Peace

Peace

It had taken everything he had not to slam the door after the Black sisters had left. His simmering anger about what they had convinced him to do...what he had allowed them to convince him to do, was palpable...not the least because he suspected there was a degree of sentiment involved in his decision. And sentiment, as he knew to his cost, could, in the game he was playing, get him killed...or worse.

Peering through the curtains and ensuring that the sisters had indeed gone, he swept the fabric closed with such force that it tore off the rings. His calm demeanour completely evaporating, he turned with a snarl and bellowed, "Pettigrew! Get down here and clear up this mess!"

There was no small amount of satisfaction to be had in the way that the odious little rodent appeared almost instantly, even if the smaller man's expression was almost mutinous. Not that he cared a jot what the former Marauder thought, his mind already returned to mulling over this newest twist in his convoluted existence.

He disliked being pressured, and both sisters had exerted their own form of it upon him, providing him with little enough room for manoeuvre; Bellatrix's presence had seen to that. The malevolent, twisted bitch and her obsessive suspicion on behalf of Voldemort had tried to provoke him, to push him into some kind of amateur slip up on the back of Narcissa's emotionality.

An Unbreakable Vow. It boggled the mind that he had taken it upon himself. That his life was now instantaneously forfeit should he fail to maintain it. But in the cauldron of snap decision making that the meeting had turned into, it was, he decided, the best choice available to him.

In taking it on, he had flummoxed Lestrange, the look of shock on her face when he had bound himself via Draco to Voldemort's will almost worth the risk alone. In that single move, he would endear himself to the Dark Lord, who would hear about this soon enough, still further. And that would bring him a greater level of trust as well as a greater insight into his plans...advancing his position amongst the Death Eaters. It would also bring a flood of new information to feed to Dumbledore, and earn him more in return from the ancient wizard.

Then there were the Malfoys. They were in his debt now. The idea that Lucius Malfoy would owe him, Severus Snape, the integrity and well being of his wealthy, ancient pureblood family filled him with such a glow of malevolent satisfaction that he even allowed Pettigrew to get away with crawling around the ground after the brass rings within range of his boot without applying it swiftly to his arse.

Lucius would despise every minute of living under the yoke of that debt, and Narcissa would not allow him to wriggle out from under it. Her words had been genuine. Her son and husband were everything to her.

He could appreciate that kind of devotion to family.

Getting Draco out from under the thumb of the Dark Lord had been another part of it. The boy had potential...and that would be wasted in the life-threatening task that the Dark Lord demanded of him. He had no doubt that Draco would fail. He was intelligent enough, had a certain level of deviousness that saw him thrive in Slytherin, but he did not have what was required for this...his mother knew it...and so did he.

Voldemort was wrong. Saving the boy was the right thing to do. Dumbledore would certainly agree. After all, Dumbledore had spoken to him often on the inevitability of the Dark Lord using children against their families...their fathers...should they fall into his sway. He frowned and again tried to push away the nagging feeling that sentiment had clouded his decision.

Weakness. He had to avoid it. But it was hard...increasingly so the deeper he sank into this web. He turned away as Pettigrew rose and moved to clean up the debris left by 'their' visitors. The truth was that staying five steps ahead of the Dark Lord, Dumbledore, and that idiot Potter boy was beginning to wear on him. And with weariness came a clouding of the mind and a turn to emotion to resolve one's decisions for oneself. He could not afford the disasters that he knew lay in that direction, but it was not as though he could suddenly call 'time' and take a brief holiday to settle his mind and ensure his strategising. There was indeed no rest for the wicked.

The clink of the goblets barely registered in his consciousness as his dark eyes drifted over to one of the bookcases that lined the far wall, a deep pang of longing washing through him...his fingers itching to open...

No.

He turned away quickly, perhaps too quickly, because he was brought crashing back to reality by the squinty gaze of that overgrown rodent watching him. He glared back, his eyes boring into the other man until, cowed, Peter turned away.

"You move like that ever thickening girth around your middle is made of lead. I told you to clean this up. Now be quick about it and get out of my sight," he snapped, crossing over and slumping in his chair.

"Somebody forgot his happy potion today...what a shock..." Pettigrew muttered under his breath, picking up the tray with his good hand, the goblets rattling as he attempted to balance them before reaching for the bottle.

"Leave it," came the instant command.

The silver hand retracted back slowly as the little man shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure...whatever. Going to get yourself pissed then...again?"

Snape moved smoothly to Peter's side and picked up the bottle in question before his other hand left the pocket of his robe and smartly struck the odious pest hard across the face, sending him reeling backwards while leaving the tray floating serenely in the air, the Leviosa spell silently cast upon it.

Regarding the bottle's label calmly, he did not so much as cast a glance at Peter as he tumbled back over a chair to the ground. "Speak to me like that again, you vermin, and it'll be the last flapping your tongue ever does..." his black eyes finally turned on him, "...inside your head."

The tray floated across to Pettigrew, awaiting his taking hold of it again.

Rubbing his jaw, the fat man pulled himself to his feet, his eyes narrowing in loathing. "I shouldn't do that again if I were you! I shall tell Him! I am his loyal servant...I gave my hand so he could be reborn to us," he spluttered.

"You are free to report this to Him and the other Death Eaters, Wormtail," Snape replied indifferently. "Oh...and if you ever think I'm letting a bottle of this vintage fall into your mangy hands..." He paused. "Apologies...hand...I suggest you think again. Nothing of mine accompanies you into that rat hole you've made your room into."

Snatching the tray from its hovering position, Pettigrew glowered at him. "Fine...well, I'll just scurry off, shall I? And leave you to your nightly appointment of getting sloshed and passing out in your clothes!" he spat, and stormed across the room, goblets tinkling with each footfall.

Snape sighed and, withdrawing his wand from his robe, set fire to the bottom of his undesirable houseguest's left trouser leg, taking care to place the tray back in levitation mode first. "Your inability to heed warnings," he said on hearing the rat squeak in alarm, "is second only to your inability to form coherent thoughts of your own, Pettigrew. So I shall make allowances and give you this one as well."

Stamping his foot wildly, the other man waved at the flames with his hands before grabbing a pillow off a nearby chair and batting them out with that. "Are you insane! Have you lost what is left of your mind?" the man gasped, staring at the other dark clad one in shock before pressing his lips closed to prevent any other words from coming out, though his face clearly told what he thought of his housemate.

"I wonder that every day," Snape replied, again slumping into the armchair, "when I see your face and try to understand how I acquiesced so easily to the Dark Lord's request that you be billeted here. You're more trouble then you're worth. The Dark Lord or not, I'd hand you over to Remus Lupin in the morning without a second thought if I thought it would bring me some peace." He held his hand up when he saw Pettigrew's eyes widen with fear at his former compatriot's name and his rotund body swelled as he geared up to retort. "But it will take more than that...a great deal more than that...so you can rest easy...for now."

Peter, however, simply glared back as Snape arched an eyebrow at him. "The tray, Pettigrew? You have goblets to wash."

Spinning on his heel, the Animagus grabbed the still hovering tray and stalked out of the room.

However, before he could leave, Snape noted a garishly coloured and glossy addition to the pile of parchments he had been reading through the night before. Reaching down, he pulled out the interloper and turned it right way up to examine the cover, addressing the traitorous Marauder as he headed through the open doorway, "When you're done, go to your room and stay there. I'm sick of your wandering. Can't you find a way to amuse yourself? Perhaps that shiny new hand of yours can be of some personal use."

Rolling up the copy of Pettigrew's Playwizard, he fired it at the scuttling man's head with smirk, the magical impetus giving it greater force as it thwacked satisfactorily against the back of his target.

And yet, to Snape's great disgust, both at the lack of reaction and the thought of what the moron might actually use it for, the little weasel merely adjusted his tray, nabbed the magazine off the floor, and stormed out of the room.

The smirk on his face dissolved as soon as the other man was gone. Beetle black eyes narrowed as the small fillip of the rather easy victory slipped away almost as rapidly as it had come, leaving him numb, empty, and tired again. He had meant what he had said. Peace...it was all he wished for. Be it in one form or another. Not that he ever found it...it seemed as elusive now as ever.

Knowing that in his current state of preoccupation and exhaustion that he would get no more reading done that night, he rose to his feet. A silent command later and the house on Spinner's End was bathed in darkness. Ascending the steps that led to the bedrooms, he barely noticed the light still shining under his door, his mind on the longed for...the impossible.

He closed his eyes and, massaging the bridge of his nose, took a deep, weary breath.

Peace...if only for a night.

"You're back!" came the joyful cry when he stepped into the room, barely having time to close the door behind him before a pair of slender arms wrapped around his neck and a set of soft lips found his.

Slipping his arms around her, he drew her in close to him, relaxing in her embrace and relishing every moment, until she pulled away with a happy sigh.

"Where have you been?" she enquired, her voice soft and mixed with a touch of relief. "It feels as though you have been away for years."

His gaze visibly softened as he drew her to him once more. "I had some tiresome business to attend to, but I am now entirely at your disposal," he replied, his voice velvet smooth and soothing.

Her fingers curled around the folds in his robes, her head resting on his chest. "At my disposal?" she purred, the teasing hint in her voice unmistakable.

He found his lips quirking upwards despite himself, her chestnut hair soft under his caress. "Of course...what does my lady wish of me?"

Her blue eyes met his, the desire in them setting his own to smouldering as he perused their azure depths. Those eyes that had captured him when he had first met her at the tender age of nine and never let him go. With one look she had made him hers...though it had taken a lot of persuading from him after an eight year absence to convince her that that fateful moment had bound her to him in return. She had been stubbornly hard to persuade, and he had had a lot to contend against -- his younger age, though really, as he had reminded her, it was only four years; her grace and beauty versus his acerbity and black looks; their disparate social positions...the total public unacceptability of any relationship, especially with her very public diplomatic job in the Ministry and he still with a year's left of schooling at Hogwarts. But one could not say that Severus Snape did not have patience...or perseverance...especially when it came to something he wanted. And he had wanted her.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he captured her lips, drawing on them softly at first before his resolve shattered and he took hers with an eagerness and desperation he had not felt since he was seventeen and first in her arms.

His ardour only increased as she melted into him, her body moulding to his perfectly. Lifting her easily, he carried her to the bed, his lips never leaving hers, drawing strength from her as he always had throughout their long illicit relationship, while her fingers methodically opened the buttons of his robes, the tips of them brushing over his sallow skin as she worked.

Her hair fanned out beneath her as her head came to rest on the pillow, and once more he found himself gazing on her beauty like a man thirsting. Her arms reached out for him, but there was one thing he needed to do first.

Taking one outstretched hand, he turned it and placed a slow kiss upon its palm and wrist before leaving her and striding over to the door. Pulling out his wand, he shot a hex through the antiquated keyhole and was gratified to hear a high-pitched squeal answer him.

Crossing back to her side, he shrugged at her arched brow and puzzled gaze. "He's taken to listening at keyholes," he told her, finishing her earlier work and stepping out of his robes.

"I see..." she replied, that amused timbre back in her voice, as she took his hand and drew him to her.

His fingers made short work of the tiny opalescent buttons of her nightgown, reverently pushing the edges aside, while his eyes feasted on her. Every detail had been thoroughly committed to memory long ago, but her skin was as soft as it had been seventeen years before, her touch as tender, and he found had to forcibly control himself...to refrain from merely claiming her there and then.

He was older now...and not the clumsy boy he had been on the night of their secret wedding.

And so, he took his time. His lips brushed over her skin, and relished her scent, each touch, each taste, the feel of her arching and spasming under his mouth, the sigh and moan of his name from her lips as he divested them both of their clothing.

She was his bliss...his calm centre in the storm the raged outside...his peace.

And he craved her.

As she lay there, he moved beside her, draping his right leg over both of hers, his hardened cock pressing comfortably against her hip as his hand caressed her throat. Bending his head, he kissed her, his tongue flicking out to tease her lips apart.

The jolt that shot through him went straight down to his toes, as did the thrill when she responded, her mouth opening and accepting him with a groan, while her fingers slipped into his hair.

His kiss was slow, wet, and deep, and he lost all sense of time with her as their tongues entwined in a slow erotic dance of their own. One that lasted for as long as it took him for his hand to wander from her throat to touch and explore every part of her he could easily reach before returning to the firm full swell of her breasts. He squeezed and fondled her gently, letting the tips of his fingers circle and brush the hardened nipples, as he drew his mouth from hers for air, inhaling deeply, and murmuring, "Do you miss me when you're not with me? Where you are?" His head bowed, his tongue sweeping over an areole before he enclosed it in his mouth with an aroused grunt, continuing to lave over the nipple within.

"Always!" she gasped above him, and he relished the delicious shivers travelling down his spine brought by her fingers tugging on his hair as she held him to her, her body arching to his mouth.

Here, too, he took his time, his mouth moving easily from one breast to the other, kissing, licking, suckling...letting his teeth graze over her damp sensitive flesh. Every tremor and ripple that passed through her from his ministrations sent an echo through him, making his erection throb against her, making him rub against her slowly as he slid further down her, his tongue rimming and then impaling her navel and causing her to arch from the bed once more. His fingers, circling her far hip, slipped to her abdomen and, as he trailed hot open mouthed kisses across the flat plain of her belly, they slipped into the dark full thatch of hair between her legs and played with the curls there, the need to go further, to touch more intimately subsumed by the desire to prolong the moment.

Her cries, gasps, and moans echoed in his ears...and he thrilled in them, his own resolve only shaking when they turned to whimpers and pleas...her calls for more of him...for him to give himself to her...for him to end their mutual torment. His head rose, his dark eyes taking in the familiar sight that still continued to amaze him a little more each time, and the roar in his ears increasing at what lay before him -- her closed eyes, her parted and full lips, her head lolling in abandon...her expression one of pure bliss.

Faced with all that, he was sorely tempted to acquiesce to those pleas, but these moments with her were all too rare. This was all he had of her, and he wanted her with him too much...wanted to feel all of her, and feel all that she did to him just from her responses far too much to let it slip by hurriedly in a tangle of limbs and heated thrusts, no how matter how much he wanted to experience that as well. No...patience...and perseverance. "Soon enough," he promised, rumbling soothingly into her. "Soon."

Withdrawing his leg from over both of hers, he inserted it, instead, between them, parting her slowly, and shifted himself upwards and over her onto all fours between her legs, his fingers running over the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, parting her still further.

Bending his head, he placed soft kisses where his fingers had been working, letting his tongue snake over the quivering skin, tasting the increased salt as she began to bead with sweat from the pent up need he was causing to build within her. He growled softly at her scent...the scent he could still smell when he was alone at night, and moving his head, he put his large hooked nose to good use and nuzzled into the roaring heat and dampness of her sex, before pressing his mouth to her, making love to her with his lips, tongue, and the gentle graze and pull of his teeth over the hard throb of her nub.

And she cried out for him...over and over...her voice rising in pitch and volume as it shook and trembled in unison with her body. It was music to his ears. But it was nothing to the utter satisfaction he felt when she let go. Her slender form bent back nearly in half, her fingers fisting the blanket beneath them as she jerked and spasmed above him, her ecstatic calls of his name echoing off the walls.

And that brought a dark smile to his lips.

She had called for him...always for him. He was what she wanted. All she had ever wanted. Just him...with his beetle black eyes, greasy hair, hooked oversized nose, sallow skin, and crooked teeth.

She had chosen him.

And in her choosing, he had made her his. In these moments, forever his and his alone...and the reinforcement of that fact in these briefest of reunions sent a feral surge of possession through him that made him even more relentless, ruthless in seeking her and by extension, his pleasure. Riding her release with her, he ensured it was prolonged and even multiplied, his mouth never leaving her, and his hands never ending their caress until shaking and gasping, she had fallen limply back to the bed. Then, and only then, did he plant his hands on either side of her and rise up her slowly, letting his body slide up hers sinuously and joining her in her shivers of aftershocks when his chest brushed hers, his nipples rubbing hers.

His hair spilling down over his shoulders and the sides of his face, he took in her flushed skin with a wolfish gleam of lust and satisfaction, though his kiss when he claimed her mouth was of a softer, sweeter nature -- slow and deep like before.

She sighed into him; a sigh he had come to learn so long ago as one of contentment, the accompanying hitch in her breath, though, was most certainly one of anticipation...and the way her fingers again delved into his hair was most certainly an unspoken invitation for more.

It was only at that moment that he let his attention return to the hard insistent pulsing between his legs. Despite his control and his patience, it could not wait any more...it demanded gratification, satisfaction...her. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her, his dark eyes blazing, and his lip curled at the knowledge of what was to come as he raised, set himself, and with a short surge of his hips, entered her quickly, a snarl escaping his throat at the scorching heat that surrounded him.

Her soft, desire-filled blue eyes locked onto his, her heart shining in them, as they began to move together, their bodies joined and flowing in a rhythm as old as time. And again, he brought his lips to hers, determined that no part of them would be separated.

Her hands slipping over him and their breath mingling within their mouths, she caressed and played him as expertly as he thrust into her, knowing all the favoured places, how to move, where to touch, what to whisper. Moving with whatever tempo was required, they built and slowed, and built again, taking each other to increasing heights, until his breath became hard, grunting pants, his hips moving ever more vigorously into her, and she writhed beneath him, her moans and whimpers rising to cries...their voices filling the room. Finally unable to hold back, the pressure inside too intense, too hot, he rose up above her, arms straightening as he stared down at her tossing beneath him, and thrust roughly into her, driving in deep and hard, taking all of her as he rushed inevitably towards his ached-for release.

"Paidea!" he bellowed into the night, his call answered by a cry of his own name from her as she followed him over the edge. His hips continuing to jerk helplessly into her tightened muscles, his climax so forceful it felt as though his brain had been plastered to the back of his skull.

His arms were shaking with strain as he fought for air and to keep from collapsing on top of her; his eyes closed behind the veil of his limp greasy hair as he sought to still his racing heart. Lowering himself to his elbows, he inhaled slowly, mastering his breathing rapidly, and became gradually aware that soft hands were stroking his back, sending hot and cold shivers up his spine and bringing a rare ghost of a smile to his lips.

"I love you," her voice whispered in the darkness, and with a long contented exhale, he opened his eyes to gaze into the blue ones beneath him.

Her emotions were there, clear to see and so easy to read...not from his use of Legilimency...for he had never needed that with her, but because she never hid what she was feeling or thinking from him. She was as honest and true as they came...and though he'd often called her naïve, he loved her for it all the same.

His slow nod was her only answer...a part of him wishing to respond to her as he used to -- freely and honestly. But that had been in a time before events and choices had hardened him to the point where verbal expressions of the softer emotions seemed to die in his throat.

Tracing the smooth curve of her neck with a long finger, he pressed his lips to her brow before finally sliding off her and gathering her close, his nose buried in her hair.

Drowsy, his eyes drifted closed, and he was soothed to slumber by the gentle sound of her breathing and stroking of her fingers over his arms.

And for the first time in longer than he could recollect, he felt calm...at ease...at peace.

---

The room was dark when he awoke, and the knowledge was instantaneous.

He hardly needed to fumble in the inky blackness to touch the empty pillow beside him to know that he was alone. The absence of the soft warmth he had felt just a heartbeat ago became a gaping void, threatening to consume him from the inside out.

Pushing aside the blanket, not at all surprised to find himself still fully dressed, he rose to his feet. Stalking across the room, he threw the door open with a loud bang, part of him wishing that Pettigrew was still hanging around so he could displace a modicum of the pain he was feeling now onto that fat, unctuous little rat.

The tread of his footfalls echoed down the stairs. His eyes took in the room as easily as a cat's in the night. But on finding nothing amiss, he snarled in a kind of disappointment before gliding across the room, his feet compelling him...guiding him almost of their own accord to that section of bookshelf-covered wall that seemed to call to him like a siren's song.

His hand traced over the wood in a lover's caress, though his face was as inscrutable as it always had been. The only sign of any effect on him was the hitch in his breath as he waved his wand over an old, battered copy of Pride and Prejudice and muttered a name long lost to the world. There was an audible click and a creak as the bookcase swung open, revealing a hidden staircase curving down.

He took the stairs two at a time, waving his hand behind him, not even slowing as the door swung shut behind with a low thud.

"Lumos!" he snapped, reaching the bottom, and found himself blinded for a full minute as the torches flared brightly on his command, bathing the room in orange and yellow flickering lights.

His dark gaze, when once again adjusted, swept over the scene before him.

It was not a large room -- no bigger than a good sized walk-in closet, only made of brick, but it contained a rather comfortable if ratty looking chair, a desk covered in parchments and news clippings...a small blue and yellow blanket lay on the floor, likely where it had fallen after a previous visit of his, and presiding over it all was a painting -- a portrait done in the Muggle non-animated style of a beautiful, chestnut haired woman, her bright blue eyes shining in happiness, a soft smile on her lips.

Lips that his fingers reached out to trace with reverence.

Not a word passed from him...for there were none that could convey the loss and emptiness that shone in his eyes.

He lowered himself slowly into the chair, his eyes never leaving her face and his fingers resting on the scattered papers on his desk -- letters that spoke of the undying love of a young woman and her husband, words of longing...and promises, many never able to be kept. Beside them, newsprint and moving photographs told of diplomatic triumphs, social appearances...and a funeral held for a prominent woman whose life, and the life of the child she had carried within her, had ended all too soon; eulogies and testaments to a woman who had dedicated her life to public service and helping others, and rumours...rumours that had dogged her in life and persisted on with the suddenness of her death...that perhaps 'He Who Shall Not Be Named' was somehow involved...and speculations and questions on just who was her unborn child's father.

The pages crumpled in his clawed hands as he inhaled, fighting to bring himself back...to find some peace in her eyes...to continue and persevere in this cat and mouse game that had become his life.

No...not life. He had no life...he was merely surviving, whether it was under the Dark Lord's rules or Albus Dumbledore's...it was only, in the end, an existence.

Retrieving the crumpled blanket from the floor, he carefully folded it, that lovingly embroidered testament to a life long lost to him, and placed in a desk drawer, locking it with a tap of his wand, and seated himself once more to gaze upon her portrait.

He could still hear her words in his ears, feel her lips on his...and craved the serenity she had always instilled in him. And he knew he would do anything to hold her...truly hold her...once more, for the dreams when they came were never enough.

She was never really there; he'd always known that...knew it each and every time. She was gone. Lost...both to him and to the world. Her light just another extinguished in the last war.

Another victim.

And he had killed her.

---

Authors' Note: Thank you all for reading and to our beta, D'arcy, whose efforts on our behalf and tireless attention to detail amazes us a bit more each day.