfigured a piece of trash from the alley floor to look like David’s dead, normal body.

Exhausted, Alex leaned against the wall. The police and Doctor Hirsch rushed to her side. They led her from the back of the alley out into the street while the paramedics picked up the Transfigured body.

In the confusion, no one noticed the extra figures of Villiers, McManus, and one of the key Obliviators. It took nearly four hours of work, but by the end of that time, everyone who could have possibly seen David’s werewolf form had been Obliviated – their memories modified so that they believed a killer had been brought down right in front of their eyes.

Two days later, Alex Pierce and David Kessler were en route, by Portkey no less, to a remote area in the Catskill Mountains – the National American Werewolf reserves.

~~oOo~~

Author’s Notes:
Prompts:

XII. Crossover Heaven
Create a believable crossover between Harry Potter and the fandom of your choice.

XVI. Get Out of Your Box
This is the final book; let your imagination run wild! Pick an archive you've never posted to or read at and write a story that would fit there. Never wrote a Draco fic? Try and write something for Pureblood! Don't think you can wing a Weasley? Write something for The Burrow! If you're an author that posts to all archives, try the one you've written the least for or are the least comfortable with.

I think, since I’ve never done a (real) crossover before, it fits the “get out of your box” prompt.

In case you were wondering, this is an American Werewolf in London/Harry Potter cross over.

American Werewolf in London came out in 1981. The dialog from the Slaughtered Lamb and St. Bartholomew's Hospital (not the name of the hospital from the movie, since that was unnamed) are all from what I remember of the movie – I wanted those sequences to be as close to the movie as possible.

According to the Harry Potter Lexicon, Fenrir Greyback has been a Death Eater since the early 1970s, though there is no information as to when Greyback was actually bitten (though it has to be before the 70s since he bit Remus when Remus was a child).

posted by celisnebula @ 8:01 PM  

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Title: Through the Keyhole
Author: celisnebula
Characters: Hermione Granger/ Remus Lupin
Genres: Plot? What Plot? AU
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hermione sees something through the keyhole, which has consequences she would have never imagined.


“Bloody Ron Weasley,” Hermione mumbled under her breath, shifting her body on the hard, cramped closet floor. She reached up and gave the door handle an impatient jiggle, knowing that it wouldn’t actually do anything to solve her present predicament; the door was jammed shut and she was wandless.

If she peeked out the keyhole, she could just make out the tip of her wand, where it had obviously fallen out of her back pocket when she blindly stormed up to this room in an effort to escape the image of Ron with his tongue stuffed down Luna Lovegood’s throat.

“Stupid wanker,” she muttered, choking back a sob.

She pulled down one of the cloaks hanging above her head and wrapped it around her body; she’d be trapped in here until someone went looking for her. Though after the little horse’s tail she left on Ron’s behind, Hermione figured it’d be awhile before anyone noticed she was missing. Snuggling into the warmth of the cloak, Hermione made herself as comfortable as possible; it wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

~~~~

A harsh groan broke the through the quiet of the darkness, startling Hermione awake. Her body ached in protest as she shifted on the hard floor to peer out the keyhole. Shadows filled the edges of the room, the darkness slashed by the light of a lone guttering candelabrum on the far dresser. Hermione raised her fist to pound against the door when another short groan made her hesitate – no sense in announcing her presence if the situation were dire. As her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the candle light, Hermione had to stifle a surprised gasp.

Remus Lupin was on top of the bed, naked. His pale, scarred body gleamed in the soft light; his right hand wrapped around the hard, swollen length of his cock. To say Hermione was shocked would be an understatement. She sucked in a deep breath as she watched his hand slide up and down on his shaft in one of the most incredible sights she had ever witnessed.

Hermione knew that she should probably knock on the closet door or at least make some noise – anything to let him know that she was there – but she couldn’t. Instead, she sat perfectly still, face pressed against the door as he continued to stimulate himself with long, slow strokes.

She felt a tightness in her chest, her breath caught in her throat as she watched him through the keyhole; her nipples hardened and her stomach fluttered. Fascinated, Hermione watched as his left hand gently squeezed his ball sac, his right hand working his cock at a steady pace. He bent his left knee and thrust his hips upward with each downward stroke.

Remus had his eyes closed and Hermione wondered what was flittering through his head as he stroked himself. Whom was he imagining? He moaned softly as he slid his thumb around the ridge of the head. Unconsciously, Hermione pressed her thighs together, creating a bit of friction that had her stifling a soft moan.

Hermione watched as he paused, using the palm of his right hand to rub the pre-come around the tip of his cock until it was glistening in the candle light. His body twitched, a soft moan escaping from his lips as he slid his hand along the soft underside of the head.

Biting her lower lip, Hermione shifted her position again, her left hand grazing her breast. She sat for a moment, unsure of herself; it felt incredible, that slight brush of her own hand against her breast. Slowly, almost unconsciously, Hermione squeezed her left breast, gently pinching the hard nipple through the material of her shirt.

She watched as he pumped his cock faster, her right hand trailing down her stomach. Her fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans as she watched him suddenly stop, pulling the excess skin down tight along the shaft towards his balls. His cock seemed to swell even larger in his hand, and Hermione could clearly see the veins bulging just beneath the surface of the skin, even in the dim candle light.

Her fingers inched below the waistband of her jeans, sliding underneath the elastic of her knickers. Pushing the material of her jeans and knickers down her hips, Hermione positioned her body so that she could touch herself unhindered while still able to see Remus through the keyhole. The pad of her index finger brushed against her slightly swollen clit, and she let out a strangled gasp. Tentatively she began to stroke the engorged, sensitive area, her fingers gently sweeping across the tender clit until she was matching Remus’s rhythm.

The muscles in Hermione’s thighs shuddered under her weight, as her fingers worked furiously. Biting her lower lip, she struggled to control her breathing; afraid that Remus would hear her if she made any noise and stop. Through the keyhole, she watched as Remus pumped himself to the edge of orgasm repeatedly, only to stop just at the brink.

Hermione made a harsh groan as she pushed a single finger into herself; she quickly stole a look at Remus’s face to see if he had heard her. He was oblivious to her presence – lost in his own pleasure.

The raw intensity on his face was overwhelming; his hips thrusting upward with each stroke as his hand slid over his cock. Hermione tried to move her fingers in unison, surging a digit into herself in time to each of his strokes, watching as his rhythm became a brutal blur of flesh on flesh.

Suddenly, his lithe body stiffened, a harsh growl escaping from his lips. He lifted his hips, his body shuddering under the onslaught of his orgasm. Transfixed by the sight, Hermione watched as he ejaculated, covering his chest and stomach with semen. It mingled with the graying hair on his chest, pooling on his quivering stomach.

Gradually, the motion of Remus’s hand slowed; his body relaxed in the afterglow of his orgasm. Hermione let her head fall against the wood of the door, her eyes closing as she focused on her body. She held that erotic image of Remus, exploding all over his chest in her mind as her fingers caressed her flesh. She pinched her harden nipples with her left hand, the fingers of her right teasing her clit.

On the cusp of her own orgasm, the door opened, causing Hermione to lose her balance. She fell forward, in an ungainly heap.

“Enjoy the show?” Remus asked, leaning against the door frame.

“I – err,” Hermione stuttered, trying to look anywhere but at his naked frame looming above her. A guilty look flashed across her face, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment as she tried to scramble up. With her knickers pushed down her thighs, there was no way Hermione could disguise the fact that she was frigging herself in the closet whilst watching him.

His nostrils flared, catching the musky scent of her arousal as he leaned over her. His cock jutted out from a thick, wiry patch of dark hair threaded with strands of gray, bobbing in a graceful motion as he leaned in closer.

“Never mind, don’t answer,” he practically growled. “I can smell your enjoyment.”

Scrambling back, Hermione let out a quick, “Oh God, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Given your current state –” his eyes traveled down her exposed body “– I suppose it would be imprudent to ask how long you've been watching?”

Hermione licked her lips, and forced herself to look into his eyes, instead of the hard cock, mere inches from her face.

“A fair bit of time,” she whispered, finding her voice. “As soon as I saw what you were doing, I couldn’t help but watch.”

“Really?” He dragged the word out in a husky drawl.

“That was the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed,” she confessed, feeling a bit uncertain and off-balanced.

His eyes took on a feral gleam. “Well now, I think we should do something about that.”

Gracefully, he dropped to his knees before her. Hermione’s eyes widened as he reached for her hand, her fingers still faintly sticky with her own wetness, and brought it to his mouth.

“Wh – what are you doing?” she squealed as he slowly sucked on her index finger, rolling his tongue around the digit.

Pulling her finger from his mouth, he responded, “You’ve had your bit of entertainment; I only think it’s fair that I have my chance too.”

“Oh,” she said softly, wrinkling her brow. “Oh!”

“Any objections?”

When she said nothing, he let his hand wander down her chest. It caught on the material of her shirt as he watched her face. She gasped as his fingers closed over the peak of one nipple, tweaking it through the layers of cloth. Her cheeks flushed in response, but still she did not speak.

Emboldened, he boldly pushed the material up, exposing her breasts. Her nipples tightened as the cold air hit them, and he bent his head down to lave one puckered peak. Hermione groaned as his teeth scrapped across the very tip of her nipple before pulling it further into his mouth.

Remus lightly pinched the other nipple, running the pad of his thumb over the sensitive tip. Hermione arched her back in response. Gently, he trailed his hand down the front of her body, past her smooth navel, until the tips of his fingers brushed against the dark hair of her vagina.

Her body tensed up as he ventured lower, teasing the lips of her vulva with feathery touches. Rubbing along the damp path between her folds, Remus watched as she squirmed against his hand, her skin flushed with desire. Hermione bit her lip to suppress a moan as his fingers pushed further in.

Remus continued to tease her, running his fingers around the sensitive flesh as she wriggled against his hand. Hermione let out a low moan as he pressed in, circling lightly around her clit. He smiled to himself and gently kissed the pert tip of her erect nipple. Hermione tensed up as Remus started to kiss his way down her naval, his mouth just brushing against soft curls covering her mons.

“I think we can dispense with these,” he said softly, giving a quick tug to the material of her jeans and knickers half way down her thighs. He dragged the clothing down her legs, pulling off her shoes and the trousers one leg at a time, before carelessly tossing them behind him.

“Don’t,” Hermione whispered, suddenly overcome by embarrassment as he fitted himself between her thighs. “I – we –”

The rest of her sentence was cut short as he lifted her legs, spreading them open as he lifted them over his shoulders. Hermione squealed as he nuzzled her vulva before sliding his tongue over her labia. His fingers parted her as he ran his tongue over the pink flesh, drawing out a shuddering gasp from Hermione.

Her thighs tightened, almost strangling him, as he gently sucked on her clit. She let out a deep, guttural moan as he slowly inserted a single finger inside. Remus slowly withdrew it, teasing her for a moment with a soft, sweeping touch before plunging the finger back into her. Hermione’s body arched upwards, her hips bucking upwards. Remus looked up the length of her body, gently rotating his finger inside of her before withdrawing it again, and waiting for her eyes to meet his.

Hermione wriggled her hips, arching up as she searched for some release. “Please,” she gasped out, horrified at the whiny note in her voice.

Their eyes met, and Remus gave her a seductive smile as his fingers spread the fleshy part of her labia before dipping his head down. He swept his tongue along the soft folds, teasing her with gentle caresses, before he pushed two fingers deep inside of her.

“Oh, God,” Hermione cried out, her body shuddering. She was on the brink of an orgasm – hanging on the edge by a tenuous thread – whilst Remus lazily licked his way towards her clit. She stared at his top of his head in awe as he teased her; languid strokes of Remus’ tongue circling around the sensitive flesh of her clit as two fingers twisted in and out of her.

Hermione made a low, whining sound as her hips bucked against his mouth, desperate to have more contact as need coursed through her veins. He sat up, on his knees, looming above her quivering body.

Remus’ lips were soft as his lips searched out her mouth, pressing soft kisses against the nape of her neck, and then finally her mouth. His fingers delved into the fuzzy depths of her hair as his kiss turned demanding. Grabbing a fist full of hair, Remus pulled her head back, making her neck arch gracefully.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled against her mouth. “I’m going to fuck you until you come all over my cock... would you like that?” She whimpered in response.

Hermione shifted her hips, rubbing against his erection. She looked down the length of his body, her eyes resting on the long erection nestled between his legs, the pale flesh shinning in the dull light of the glittering candle. He was impossibly large, and she felt a flash of trepidation.

“Would you like that?” he repeated.

“I – yes,” she said softly.

Remus slid his hands down the sides of her body, down over the curve of her bottom. He dipped his head, sucking one of her erect nipples into his mouth as he settled between her legs. Hermione tensed as he started to push himself in, afraid that there might be some pain due to his girth.

“Shush,” Remus whispered as he gently thrust into her tight, moist depths; his cock stretching her as it pressed in. He held still as she acclimated herself to the feel of him, gritting his teeth at the effort it took not to thrust as hard and as deep as he wished.

“Are you ready for more, Hermione?” he asked after a few moments.

Hermione worried her lower lip with her teeth before answering, “I think so,” in a breathy whisper.

She rocked her hips against his, causing him to groan, “Bloody hell.”

He grabbed her hips firmly as he began to thrust. Hermione’s head fell back, a harsh, ragged moan escaping from her lips as he started a steady pattern. His hands slid down her legs, tugging at them gently. Instinctively, Hermione understood what he wanted, and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her feet together behind him.

“Oh, yes,” she moaned as he bent down to capture a pink, taut nipple between his lips.

They moved in tandem, her body jolting against his as the thrusts became faster. Hermione bucked her hips, trying to keep up with his pace. Remus groaned as he felt Hermione clench around his cock, her muscles tightening against him in a way that suggested she was about to come. He made one last thrust, and then withdrew from her, causing her to whimper.

“Remus?” she questioned, not understanding why he stopped, just when she was on the brink.

“Give me a moment,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. He quickly rose from the floor and walked over to the dresser. Hermione watched the candle light flicker over his body as he searched through the drawers before pulling something out.

“It’s all right,” he said, crossing the distance back to her. He lifted her chin with his thumb, flashing a soft smile as he showed her the condom he’d fished from the dresser. “Nearly forgot this.”

His lips found hers again, and he kissed her in a reassuring way.

“Hurry,” she whimpered pathetically against his lips.

She watched as he ripped into the foil package, licking her lips appreciatively as he rolled the coiled condom over his cock. She gasped as his hand moved between her thighs, two fingers sliding over her slick folds. Hermione reached up, digging her nails into his shoulders as his mouth kissed the sensitive area of her neck.

With one slick move, Remus rolled onto his back, pulling Hermione on top of him. Hermione widened her thighs, straddling him as best as she could as she rose up, trying to center herself above his cock. He grasped her hips, guiding her down until she sheathed his entire length.

Hermione held still, staring at him. Remus brought his hands up behind his head as he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. She nibbled on her lower lip again, unsure of what to do.

“Ride me, Hermione,” he said.

She could feel every inch of his cock deep inside of her. She tentatively moved her hips, trying to find the right rhythm.

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Take what you need.”

Hermione rocked against him, her body instinctively finding the right tempo. She braced her hands on his hard chest as she moved above him, taking him. She closed her eyes, her head thrown back as she rode him.

Remus watched her – the wonderful expression on her face, the way her breasts bounced as she moved up and down on his cock – she was simply stunning. He grabbed her hips and started moving her faster, as he lifted his hips upward. Hermione moaned, her body clenching around his cock.

“Please… Remus, please,” she gasped out, needing more.

He pulled her down to him, catching her lips as he rolled them, driving his cock hard into her. Hermione ran her hands down his back, grasping his arse in an effort to drive him deeper as she hitched her hips up.

His thrusts became brutal – the raw force of each thrust inching them across the floor until Hermione’s head banged against the wall. She dug her nails into his shoulders, trying to match his violent rhythm, her body clenching all around him.

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” she chanted as an orgasm ripped through her body. Remus continued to thrust, riding out the beautiful wave of her orgasm, until his own overtook. He collapsed on top of Hermione, panting.

“Oh my,” Hermione said a little while later, as Remus rolled off her. “Maybe getting locked in the closet wasn’t such a terrible thing.”

Remus merely chucked as he pulled her close.

~~~~


Author’s Notes:
Festival Prompts:

II. The Most Believable Porn
Write a PWP that you think is the most believable, most in character, and the most real.


III. Best Non-Conventional Pairing
Write a PWP based on the best non-conventional pairing you can think of. Some examples would include Lucius/Hermione, Charlie/Tonks, Remus/Molly Weasley and yes, this does include slash pairings. Try to keep the story as close to canon as possible in terms of characterization and such.

This was wholly inspired by that luscious artwork of Remus/Hermione done by ponderosa121 for Smutty Claus gifts here: http://www.journalfen.net/community/smutty_claus/55008.html

posted by celisnebula @ 7:44 PM  

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