Chapter 21

XXI.

Someone was wetting her brow and blowing air across the dampness, cooling her skin. It allowed her to focus her thoughts as she swam back to consciousness. Something bad had just happened, something which she couldn't quite remember. Something told her she didn't want to remember what it was, just yet. Wet fingertips stroked her forehead again, accompanied by another puff of coffee-scented breath.

Cracking open her eyes, she looked up into the face of her former professor. He looked vaguely concerned, not quite as impassive or cold as she might've thought...but the impression was only a fleeting one. As soon as he realized she was awake and watching him, the faint pinching of his brow smoothed. "Are you going to be hysterical, again?"

Memory rushed back into her brain. She wanted to be hysterical, given the bombshell of his demand, but Hermione was made of sterner stuff than that. "I didn't get hysterical," she snapped, pushing to sit up in his lap. He was cradling her in the chair at the dinette table, and assisted her with a push of the arm at her back, though he kept her from standing up just yet. Hermione didn't protest verbally; sitting up alone made her head spin. If she'd stood, she would've collapsed again. She saw fit to remind him of that fact. Tartly. "I fainted, you twit. There's a big difference between screaming and carrying on, and just dropping senseless at someone's feet!"

"Like you're not screaming and carrying on, right now?" he dared--he dared--to tease her.

It was so tempting to throw something at him, like the glass of water he'd used to dampen her brow and bring her back to her senses. Hermione tightened her mouth, resisting the urge. Instead, she retorted, "Deal with it! Why do you want a child? You hate children!"

He met her glare levelly. "I don't hate children. I hate idiots. And I told you I had plans for you."

Hermione felt the blood draining from her face at that. It wasn't so bad that she fainted again, but it was chillingly ominous to hear him say that. Poppy's commentary from a few weeks ago resurfaced in her mind. "What are you doing with my eggs? My ovum!" she repeated as he stared at her blankly. "Whatever contraceptive spell you used, it's stolen the eggs out of my body! What Dark Magic are you using them for?"

Mouth tightening, he stayed silent.

"Answer me! Tell me what you've done to me, Severus Snape, or so help me--!"

"--It is a fertility spell," he growled. "It holds our ability to procreate in abeyance, until we drink the potion I have made. Then it will ensure that you get pregnant once every three years with however many eggs the spell has managed to save, and the sperm to fertilize them...whether or not I am still alive to sire them in person." He grabbed and held her in place as she struggled to escape his lap, one arm bruising her ribs, the other crushing her curls, forcing her to look at him. "There is no immortality, other than this! I have no knowledge of even where to begin to create a Philosopher's Stone, and I have not the depths of inhumanity within me to do to me whatever the Dark Lord has done to himself.

"There is no immortality, other than the legacy of an heir! And I will have an heir out of you, wife," Snape growled into her ear as she managed to turn her head to the side, shocked and distressed by his ferocity. "You will pledge through the rings to give me full access to the delights of your delectable body, you will pledge to carry my children and care for them to the best of your ability--for I will not have my children abandoned in some orphanage--and you will raise them to honour their father, as well as love their mother. Or we have no deal.

"Your brains," he murmured, his voice gentling in tone, turning coaxing, seductive. "My intellect. Both of our vast talents and aptitudes for magic. The legacy of our genetics, combined in our children, will have a lasting impact on the wizarding world. That is immortality: my flesh and blood living to attain heights unimagined, in a world freed from the lash of evil now bloodying its back.

"Anyone with clear enough vision to see past their own prejudices can tell that an infusion of fresh blood into the wizarding world strengthens that world; inbreeding only leads to Squibs and insanity. Albus is a half-blood; the Dark Lord is a half-blood. I am one, myself...and you. You are a jewel found in the dung-heap of mundanity that is the magicless world." The hand pinning her head by her hair eased its grip, gently massaging her scalp. "A pearl coughed from the mouth of a swine, a diamond found in the crop of a chicken...no offense to your parents."

She tensed at the near-insult, then shivered as the brush of his lips just below her ear distracted her from her anger.

"Swear it on the rings...and I will swear in turn to brew this potion for you."

Gathering her scattered wits, Hermione focused on what he was demanding, not on what he was doing. She twisted a little in his lap, encountering a lump that felt like an erection. Ignoring it, she snaked one arm behind his neck as he licked the flesh behind her earlobe. "...You're asking that I accept a life-long responsibility, in exchange for one measly potion that will take only three and a half months to brew. I don't think so. I want a better recompense than that." Her fingers tightened firmly in his hair, tugging him back by his scalp so that their eyes met. "Here are my conditions. No more pulling my hair. 'No' means no. Even a wife has a right to say 'no'.

"If you want sex with me, you'd damned well better coax me into it, not force me into it--and we will discuss your punishment for that later," she added in a feminine version of his own growl. It was the only warning he would get. Where she was getting this inner strength from, Hermione had no idea; right now, she had the bit firmly in her teeth and was galloping fearlessly with it straight into the midnight of his eyes. "In addition, you will leave the surly bastard aspects of yourself elsewhere, whenever you're around me and we're alone together.

"If you have to play the part of Snape the Murderer in public, so be it, but I want the parts of you that were also Russel--and don't lie to me and say all of it was just Masterpiece Theatre-class acting." Tightening her grip on his hair, she watched his eyes narrow a tiny bit in a wince. "Tit for tat, husband. Treat me kindly, and I will treat you kindly. Treat me like an arsehole again, and I will make your life a living hell. Understand? "

He winced again when she tightened her grip as hard as she could, before releasing his hair. Black locks slid forward, concealing the edge of his face, not quite blocking the glare from his eyes. "There is nothing you can do to me that is worse than what I've already endured."

"You've obviously never lived with an enraged woman, before," she purred back, feeling like a lioness had control of her spirit. "You can either comply with my demands, have your legacy-child, brew that potion, and sever the chains that bind you to your so-called master...or you can remain a slave to Voldie-arse for the rest of your life," Hermione reminded him, watching him flinch reflexively at the near-miss of the Dark Lord's name. The lioness had swiped her claws, and drawn a few beads of blood with that one.

His brow arched. "And merely exchange his chains for yours? "

"Tit for tat," Hermione purred, leaning so close, the tips of their noses brushed, her breath feathering over his lips. "You're asking me to chain myself to you and your legacy. If it helps any, remember that the kinder you are to me, the kinder I'll be to you. Think of it as putting a fur liner in the shackles. That's a far better deal than the bleeding-raw one you've got with him. "

He leaned back, studying her warily. "How do I know this potion will do what you say?"

Lifting her left hand, Hermione leapt in faith, placing her thumb on the metal at the base of her third finger. "Severus Selenius Snape, the Infusio di Anima Te is the very next step in destroying the Dark Lord."

He slid his hand from around her back, studying his ring and the words scribed from its scales. Dark eyes glanced at light brown, inscrutable aside from a hint of curiosity. "And the rest of it?"

"Severus Selenius Snape, I swear I, and a few select others, know all of the steps involved in destroying the Dark Lord permanently." She removed her thumb from the magic-heated metal. "But you'd better keep that information buried deeper than your darkest secret."

He snorted at that. "The moment I forget how to keep a secret around him is the moment I am dead, but for the time it would take him to break my mind. Sooner than that, if I can manage it." He studied her for a moment, then asked, "I trust we have a deal?"

"...In writing, via the rings," Hermione asserted, shifting to leave his lap. To her relief, he let her rise unhindered, and even rose and fetched notepads and a pen from one of the end-tables near the loveseat. She drew her own pen, and accepted one of the pads, seating herself at an angle to him. For a moment, nerves made her hand tremble. She'd survived the initial bargaining session, the verbal battle of wills between them. Now she had to survive the written contract. "Severus Selenius Snape," she recited, bracing the half-sheet notepad under her left hand. "Item by item, shall we?"

"Hermione Jane Snape." He paused, holding his pen over the page. "...After you. You're the one who wants the potion brewed."

"Bastard." The mutter escaped her before she could stop it.

"Tut tut, such language. Consider it an addendum. I want sweet-nothings from my wife."

"Sod off. Only if I get them from you, too. I, Hermione Jane Snape," she stated aloud as she wrote on the page, "agree to bear Severus Selenius Snape's child--"

"--Children," he corrected her. "There's at least two ovum stored in that potion, right now."

Hermione stopped writing, lifting her tawny gaze to stare at him. She rather fancied her expression to be something like the look of a lioness who was ticked at a nearby, tasty gazelle who had dared to sneeze and disturb her sleep. "I am not going to be your version of Molly bloody Weasley. Get that thought out of your head right now. One child."

"I cannot divide the potion in half, nor modify it. Two consecutive children, spaced three years apart." His gaze remained implacable. Set in stone as solidly as Hogwarts itself. "A potion for a potion."

"Bastard!"

That arched his brow again. "Is that what you call an endearment, bitch?"

Hermione bared her teeth. "Sweet beloved husband. When were you planning on stopping the collection? Nine children? Ten?"

"Three. If I had remained just Russel in your eyes, I would've asked it of you as a Christmas present," he sneered.

Her anger crumpled like a castle wall struck by a solid cannon-shot. First, she snorted. Then her shoulders shook. Finally, she dropped her head onto her arms, and howled with laughter. Hermione had no idea why that was so funny, but it was. Her humor didn't last long, and when it faded, she stayed with her head down a little while longer, thinking about the gravity of her situation, and his demand. Finally, she lifted her had, her features flushed but composed.

"Two children will cost you." She kept her gaze on the wall across from her, not looking in his direction.

Warily, he enquired, "And the price is...?"

"You will surrender, if I demand it of you." A glance out of the corner of her eye showed him considering her counter-offer with a shuttered, narrow-eyed expression.

"Not until after Voldemort is dead."

"No deal. You can end the contraceptive charm, dump that potion down the drain, and we can go about it the natural way. You want two children out of me, you have to pay the price. You will surrender, Severus Snape, at any time I demand you do so, in exchange for bearing you two children, and so forth, in addition to the Anima Te and your ceasing to be such a surly bastard around me."

His lip curled up in a sneer, but to her surprise, he didn't object any further, just bent his head over his tablet, and wrote. Words seeped onto her own page from his ball-point pen.

I, Severus Selenius Snape, agree to cease being such a surly bastard in private, to brew the Anima Te potion being requested, and to surrender myself into the custody of my wife, Hermione Jane Snape, upon her demand at any point in the future, in exchange for her promise to bear me two children of my own flesh and blood, and to raise them herself with all the care and consideration they are due as our mutual legacy; my wife will also agree to continued sexual congress between the two of us, on the understanding that 'no' means 'no'.

Thumping the point of the pen for the period, he looked up at her, dark eyes burning with challenge for her to complete her own truth-written promises.

Bowing her head, Hermione wrote them through her own ring.

I, Hermione Jane Snape, agree to bear two children for Severus Selenius Snape, to help raise them with all the care and consideration they are due as our mutual legacy, and agree to continued sexual congress between us, with the understanding that 'no' means 'no', in exchange for my husband ceasing to be such a surly bastard in private towards me, that he surrender himself into my custody should I demand it at any point in time, and that he will brew the Anima Te as requested.

Arching her own brow, she asserted, "...The hair-pulling will be considered part of being a surly bastard towards me."

"Why do I have the feeling you intend to milk the definition of 'surly bastard' for every last drop you can squeeze from its teat?" he muttered, glaring at her.

"Children are a lifelong responsibility," Hermione retorted mock-sweetly. "Damned straight I'm going to milk this until it squeals." She looked down at the now-faded notepad, and realized what she'd just committed herself to do. Realized what she'd sworn to Harry wasn't possible. Her face crumpled. "Shite. I really am an imbecile, after all..."

"Care to explain that?"

Hermione sighed roughly, bracing her elbow on the table and her forehead in her hand. "Harry thought I was pregnant, a couple weeks ago. I told him I wasn't, and that only an imbecile would allow herself to be pregnant while there was a war on. And so here it is. Proof positive I'm an idiot--don't worry; I'll go through with it."

A hand appeared in front of her face, even as she heard him stand. "I wouldn't sully my genes by siring a child with an idiot, Jane. But war makes us all more expedient than we would otherwise be."

Sighing, she placed her hand in his, feeling the urge to tremble again. Rising to her feet, she stared at his chest. "...Now?"

"Yes. Now."

She was staring at the same cut of suit he'd worn as a teacher. Possibly even the same one he'd worn the night... Freeing her hand, Hermione turned away. "I can't..."

He grabbed her arm, halting her. "You promised."

Hermione cupped her hand to block her peripheral vision. "Not in those clothes!"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Aside from the fact that a fantasy about a teacher-student fling is far different than the reality of it?" Hermione returned tersely, reminded of her conversation with Tonks. "That's probably the suit you fled the school in, and that's not a series of memories conducive to coaxing me into the right 'mood'."

She heard him sigh heavily, and what sounded like a muttered, "...Oh, for godsake..." and a sizzle of magic. "There. Is that better?"

Turning, she looked at him. He stood in a black version of his Russel garb. Black silk shirt, black-and-grey plaid kilt, black knee-socks. No sporran, and his ankle-boots were the same, not moccasins, but he looked different. Not at all like Snape, though not quite like Russel. ...Like Severus, Hermione finally conceded, for even his expression was different, more sober, more guarded, and definitely not smiling. It's as if his other clothes make him Snape, just as the colourful version of this, with the paler hair and all, makes him Russel...but this could be the amalgamation of the two. The Severus I'm seeking.

Hermione faced him fully and nodded, bracing herself for what they were about to do. "This will do. It's...it's a good look for you," she added, trying to keep a quaver of nervousness out of her voice. She clasped her hands behind her back as he released her arm. "Not nearly so stern, and...erm...surly-bastardish."

The pained look that pinched his face and rolled his eyes made her choke on a nervous giggle. His eyes narrowed, and she choked again. Whirling away, Hermione covered her mouth, mortified. She didn't want to laugh at a moment like this, but she just couldn't help herself! That sour, rolling-eyes thing he did was just...funny! Probably it was just a form of hysteria over her situation, but Hermione was willing to grasp at anything to make her situation more bearable, right now.

"If you are done laughing, wife, it is time to procreate."

That killed her sense of humor. It was such a cold thing to say, it almost felt like he'd dumped a bucket of ice-water down her back. It reminded her of two things: that he wasn't coaxing her into enjoying what she had to do; and that it didn't sound like either of them were doing this with any of the joy that would've accompanied their free will, had they still been Russel and Hermione. And that reminded her of what he'd done to her, when she'd uncovered the truth. Firming her grip on her wand, Hermione braced herself to do what she had to do. A heavy sigh, and she turned to face him.

"Eunuxis! "

Dark lightning zapped out of her wand, striking him in the groin. Severus gasped and clutched at the fabric of his kilt; at the same moment, something broke with an explosive crack. His head jerked to the side, zeroing in on the source. "--No!"

Lunging at the bedroom nook, he reached the nightstand in four long strides, staring down at the mess of broken glass and seeping, darkening potion that had splattered when the bottle broke. Chunks of transparent brown mixed with the creamy-pink liquid as it rapidly curdled and turned grey. The Potions Master gave the mess an anguished look, then whipped his head around and glared at her with a ferocity that made her breath catch and her body back up a step, bumping into the table.

"What have you done? "

"Th-The Eunuch's Curse," Hermione stammered, tightening her grip on her wand as he glared her. "It neutralizes all s-s-sexual potency in the male. And it can only be undone by the witch who c-c-cast the spell," she stammered quickly as he stalked toward her, the wand in his fist gripped so tightly, she could see the whiteness of his knuckles even against the alabaster pallor of his skin. Firming her courage, Hermione lifted her chin. "That's your punishment for raping me!"

"You just destroyed my potion!" Snape snarled at her, jabbing his wand-hand in the direction of the desk. Potion and bottle vanished, down to the last sliver of glass and the last drop of ash-grey liquid. "You and your two idiot-friends always ruin something in my life! That potion was irreplaceable! It can only be made with the virgin's blood of the maiden for whom it is used! You have negated our agreement--"

"I did not!" Hermione protested quickly, defensively. "You said two children! You didn't say how they had to be conceived--and neither did I agree! And I didn't know the spell would damage your ruddy potion! I just wanted you to know what it feels like to have your body exploited against your will!"

His left hand slashed down at his groin as he snarled, "There is nothing there to exploit! It's as numb as your brains!"

Clinging to the bravado of her plan, Hermione lifted her chin. "I don't have to exploit your prick to exploit your sexuality! I'll lift the curse when I'm good and ready--when you've made me good and ready!" Fighting the urge to blush as he blinked at her, confused, Hermione firmed her courage and told him the rest. "You've lied to me with that tongue, and made me feel pain by it, husband. You will now use that tongue to make me feel pleasure, or never feel any of your own!"

Rage boiled in the black depths of his eyes. For a moment she feared he would hex her; his fingers certain flexed on the ebony shaft of his wand. Breath flaring through his nostrils, he finally growled, "Fine! Get on the bed!"

Hermione almost lost the feeling in her legs; she'd out-hexed the most dangerous wizard in existence, barring only the Dark Lord himself, and was going to live to tell the tale. Not that she'd ever speak of this moment to anyone, if she could help it... Lifting her chin, Hermione pushed him that little bit more. "No."

"No? " His eyes widened far enough, she could see the whites all the way around their midnight depths.

"You're not coaxing me," she pointed out daringly. "Growling and ordering me around like a surly bastard doesn't put me in a cooperative mood, Severus."

His hands rose. For a moment they clenched at his hair, then his right arm snapped out. Hermione almost shouted a protective spell, save that he hurled his wand, not his magic, and he hurled it at the curtained patio door, not at her. The slim, dark shaft hit the curtains with a soft thwap and dropped to the floor, undamaged. His hands clenched in his hair again, his fingers separating the dark locks into awkward bunches. Whirling away from her, he muttered under his breath.

"I've been forced to do things by the Dark Lord...I've been forced to do things by Albus...and now I'm being forced to do things by you! And you expect me to smile and be pleasant, and to like it! " He snarled that last bit over his shoulder at her.

"If you don't like being forced, what made you think that I would enjoy it?" she snapped back. "Why do you do unto others, if you don't like it being done unto you? "

He stared at her for a long, burning moment, then faced away. Shoulders hunched and tight, he slowly bowed his head, his muscles twitching a couple times. It took her a moment to realize he'd buried his face in his palms. Gingerly, Hermione forced herself to reach up and touch one black-clad shoulder-blade. He flinched and moved swiftly. Three strides and he had the bathroom flung open; four, and it slammed shut behind him.

Hermione knew she'd done something wrong. She'd done a lot of things wrong, actually. But her instincts said his swift retreat had little to do with having his virility spell-suppressed. Hoping it was because her words had struck home, she moved closer to the door, and closer still, until she carefully pressed her ear to the panel. Muffled sounds of sharp, unsteady breathing, caught at her like little hooks, jerking her nerves. It almost sounds like he's...no, he couldn't be.

Dithering on what to do, she finally gathered her courage, gripped her wand, and opened the bathroom door. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, and flinched away from her, shielding his face with his hand. "Get out."

"No." Shutting the door behind her, she moved so that she leaned back on the counter by the sink, across the small room from him. His face, normally pale and sallow, was blotchy in places...and streaked with moisture that he tried to subtly scrub away before she could notice it. But she did, and her heart hurt. Hermione swallowed and said what she had to say. "...This has been an expensive lesson. For both of us. But I trust the lesson has been learnt."

"It has. You won't have to suffer my touch," Severus added bitterly. "Our prior agreement is null and void."

Her mind raced, at the implications; if he wasn't going to force her into being a mum in exchange for the Anima Te...

Severus read her pinched frown in a single dark glance. "Don't worry; I'll brew your bloody potion anyway. Now leave me."

Not knowing what to do, Hermione gripped her wand. He had learnt his lesson. And she didn't want to make him suffer; this was already the hardest thing she'd ever done. But he'd demanded that she leave, and probably didn't want to even look at her right now... Flicking her wrist, she cast the counter-hex. "Fecundis! "

White lightning shot between them, striking him in the groin even as he flinched and covered the plaid of his kilt with his hands.

"You've learnt your lesson. As for our agreement--"

"Leave me! " he hissed, glaring at her. It was the sort of look that said he'd lunge across the space between them and throttle her neck, if she said or did one thing more. Hermione gave up on trying to make amends, and Apparated back to Headquarters, leaving him alone as ordered.

...

Her tortures weren't to be ended. First, she'd failed with the Anima Te potion. Then she'd messed up her bartering with her husband, trying to punish him and teach him a lesson. And now Ron wanted to have, "...A serious word with you, in private."

Could my day get any worse?--No, wait, scratch that! I'm not trying to tempt fate! Hermione pleaded, but it was too late. She allowed him to sequester the two of them in the Black family library, though she was careful to seat herself in an armchair, rather than on the sofa. Her instincts were confirmed when his mouth tightened for a moment, but he sighed and seated himself on the coffee table, pushing a couple tomes to one side.

"Hermione...I'm sorry I made an arse out of myself, leaping to the conclusion that you were...you know...in the family way," he apologized, blushing enough to hide some of his freckles.

Hermione recalled how she'd reacted to the stench of cooking cabbages, never her favourite scent, and never her favourite dish, and sighed. "I'm sorry I gave that impression. I just loathe cooked cabbage, and it was really overpowering. That, and I was upset from something else. It sort of worsened the problem."

Ron scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his head, not quite looking at her. "Yeah, well...even if you aren't...you know...it did make me think about your situation. I wanted to apologize for being such a prat about it, early on. You...you made the right choice. I'd never want you to be harmed like that, and, erm...better for you to be in the arms of a wizard who cares about you.

"At least, I hope he cares about you. Probably not as much as I do," Ron added with a lopsided smile, one that wrinkled his nose in a charming sort of way, "but that's better than nothing. I know I can't ever touch you or hold you or show you how much I care, but I hope he does that for you, Hermione. You deserve to be shown how wonderful you are, by someone who loves you."

How many times have you seen anyone willingly touch him, let alone touch him gently, with care and compassion?

You won't have to suffer my touch.

Hermione hid a flinch at both memories. She'd royally buggered up that one. She only managed to suppress it into a wince, though, for Ron eyed her speculatively.

"Hermione...is everything alright? You know, between you and, erm, Russel?"

Bugger. She wasn't going to let Ron know about any of this, but this wasn't one of his Ron-is-an-oblivious-thickie days. Wincing again, she shrugged. "I'm just...coming to terms with a few facts about him, that's all." Inspiration trickled into her mind; if she played this right, she could pre-warn the boys about who Russel really was. Hopefully that would mitigate some of the shock of revealing his identity. "I mean, we know he's a spy among the Death Eaters, but...well, I've found out some of the things he's had to do, in order to stay hidden in their midst. It's been a bit rough, coming to terms with it. And now I've discovered I need his help in brewing the potion. There's a step that's not in the Diary that I couldn't figure out, but with his help..."

"Is that why you kept melting cauldrons?" Ron asked her.

Hermione reluctantly nodded. She'd had to ask Harry for the money to buy the new ones. They were trying to use actual equipment for the most important things that the potion came into contact with, as well as entirely real ingredients, not just whatever the Room of Requirement could provide, since Hermione was never quite sure if what the Room of Requirement provided was actually real, outside of its walls. It wasn't as if she could play Star Trek fan and ask it, Are you the magical equivalent of a giant holodeck and matter-replicator combined? Somehow, she didn't think that would work.

Ron rumpled his hair with a hand. And said the last thing she'd have expected from Ronald Bilius Weasley's mouth, sighing as he did so. "...A pity we can't ask Snape for his help."

She gaped at him.

Defensively, he wrinkled his nose. "--What? Just because he's a ruddy git and a bastard traitor doesn't mean he wasn't smashing at potions-making! If he were still on our side, I'd have him doing the brewing in a heartbeat. Even if Harry loathes him. They don't give you a Master-ranking in a subject if you're a thickie at it."

"...You're right about that one," Hermione managed to say without stammering, making her mouth, lungs and voice work. "If there was a way for us to get Snape to make the Anima Te, you know I'd take it in a heartbeat." She managed a weak smile. "Even if I had to sneak around Harry to do it."

"Yeah. Hey...um...I know Russel's not always been a nice bloke, but...what counts is what he's doing right now, right?" Ron offered. "Doing the right thing, even if he did the wrong thing earlier in his life. There's only so much you could do with a Time-Turner without mucking up history, and they're really rare right now, so it's all about soldiering onward and dealing with what is, and what will be, not what was... Cripes, I'm not making any sense, am I?" he muttered, rumpling his hair again. "Look, I'm just trying to say...I'm dealing with your situation, and I want you to know that you have my complete support as a best friend.

"If he's good to you, and for you, then I'll be okay with it. Not necessarily happy, but okay," Ron clarified. Hermione felt her heart twinge with the love she had for him, guessing what it had cost him to come to this point. He continued as she nodded slowly. "Of course, if he's ever bad to you, I'll be first in line to hex him, even before Harry...but I just want you to be happy, Hermione. Whoever that's with."

Her smile was a bit lopsided, but it was genuine for all of that. "Ron, you are going to make some witch very lucky, and very happy, when you find the right one for you, one day."

He blushed a little at that, ducking his head in discomfort. "I thought I had..."

There wasn't really much she could say to that, without hurting his feelings. Given that he'd just come to terms with them, Hermione wasn't inclined that way. Instead, she smiled wryly, rose, and left him in the library. She had her own problems to deal with: namely, how she was going to fix the problem she'd exacerbated, with her husband.

Right now, she didn't have a clue. Not when he'd thrown her out of his presence. The next move would have to be his. She was just smart enough to realize that until he reached out, getting him to open up before he was ready would be like trying to get an oyster to let go of a pearl. In the meantime, she'd buy another cauldron--or two, just in case--and extra ingredients for the Anima Te.

It occurred to her, halfway up the front stairs, that she had a very funny sort of marriage, not living with her husband...but then the whole situation was funny, in the non-humorous sense.

...

The message on her ring was brief, and terse.

We need to discuss the potion, and other matters. Meet me at the hotel.

He would call on her right in the middle of an Order meeting. Sighing, Hermione leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear to take mental notes so he could fill her in on anything she might miss, and concentrated hard. She was wedged in next to Hagrid at the moment; if she tried to get up and leave, either she'd have to squeeze past the giant's shins, or work her way past half a dozen others just to get free of the chairs crowded into the parlour, never mind any hope of reaching the door unnoticed. But there wasn't any easy way to Apparate from a sitting position and not splinch through a chair on the other side, and so she concentrated very hard, Disapparating...

...And landed after a short drop on the bouncing springs of the mattress, yelping as her feet hit the mattress, then her bum, then her back and head in rapid succession.

"What is that supposed to be, a joke?" a cross, familiar voice demanded.

Hermione opened the eyes she'd squeezed shut, and found herself staring at the ceiling. Swallowing, she answered her irritated husband. "No, that was me Apparating out of a bloody Order meeting, without a chance to safely stand, and no idea of the height-difference between the chairs there and here."

He grunted, and came into view. His black-clad arms were folded across his chest, and he was still wearing the black-and-grey plaid kilt. This shirt, however, had a mandarin collar, and the plaid looked subtly different. So he'd changed clothes. Or maybe just Transfigured fresh ones, like he had the previous set. His lack of his usual imposing frock-coat and trousers gave her a flush of hope. Bravely, Hermione lifted and held out her hand. He frowned at it, not moving.

"...Well?" Hermione prompted Severus. "Aren't you going to help me up?"

The strained roll of his eyes was accompanied by a rough exhale...but he did grab her wrist and pull on her arm. Hermione found herself lurching awkwardly upright. He caught her before she could stumble against him, and only held her long enough to see her somewhat steadied, before snatching his hands away and folding them across his chest again.

Riiiiight. He dons his halfway-to-Russel clothes, in a sartorial gesture of reconciliation...and can't stand touching me, as if I had the bubonic plague. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be heartened or exasperated by her husband's mixed signals. She needed to start her campaign of taming him with kindness and proximity. "That's better--"

He grunted and moved away as soon as she shifted closer, interrupting her. "Where have you been attempting this potion of yours? Headquarters?"

"The School, actually. In the Room of Requirement. It has everything we need, including a Floo connection to Minerva's study," Hermione pointed out.

"That obviously will not do," he muttered. "We'll have to use my home. The basement functions as a makeshift lab, though it lacks a few of the necessary amenities for dealing with the brewing of a lethal potion--"

"Why won't the school do?" Hermione pressed, interrupting him as he had interrupted her, the moment he paused for breath. "The Room of Requirement by its very definition has everything we'd need."

He turned and pinned her with a pointed glare. "You seem to have forgotten that it is Secret-Kept. I cannot go there."

Hermione dug into her back pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper she'd taken to carrying with her since yesterday morning. She displayed it between two fingers, then stuffed it back into her pocket. "I've got your passport through the Fidelius Charm right here."

Those black eyes narrowed, his short but thick lashes framing his glittering, suspicious gaze. "How did you get that?"

"I convinced Minerva I needed Russel's help to brew the potion. She knows as much about it as you do, that it's necessary to the defeat of the Dark Lord, but not what it is for. She arranged for the Secret Keeper to write you a note."

He snorted in disbelief. "Try again. Minerva is incredibly protective of her charges. What did you slip into her tea?"

"Oil of Albus. I asked the Professor's portrait for his assistance," Hermione stated, watching him flinch, then frown in confusion. "He still firmly believes in you, even after I pointed out what you'd done to him. He says he remembers everything the real Albus knew, up until the instant of his death...and he still has complete faith in you."

"Bastard." The word looked like it had escaped him without his permission, but Severus didn't recant it. He ran a hand through his chest-length locks, turning away from her.

Hermione moved closer, earning her a wary look from him. Undaunted, she touched his back, braced for the expected flinch, which he gave. She followed the shift in his weight with her fingers, maintaining contact.

"After careful consideration, and much thought and deliberation...I'm giving you my faith, too."

He whipped around, shock widening his eyes. A second later, they narrowed as he hissed, "--Do not mock me!"

"Do you want me to swear it on the ring?" Hermione managed to ask him calmly, though her heart was pounding in her chest at her daring.

His breath hissed in through his grimacing teeth. For a moment, he seemed without words, then he jabbed a finger at her. "You cast those ruddy spells on me! Take them off, and then we'll talk about having faith in people!"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean, take off both spells? I cast Eunuxis on you, but then I took it off with Fecundis. The second one was the counter-spell to the first!"

"A likely story!"

"I swear to you, it's the truth!" Hermione protested. "Fecundis is the counter-spell!"

Flushing, he gestured at his kilted groin. "Nothing is happening! Zero, zed, zilch! Why didn't you just cut it off, while you had the chance? I'd think it would be more amusing for you to have my penis in a jar, just so you could parade it in front of your friends!"

She knew he'd be bitter and inclined to lash out, but that was harsh. And confusing. Hermione stared at his plaid-covered hips, frowning. A sickening possibility churned her stomach. Oh, no...is this another instance of 'see all, but make nothing'? Oh, please, no... Rendering him impotent and sterile could be considered 'make nothing', in a twisted point of view. Making him fertile, on the other hand...it was not a pretty thought to contemplate. Damn Lucrezia! I will not be defeated in my plans!

Irritation gave way to a rush of thought. She might not have 'the hand' when it came to potions, but Charms were undeniably her element. If the counter-spell provided by the Diary wouldn't work, then she'd bloody well come up with her own counter-spell. No one could best Hermione Granger when she was in her element. Certainly not some long-dead psychopathic murderess!

Drawing her wand, she slashed it at him, making him whip out his own. "Fecundis Potentis!"

Sizzling gold light shot out of her wand, zapping him before he'd begun half the motion of the Deflection Charm, his lips still forming the words as her magic washed over his body from his hips outward, spreading rapidly to head and toes.

"...How do you feel now?" Hermione asked him as soon as the light vanished.

A muscle worked in his jaw as he looked down at his body, then up at her with a sneer. "I feel no different!"

Gritting her own teeth, Hermione flung her second possibility at him. "Fecundis Maximis!"

Blinding light shot from her wand, impacting on his groin with a silent explosion. The change this time was instantaneous. As soon as she finished blinking away the rainbow of aftereffects on her retina, Hermione could see his kilt jutting out visibly below his belted waist.

"Goddammit!" he roared, and snapped his own wand at her, breathing heavily. "--Fecundis Potentis! Fecundis Maximis! How do you like the feel of that on your bloody self?"

Hermione gasped as she staggered backward from the double-blow, catching her balance. She was suddenly hotter than a thousand candles, burning from the inside out with sexual need. She wanted to rip off her clothes, rip off his, and fuck him--not make love, but fuck, like an animal--until he extinguished the fire of the spell burning in her blood and bones. Fighting it, she tightened her hands into fists, still gulping for air, breathing as heavily as him. He, too, had fisted his hands, but hadn't pounced. Yet. "Your self...control...is incredible. But so is mine," she managed tersely. "And as I was...saying, yesterday, before you interrupted me...our deal is still on!

"My body," Hermione muttered through clenched teeth as she stepped closer to him, one foot at a time, "for your skill...my child, for your cooperation..."

"Why? " he growled, forcing himself back one step for each of her own, though she saw him sway closer to her.

She was getting the hang of controlling herself. Or at least her breathing. "Because you are my husband, and I am your wife."

"Not good enough," Severus growled, edging around the table. She wanted to lunge and grab him, to throw him down and pounce on him, and had no idea where he was getting the strength to resist the enspelled lust in his own veins. The only thing keeping her from doing so was the knowledge that, once they touched, they'd both go up in flames, and her mind insisted on finding out why he was resisting her so strongly.

"Why?" she growled at him, rounding the other end of the table as she gave stilted chase. "Am I not good enough for you?"

That stopped him. It leaned him forward, too, but not in lust. In anger. "How is forcing yourself to touch me any different from my forcing myself on you?"

It was a valid question. One that burned through the fog of her spell-wrought lust with its poignancy. Unfortunately for him, Hermione had already figured this one out. "Because when you weren't forcing yourself on me, I enjoyed our time together!"

"That was Russel!" Severus snapped derisively. "You changed your tune the moment you knew I was Snape!"

"There was plenty of what I liked in what Snape did to me, too, even though it was forced on me," Hermione retorted, temporarily forgetting the heat of her body in the heat of their argument. "Enough to know that, though you wear the mask of Snape as surely as you ever did the mask of Russel, there's plenty of you in both personae!" A step closed the distance between them to a mere inch or two. Dropping her anger, though her fists clenched tighter, Hermione hit him with the truth. "And I don't want either of them!

"I want you."

He drew in a breath to argue the matter. That made his body sway forward, and that brushed his chest against her breasts. It proved to be a tactical mistake; the moment that happened, a spark of energy jumped between them, destroying their control. Clothing exploded, yanked from each other's limbs, torn and tossed about with no care or consideration as they stumbled across the room. They didn't quite make it to the bed, either; they did manage to make it to the padded bench at the foot of the mattress, falling onto it as their mouths nipped and bit, as their hands clutched and grasped.

Somehow they got their legs untangled, and his hips slotted between her thighs. Her heels braced on the floor, her knees splaying wide and her upper body supported on her elbows, allowing her to kiss him as he thrust inside, his own weight in a modified push-up stance. She was wet, very wet, and the moment he pushed home, she dropped her head with a throaty moan, shuddering with pleasure. His arm slotted under her back just before the rest of her upper body followed, keeping their torsos pressed together. Mouths mating once again, she lifted and wrapped her legs around his hips as he rocked urgently into her.

Breathless moans escaped both of them. It was all about coupling, copulating, racing towards the finish line. Mindless mating, thought-free lovemaking, pursuing pleasure like a car racing downhill without any brakes to slow its descent. They could steer, somewhat, but mostly it was just holding on tight for a breathless dash to the bottom. Severus bottomed-out first, stiffening and gasping her middle name in his climax chant; Hermione dropped after him, his pleasure stimulating her own with each shudder-inducing thrust, dragging a moan from her throat.

His limp, sated weight was heavy. But the moment he shifted to leave her, instinct had Hermione tightening the grip of the arms she had wrapped around his ribcage at some point. He shifted again, but she didn't let go.

"...Let me up."

"No." They still had some things to discuss, and her instincts said that him withdrawing physically would only reinforce his mental withdrawl.

"Your bloody sex-spell has ended. There is no point in our staying together," he pointed out to her, his face tight with suppressed emotion.

That rolled her eyes in a pained expression worthy of one of his. She wanted to call him a total thickie, but that wouldn't help their situation. Wishing for her wand--lost somewhere in the textile carnage of their scattered clothes--made her think of the tome of wandless wizardry she'd been reading. If a wizard or witch has a powerful enough mind, they will be able to focus their magic with their will alone, though the effort will be exhaustive compared to wand-aided magic... She had the motivation to not go searching for her wand, right now.

"Semobilim! "

Her body lifted half a foot. The shift startled him, especially since she was still clinging. A thrust of her mind moved them slowly up along the bed, until she dismissed the spell, panting. That dropped her onto the bedding, and dropped him onto her, rendering her breathless with a grunt from the impact. Still, she clung so that when he shifted his weight, it was only distributed just enough onto his elbows and knees to allow her to breathe.

"...An impressive display of wandless power, Mrs. Snape," he acknowledged in her ear, making her shiver from his baritone murmur, "but there is no point to my inflicting my presence upon you any furth--"

With a heave and a wrench that pulled muscles in her back, Hermione rolled them over, scrambling to straddle and pin him by wrists and waist to the bed. He had slipped out of her with their maneuvering, but that wasn't important at the moment. Leaning her weight on his arms, Hermione pinned him with a glare.

"You've learned Lesson Number Four, 'no' means no, and you've taught Lessons One and Three, that Severus can touch Hermione, and the truth can be twisted to suggest a lie while remaining true...but you haven't learnt Lesson Number Two, yet, husband," she reminded him, still a little breathless from her efforts. His eyes narrowed, and she manufactured a smirk. Her inner lioness had come back, and was ready to roar, the moment she did so. "Oh, yes. This marriage, however it came to be, is an equal partnership. You can teach all the odd-numbered lessons you like, but I get to teach you the even-numbered ones. And Lesson Two is that Severus belongs to Hermione, and Hermione can touch Severus anywhere she damned well pleases! Any time, any way..."

Leaning down, she kissed his surprise-parted lips. She took her time, too, sampling the contrast between his smooth bottom lip and the faint rasp of impending stubble on his chin. He'd shaved, of course; she liked the fact that he was always clean-shaven, since she didn't really care for beards or mustaches, but it was still there for her lips and tongue to explore. Mindful of the weight of her upper body, she shifted her hands from his wrists to his palms, lacing their fingers together.

When the first subtle following movement happened, Hermione almost dismissed it, but when his head tilted again, his lips still seeking hers as she moved away from his mouth to taste his cheek, she knew she was winning their current battle. Not the overall war; that was still undecided at the moment. But she was winning this current skirmish between them.

His eyes were closed, his dark lashes lying in short but thick curves against his cheeks. If he had them open at all, it was only in the tiniest of slits. Returning to kiss him a little more, wanting to encourage and reward even the most subtle sign of his need, she waited through a few slow, tongue-tangled kisses. Then Hermione nibbled her way back along his cheekbone, until he turned his head with a faint sound that could've been a sigh. Freeing his hands so that she could use her elbows to support her weight, she brushed back his long black locks and gently breathed warm air over the curves of his ear.

He shivered. A glance down his arm showed goose-spots raising. Experimentally, Hermione blew hot air in a gentle gust over his earlobe again. He shivered again, and his lips parted soundlessly. Something nudged against the underside of her thigh. From its position, size and warmth, Hermione guessed it was his erection, reviving from its earlier flaccid satiation. If it wasn't fair for him to know that she liked having her toes suckled, it wasn't fair for her to know that he liked having his ears teased.

But then, all is fair in love and war...and this is turning out to be a little bit of both, she acknowledged to herself, draping her torso more firmly against his so that she could comfortably nuzzle the curve of his ear with the tip of her nose. His arms moved, his hands touching her hips for a moment, before sliding up her waist to her ribs. Hermione breathed again, then licked as delicately as she could.

"No..."

It was a breath more than a sound, but Hermione stopped. Holding herself still, she found her voice. "...Is that a 'no' as in stop? Because I'm not forcing you. I'm not tying you down," she pointed out, making him open his eyes to visible slits, turning his head to look up at her. Weight braced on her forearms, she pointed out the obvious. Just in case he was stubbornly oblivious. "I'm coaxing you, Severus. I want you to want this as much as I do."

A sound escaped him that could've been a snort, as he looked off to the side, away from her.

Hermione lifted her weight onto her hands and knees. "Roll over." He looked up at her with a puzzled frown, and she repeated herself. "Roll over, onto your stomach."

For a moment, she thought he would protest, or escape from under her, removing himself from her touch. But after a long, silent, wary look, Severus twisted onto his side, then onto his front, arranging himself with a brief squirm until he was comfortable. Resettling herself so that she straddled his thighs, Hermione studied his back with a sigh. There was a tagline to a joke she'd heard--she'd only ever heard the punch-line, and not the first half of the jest, but it came to her now, seeing the pale expanse of his spine. Acres and acres, and it's all mine!

There was something illicitly thrilling in knowing that Severus Snape, bastard extraordinaire, was all hers. The body was great, if a little too lean, and seamed with faint scars. No pudge on her husband. The mind was almost too much to contemplate, he was that intelligent. Not always smart--points in case, his joining the Death Eaters, and that fiasco the night Scabbers had turned out to be Pettigrew--but just thinking about how intelligent he was made Hermione's heart race and her body tighten in places he'd taught her to appreciate and exploit, in the guise of Russel Fawkeson.

Acres and acres, and it's all mine...

She started with the small, tight globes of his buttocks, kneading and rubbing them until he slowly, grudgingly started to relax. Working up onto the small of his back in circular waves, she gradually progressed towards his shoulders, feeling and slowly freeing the knotted tension in his muscles, all the way up the length of his spine. At first, he resisted her touch, resisted the urge to relax...but after a few minutes, he shifted position, snagging one of the pillows from under the flowered duvet. Pulling it under his cheek, he folded his arms underneath it with every appearance of settling in for the duration.

Relieved, Hermione continued her massage, shifting off of his thighs so that she could more easily reach his shoulders. He had a lot of tension in his body, from nape to buttocks, and it ended up costing her a bit of sweat to knead his muscles until they were loose. Eventually, she felt free to work on his thighs and calves, making sure to use a much lighter pressure when she worked across the backs of his knees. She'd read a couple books on massage therapy and massage techniques a couple years ago out of curiosity. Though she'd forgotten some of it, Hermione was pleased with herself that still remembered enough to relax his body, working her way down to his soles, then all the way back to his neck and even onto his scalp, massaging her fingers through his hair.

Without having to be around steaming cauldrons all day long, it was less greasy than before, though there was still a little more hair oil than average. Another memory surfaced in her mind as she slowly rubbed his scalp with the pads of her fingers. She'd been sitting in class one day, listening and watching as he lectured--fifth year, Potions--and had suddenly been struck by the odd fantasy of wanting to wash his hair. She'd been flustered by the very idea, since he was Severus Snape, surly black bat of a teacher, hardly the sort of fellow one expected to see on the telly selling hair-care products...but she'd had that fantasy all the same. Now it came back to her as she stroked the skin under his straight black locks.

Making a mental note to remember to do so at a later date, since it was still an appealing idea--however bizarre--Hermione prodded the limp body resting next to her. "Time to roll over, Severus."

He cracked open his eyes, studied her wordlessly, then sighed and rolled over, squirming to center himself. Another sigh, and he closed his eyes, relaxing his arms at his sides. Hermione started with his nearest arm, lifting and cradling it in the curve of her own as her free hand worked the muscles of his fingers and palm, then stroked onto his forearm. It wasn't until she was working on his bicep that she realized his fingers weren't lying lax and compliant, any more. He'd been brushing his knuckles against the curve of her breast, and she hadn't really registered the sensations. Until two of his knuckles caught the tip of her nipple, startling her.

Her gaze flew from his arm to her breast to his face. Holding her gaze, he did it again, nipping her flesh with his fingers. She arched her brow at him, and he arched one of his own at her. "Lesson Number One."

And he tweaked her flesh a third time. Hermione shifted her hand, smacking lightly at his fingers to make him stop. "My playtime. Behave."

"...No."