Obey

Thank you, Jo Rowling, for everything.

Thank you, Leigh-Anne and GinnyW, for being the best betas ever!

39. OBEY

She sensed the change even as it happened. His body went from languid to taut without seeming to change at all because the change wasn't physical, but was, instead, his mental preparation to push her away.

She'd dragged him in too closely, and now he had to distance himself, or worse, prove to her it was a mistake.

No. Not this time.

She spoke a moment before he did. Held up her hand in front of their faces as they lay in the bed and twisted her ring finger this way and that, allowing the emerald to sparkle. "I think the key to thwarting the Ministry is in this ring," she announced.

She felt his tension increase. He was about to push up, to roll away from her, but she'd caught him off guard and aroused his curiosity, and she pressed home her advantage before he could overcome it and leave the bed.

"It has a power of its own. I'm sure of it. You gave it to me freely and even if..." She stopped the words, even if it wasn't from love, before they spilled out. She attempted to recover. "Even though you might not have intended it as a romantic gesture, it was a gift that has meaning far beyond that of a wretched Ministry ring that was forced on us against our will." She tilted her hand again; the wide gold band glimmered. "Which is rather sad because the Ministry rings are pretty, if they didn't include invasive charms."

She cocked her glance up at him and saw his dark eyes were clouded and again sensed that his patience was short. So she sprang her trump card on him. "But the ring by itself isn't enough, and all I could think of at the moment you put it on me was to repeat with this ring I thee wed, hoping it would give it some sort of equal authority. But I know that in itself wouldn't be enough, so now I can't decide whether to try a charm or a potion to enhance its strength."

"Potion?" he asked, his voice a bit of a grumble, and she knew she'd enticed him against his will. "How would you use a potion on a ring?"

"I'm not sure. Would we both take it and somehow include the ring in a spell at the same time?"

"I can't imagine what kind of potion you think..."

"We'd have to create it, wouldn't we?" She sat up on her knees and looked down at him, suddenly excited by the prospect. "It would need crushed clove buds and bark of slippery elm to halt gossip. I considered chicory and mistletoe for invisibility, but of course there are other ingredients that do the same..."

"Are you so bloody confident in your ability to meet your potential on your N.E.W.T.s that you're taking on all of these...these personal research projects as hobbies?"

His voice dripped scorn, and she flinched, but refused to back down.

"Perhaps these 'personal projects' are as important to me as my N.E.W.T.s," she said with a sniff.

He gripped her wrists in his strong hands, and she caught her breath as his eyes drilled into her. "Perhaps you need to stop playing with romantic fantasies long enough to..."

"They aren't romantic fantasies." She yanked her wrists free.

"Really?" he asked, his voice silky. "And are you so certain of that?"

She didn't answer, but watched, captivated, as he raised one hand to her throat, slid it around to the back of her neck, and drew her nearer. "Perhaps it's time for me to teach you a bit of Legilimency," he whispered. With his free hand, he took her wand from beneath her pillow and placed it in her right hand. "Point it near but not straight at my temple," he ordered. "And then whisper the command. Gently," he cautioned with a sullen twist of his lips. "I'm a willing victim. No need to play rough."

She didn't trust him, nor did she trust what he wanted to show her. It couldn't be good, or he wouldn't be using it to push her away. She hovered on the edge of refusal, bent over his body, their eyes linked.

Legilimency.

He was offering to teach her.

And despite her suspicions, her fears...she wanted it. She wanted to learn, but even more, she wanted the glimpse into his mind. The idea terrified and tantalized her at once.

She lifted her wand smoothly and whispered, "Legilimens," and prepared to sink into those beautiful black, black depths...

Only to hurtle forward with a speed that both dizzied and sickened her.

She felt his hand on the back of her head, and then both hands cupping her face, supporting her as she plummeted...

--to the crest of a jagged outcropping of rocks.

And...oh, god...saw him drop to his knees and kiss the Dark Lord's hem, and nothing had prepared her for this, nothing Harry had told her, nothing she'd imagined...nothing had prepared her for the sight of the monster before her. His face was stretched skin over bone, no cartilage to soften or add beauty. His teeth were yellowed and drawn away from his gums as he smiled a rictus of a smile down at the black head crouching before him.

And his eyes.

Oh, god, his eyes.

Red, glowing nightmare eyes.

Her ears were filled with the sound of her own rough gasps as she choked for air, and she'd have fallen to the ground if she hadn't been only an observer, which left her alone and horrified to watch...to watch those lips she loved press against those bony fingers and then, with a sickening yank...

They were back at Spinner's End.

Only this time, there was no homey scene in the kitchen with the scent of soap and lemons filling the air. This time, she could only watch, stricken, as the scene unfurled itself before her.

"I'm a solitary man with simple needs and desires, including a strong need for solitude, something that is never granted me with a bloody teenaged witch living in my quarters."

He shrugged. "Indeed."

And then, he knelt before the Dark Lord, his arms outflung, offering himself up for punishment....

"And what of the Mudblood, Severusss? Isn't she a worthy substitute?"

"There is no such thing as a worthy substitute."

She watched as words of betrayal slipped from her husband's lips with the ease of silken endearments to this vile master, watched as he bowed before him in penance, and felt the sobs threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to reach out to him, to pull him back to her...

She flinched as the Dark Lord grabbed his chin and raised it, and she saw the connection, saw him invade with his own Legilimency, and saw the professor's body tremble and quake, and finally...as the Dark Lord released him...stiffen, and collapse to the floor.

She was dimly aware as the Dark Lord took his seat and waited because she was focused on the man on the floor, on his unnatural stillness, his unnatural pallor, and the streak of tears that cut through the dust he'd picked up from the floor.

She watched the Dark Lord draw him up, watched him sink against the Dark Lord's leg and be stroked like a pet and wanted to scream, wanted to cry...but couldn't, she couldn't let him know how it affected her...couldn't rob him of whatever shreds of dignity he'd have left after this.

Why was he showing her this?

To drive her away.

She closed her eyes to it. Squeezed them shut and fought for air. And then words started seeping back into her consciousness.

"She's not beautiful." It should have hurt more than it did, especially when she was clearly being compared unfavorably to another, and maybe it would later when she wasn't so numb with shock.

"She's brilliant," might have made her heart sing... in other circumstances.

And yet you would kill her for me?

She recoiled. This...this was what he'd carried home with him, what had sent him heaving to his knees until there was nothing left but bile.

I lied to her about Lucius, you know. I told her that he and Draco would torture her.

Meant... what? He lied? Why? But she had no time to think, no time to process...

"No. I didn't want her. I loathed the thought of her."

"She chose me. She chose me over all the others. She had selfish reasons, of course. But..."

How tenderly the Dark Lord pulled these confessions from him. It was as if he wove a spell....

But no, this was not a spell of his weaving.

Yet again, the thought was left hanging because...

"She's enthralled with the first cock she's known, with the hands that bring her pleasure, and calls that love."

She clenched her fists impotently.

"And, of course, his source at the Ministry also seems to be quite fixated on how often you have sexual congress with your bride."

She froze.

Percy.

She was beyond thought, beyond reason...her mind whirled with more than she could possibly make sense of, but clearly this was what he wanted her to know, to see, and over it all she felt a red sheen of rage at the two of them being the center of so much malevolence....

By Christmas, this will all be memory. I will defeat Potter on the night when he first attempted to defeat me, only this time, I will be the victor. I will take my rightful place. And you... Severusss, you will be my right hand.

The truth hit her. It hit her square in the body, a hard blow, as she watched those lips she loved twist in jubilation as they pressed themselves against that horrible hand. Her breath quickened. She wanted out...she wanted out...she wanted out now!

"If she's to be killed, I must be the one to do it."

"Granted, my boy. I will make it clear. She will be safe from all but you."

And then, it was over, and she collapsed on him, gasping for air, tears streaming and nose running and throat choking on sobs, and with a total lack of concern for manners or gentility, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and fought for air and...

He raised on one elbow, his eyes now shuttered, and watched her with great caution, braced against her reaction.

And everything else fled from her mind, every other reaction, as she realized...it was almost over. Weeks, mere weeks, and it would end.

And they would be prepared, they would be ready...

Because her husband was magnificent.

She flung herself against him and curled her fingers into his hair and kissed him.

"You did it," she gasped. And then, this time the tears flowed with relief. "Hallowe'en."

He nodded jerkily.

"Hallowe'en," she repeated and felt unable to make coherent sentences. "He told you. You tricked him into telling you."

He remained frozen, unmoving, but she didn't care. She had to feel him, to taste him...

She stretched out on top of him, felt his hard body fall back onto the bed beneath her, frozen into inaction, and took advantage.

Oh, was she determined to take advantage.

She opened her lips against his and let her tongue stroke his mouth...and felt a jolt of reaction go through him. His lips closed more firmly, but she worked them gently, lips against lips, soft and tender, and when she felt him relaxing, her tongue ventured forward again, and again she felt him react and close off to her. It was a game, a strange game, and she didn't understand it...she just knew that she would win.

Finally, he gasped against her mouth, "How can you...after what you saw...how can..."

"You were bloody brilliant," she whispered. "You appeared to give him everything and gave him nothing." She kissed his sharp cheekbone with a soft press of partially-opened lips. "You seduced him." She nuzzled against the side of his face and felt the heat of his skin and the dampness of her tears and something fierce curled inside her. "Nobody knows what you do, what you go through, what you endure...but me. And I'm so proud. So proud...Severus Snape, I love you."

He stiffened. "How could you? After what I showed you..."

"I love you," she repeated fiercely.

"Stupid girl," he snarled, "you don't, you can't, you just think..."

"I love you," she said, tears clogging her throat that he refused to listen, to believe.

"It's the compulsion, the fucking vows..."

"You think the vows compel me to this? You think I'm bound to love, honor and obey because of some magical mistake?"

His answer was clear in the tension of his body.

"Then give me an order to disobey," she demanded hoarsely and, not leaving it to chance, pulled back to stare straight into his eyes. "Tell me to stop loving you."

"For your own sake," he groaned, and she heard his pain and his fear, "stop loving me."

And she felt the surge of joy that filled her as she buried her face in his neck and said one word.

"No."

XX

She overwhelmed him. Her hair filled his face; her scent filled his lungs; her body filled his arms. He could do nothing but hold her, cling to her, and try to absorb the totality of her reaction.

Which was nothing that he'd expected.

He let his head fall back against the pillow; if that gave her lips easier access to his throat, that was mere happenstance.

He felt a hitch in his breath.

He had to stop her.

He had to stop her from this ridiculous outburst.

He had to stop her before she...they...got swept away with this...this celebratory mood she was suddenly in.

He had to stop her from thinking she loved him.

Now was not the time for things to get complicated by emotions he couldn't deal with, and a woman in his arms who loved him was something he definitely didn't know how to deal with.

So why was he kissing her back?

Why was his heart leaping?

Why was he rolling to cover her with his body?

And why was she welcoming him?

Something was wrong. She hadn't seen...

What was she thinking?

He broke away. "But...but the things you saw..."

Her eyes swam in tears. "What about them?"

"You can't be happy that..."

"That you said I'm not as pretty as some other woman? That you didn't want to marry me? That living with me is driving you mad? Why would I be upset about the truth? It's not as if I didn't know those things already. It's what you do, isn't it? You tell the truth. You tell the truth, over and over and over again, so that when you finally have to hedge the truth or even lie, it feels like another truth. You told him the truth again and again..."

"I'm not talking about whether or not I think you're beautiful," he ground out.

"No, you're talking about, 'If she's to be killed, I must be the one to do it,' and he didn't even notice the 'if.' Why would this upset me? And even then, even when you tricked him, he honored your for it. He promised you nobody else will hurt me, only you...what? Did you expect me to believe you would kill me?"

He gaped at her.

"Oh, please."

He didn't know what to say. She'd seen through it, all of it. The Dark Lord hadn't, but she had.

"And as for Percy Weasley...that pansy-assed wanker?"

"Miss Granger!"

"That's only what Ron calls him. Fred and George call him a cocksucking gobshite!"

He choked on his response, unable to rationalize her primly outraged expression with the words erupting from her delectable lips.

She raised up on her elbows, her hair a wild halo around her head. "And if he's so bent on knowing what goes on between us, I'll send him a Howler to announce it every time we fuck!"

There was nothing else to do but cut off the flow of words the only way he knew how.

He kissed her.

He still reeled from the impact, the onslaught of her reactions.

But kissing her seemed the only sane thing to do.

Until she broke away.

"We don't have to, you know."

"We...we don't have to what?" he managed.

"I mean, you don't want Lucius Malfoy and Percy knowing what you do, and even though the Dark Lord doesn't care, if you do, I totally understand," she rattled on, "only, there's just this one thing, this one thing I needed to ask you...." She ducked her face and he realized she was blushing. "If you want to stick to once a week, this week, could it be Thursday?"

She turned her face up to him, her eyes wide and expectant. She was lightyears ahead of him; he'd lost his ability to speak, and she was still going...

"It's...it's my birthday," she said and began toying with the button of her shirt. "Don't worry, I didn't expect you to know that, and I also won't expect you to remember it because that's something my mother told me long ago about birthdays and anniversaries, that a woman can make a choice to either make every special day a test which the man in her life must pass or fail...knowing that if he forgets, she'll be miserable and her day will be ruined, or she can just remind him, and I'm all about reminding, so Thursday is my birthday and..."

"You want sex for your birthday," he interrupted, hardly able to speak with the tightness in his chest.

She gave a funny little half-shrug. "Well... yes." And ducked her face again.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The world as they all knew it...most likely his very life...was going to come to an end in mere weeks, and this adorable, ridiculous, bushy-haired marvel of a girl in his arms...his wife...had to treat what other people considered normal marital relations as a fucking special occasion because of the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley?

Her birthday.

"How old will you be?"

"Eighteen."

Fuck.

Still a teenager.

And still watching him and waiting for a response.

And he knew what he had to say. What he resented having to say with an agitation that gnawed at his gut and left him weak with rage. Yet, it was the only thing he could say.

"Miss Granger," he said softly and saw her brace herself...how easily she read him, sometimes. He teased the corner of her mouth with his smallest finger and watched it twitch before curving into a reluctant and sad smile. "You will definitely have sex on your birthday if it is at all within my power to give it to you." At which point, he pressed the most urgent of kisses upon her lips, in case she needed a reminder of exactly what he was promising.... And when it seemed he must either succumb totally to her sweet abandon or break away, he broke away, staring into her heavy-lidded eyes and fighting for breath. And when they had both recovered enough for him to speak and for her to listen, he went on, "I've spent over twenty years denying myself the comforts other men take for granted. And despite the fact that the Dark Lord seemed to encourage me to partake of such pleasures now... I can't help but sense it as yet another test, yet another opportunity to reveal to him those things that he will see as betrayal because they are."

She nodded mutely and stroked his hair out of his eyes, and he found himself leaning into that hand, savoring the texture of her smooth fingertips as they brushed across his skin.

"I want to bombard the Ministry with Howlers night and day." He caught one fingertip between his lips and tasted it, and felt her soft moan curl through his body, and again, felt the agony and the rage....

"But now is not the time to let down my guard."

"I understand," she said and then added with a small grin, "and Thursday is only four days away...."

At which point he slid down her body and between her legs, and the last thing he saw was her eyes flutter closed on a soft gasp as he proceeded to give her the kind of bliss that hitherto had been a mystery to him and now seemed nothing short of a benediction.