Chapter 22

XXII.

With that one-word warning, he surged up and twisted over her, catching her by the shoulders and pushing her down onto her back. Hooking an arm around her nearest thigh, he pulled her closer to the center of the bed, then covered her with the warmth of his body. Their hotel room was warm, in the manner of its kind, but it was mid-December and there was still a slight nip to the air. His flesh felt good, covering hers. Warm, hard, yet satiny-soft where his skin slid against hers. The rasp of the treasure-line of hair on his lower abdomen tickled her belly, a coarse contrast to the soft smoothness of the rest of his hide.

This wasn't Russel, but this wasn't Snape, either. Hermione didn't believe he had a split-personality, but she did believe Severus strictly segregated his different personae, in the way that a professional actor kept separate his different characters. And like an actor who had played one character for too long, she knew he'd have more Snape in him than Russel. More Snape in his reactions and thought-patterns. But there was something else, something more that she'd caught glimpses of, something for her to aim at drawing out of him. Some balance between the two roles, the comfortable but nasty old-boot of Snape, and the high-maintenance but more pleasant dress-shoe of Russel.

"My playtime," Severus breathed. His mouth covered hers, claiming the last of her attention, his dark hair curtaining out the world. This wasn't non-consensual, and this wasn't spell-enforced. This was the real deal, between them: real, honest passion. Hermione gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment, discarding her inhibitions with the sliding of her palms up his back, the parting of her thighs and the lifting of her knees, giving him more room to settle himself in place while they kissed.

Tongues tangled; fingers raked; thumbs rubbed. Hermione felt the tip of his erection nudging at her opening, little rhythmic bumps that teased but never quite penetrated. She could feel her flesh moistening for him, readying itself for him, but he never actually thrust inside. Frustrated, she tilted her hips down. It put a strain on her lower back to do so, but made him bump against her clitoris, giving her more pleasure with each nudge.

Until the canny bastard shifted, his erection dipping lower and returning to teasing the mouth of her vagina. Giving up, Hermione slid one hand up into his hair, gripping his head enough to break their kiss and push his ear close to her lips, though he resisted her actually reaching such sensitive flesh. Her other hand slid down his body, squirming between their pelvic bones so she could grip his shaft. Sucking in a sharp breath, he stilled against her, giving her all the opportunity she needed to rub his hardened flesh against the nub of her pleasure. The air in his lungs hissed slowly out, at that. It caught again, arrested mid-exhale, when she rubbed her thumb over his seeping glans.

"You're playing with fire, Jane," he warned her, growling into her ear. "I will burn you, if you don't behave."

"You're treading deep water, Severus," Hermione retorted, choosing to use his first name so that he would know she was well aware of who he was. The last thing she wanted was for him to believe she'd sunk into a fantasy that she was holding Russel, and thus accepting only that facet of the complex, complicated man in her arms. Shifting her hips and her grip, she realigned their bodies. "Be careful, or you just might drown in my arms."

His breath caught as she felt a pulse of wet warmth seeping out of her body. He pulled back far enough to look down at her. "...You're almost wet enough for it, aren't you?"

A quirk of mischief made Hermione smile and retort, "Care to try, anyway?"

He stared down at her in wondering confusion for a moment, almost as if he'd never seen her before. Slipping her hands to his buttocks, Hermione gripped and pulled, nudging him more firmly against her opening. His eyes fluttered shut when a tilt of her hips made the tip of him press and lodge just inside. She watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. As if that was the signal for the solidifying of his thoughts on what to do with her, he sank into her body slowly, pushing into her soft, warm flesh with the hardened heat of his own.

He breathed slowly, deeply for a few moments once he was fully embedded. Then his mouth sought hers. His kisses were slow, drugging, devouring, suckling her lower lip like it was a juicy wedge of fruit. Wondering when he was going to move inside, Hermione returned each suckling nip and savouring lick. It wasn't enough, though; she craved motion, friction, not patient waiting, however smashing the kisses might be.

Lying on top of her, his solid weight had all the advantage, pinning her effortlessly in place. Wanting, needing him to move, Hermione tightened her inner muscles. His breath hissed through his teeth, gusting across her kiss-swollen lips. She smirked and did it again, enjoying the way his stomach trembled against hers. A third time, and he half-choked, half-gasped.

"What the--? What the hell was that? "

"Kegel muscles," Hermione informed him smugly, enjoying the startled and almost lost expression in his eyes as she squeezed for the fourth time. "I read about them in a book."

His head dropped onto her shoulder. A spasm shook his body, then another. Muscles quivering, he buried his face in her throat. It took Hermione a few moments to realize he was laughing at her. In retaliation, she squeezed harder with her pelvic muscles. He choked again, coughing on his laughter, and for a moment it felt like she had Russel back in her arms again, for he nipped playfully at the side of her neck as he withdrew partway, then pressed firmly back inside.

"Toying with me, are you? Shall I toy with you, too?" Severus added a circular grind of his hips with the next stroke.

"Oh god, yes," Hermione muttered, closing her eyes in pleasure. She squeezed him yet again in reward and heard him grunt, felt him buck a little, reacting to her inner caress.

"Keep your eyes open!"

The snapped tone of his command did more to open her eyes than his words did. Staring at him, Hermione wondered if he was devolving into Snape again, or if he was just teetering on the edge of madness. "What?"

He studied her for a moment, no longer moving within her, then growled, "I don't want you to mistake who is making love to you."

She realized he meant fantasies about Russel. Rolling her eyes, Hermione retorted, "Severus, you could Polyjuice yourself into Goyle or Crabbe, smash yourself on the head with a lump-hammer so you'd sound stupid enough, and I'd still know you were Severus. You could paint yourself in Hufflepuff colours, wear a dress, and insist on everyone calling you 'Helga', and you'd still be Severus bloody Snape. You may have to dress and act like Russel in the future--and I'll call you that in public, to help maintain the disguise in front of the others--but you're still Severus Selenius Snape!"

Releasing the curves of his backside, she slid her fingers all the way up into his hair, spearing her fingertips through his midnight locks..

"You're the one who insisted on marrying me, rather than releasing me by removing your ring shortly after my donning mine allowed me to escape my captured fate," Hermione reminded him tartly, tightening her grasp just enough so that he couldn't look away. She wasn't saying it right, and didn't know how to say it right, but tried to say it anyway. "But if you took off that ring right now...I'd shove it right back onto your finger."

His lips parted to ask her a question, and Hermione quickly covered them with her finger.

"Don't ask me 'why', right now. You're not ready to hear it, and I'm not ready to say it. Look, we both...we both fucked up," she stated as bluntly as she could, feeling her cheeks warm at the crude analogy. "This is our chance to start over. There's too many reasons why we should stay together, right now. Not all of them are pleasant, but some of the...the fringe benefits might compensate in the meantime. And neither of us should forget the pleasant reasons. Like...like the fact that it's your turn to read the next section of The Hobbit."

His face scrunched, wincing at her odd segue. Gently catching her finger, he pulled it away from his lips. "...Jane, will you just stuff it? I'm in the middle of making love to you, and I'd appreciate your full attention, rather than your incessant babbling!"

Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, as her brain processed the fact that he wasn't protesting the meaning of what she was saying, just the fact that she was speaking. Finally, she relocated her voice long enough to splutter, "--As if you could make me! I have every right as much t--mmmphf!"

"Mmmh," he agreed, breath gusting through his nostrils as he silenced her with lips and tongue.

"...Mmm," Hermione commented a moment later, as he began rocking slowly but firmly into her again.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed, sucking on her tongue. The tip of his nose bumped against her cheek in his enthusiasm, his hair tickling the side of her face. Hermione was abruptly reminded of who she was sharing such intimacies with. Not Severus, her husband, but Professor Snape, her former teacher. The greasy git. The black-hearted bat. Slick-stringy hair, long, thin nose, sallow skin, yellowed and crooked teeth, sour disposition...thin, nibbling lips...scarred, lean, warm body...heady, masculine scent...hardened erection...

Oh, fuck it, Hermione told the last of her objections, indulging in the mental vulgarity. He snogs like a demon and shags like an incubus, and he's all yours, Hermione. What woman wouldn't kill to have a lover like him in her arms, crooked teeth and all? Merlin, as far as the crooked teeth are concerned, just go ask Poppy what spells to use to straighten them, next time you're at the school! He's intelligent, he's brave, he's...well, I don't know about loyal... No, he's loyal. Unethical, unorthodox, immoral, amoral, scrambled eggs and ham, you name it, but he's...loyal to his own warped sense of ethics and honour...

...God, he makes love like a fallen angel, she decided muzzily as he lifted one knee after the other, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. Severus then pressed the heel of his palm just above her pubic bone, stimulating that same spot he--as Russel--had stimulated a few times before. A gasping cry in her ears made her realize it was coming from her own throat, a high, rhythmic moan in time with each of his carefully angled thrusts.

His mouth left hers when she raked his back with her nails, allowing him to pant his other chant, the pre-climax one, "...Mmmh, good...mmmh, good..." The greedy murmur mixed and mingled with her own pleasure, until a hard shudder wracked her body with a ragged, wordless cry, tightening her flesh around his in the pulsing constrictions of her orgasm. That sent him into a ragged volley of thrusts with his own cry of, "--Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane!"

It wound down into a mumble against the curve of her shoulder. She'd felt the fluttering tickle of his semen surging into her with each plunge of his flesh into hers, felt its damp heat lubricating her depths, until he finally slowed and stopped. With his weight squashing her, he rested there for several seconds, then pulled out and rolled off of her. Flopping onto his back, he lay beside her, still breathing somewhat heavily as he recuperated.

Hermione struggled for breath, too, though it was easier now that he wasn't smothering her with his satiated weight. A twist, and she rolled onto her side far enough to drape an arm over his chest and a leg over his thigh. She didn't care if he took offense at her cuddling; she wanted to feel the warmth of their bodies still pressed together, even if it was a sweaty, sticky warmth. He glanced at her, but that was the extent of his acknowledgement, she noted, with no visible protest. That was good enough, for her. She knew she had a long way to go, to tame him to her hand.

A little while later, he broke the silence between them. "...I'm not going to hold you to that devil's bargain we wrote out. I'll make the potion anyway. Don't feel you have to sacrifice yourself for my cooperation."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Lifting her head, Hermione scowled at her husband. He wasn't even looking her way, ruining a perfectly good glare. "--Excuse me? I told you I have my own plans for you, Severus Snape!"

That made him look at her, albeit rather warily.

Hermione pushed up onto her elbow, frowning down at him. "For the last bloody time, believe me when I say I'm attracted to you!--When you're not being such a surly, self-loathing bastard, that is."

Thrusting away from him, she slid off the bed. Her knees wobbled as she moved to the foot of the bed, surveying the wreckage of their clothes. He'd done a number on her stamina with that pressure-trick. Hermione could've sworn she still felt him inside of her, too, an after-memory of how marvelous he felt, thrusting into her over and over. Finding what she was looking for, she palmed her wand, wondering what piece of torn clothing she should attempt to repair first. Her gaze fell on her jeans. It amazed her that he'd managed to actually tear them, somehow. Denim wasn't renowned for ripping easily, after all.

She heard him sit up behind her. "You loathed me from the moment you realized who I really am."

"I was in shock!" she protested, rolling her eyes. "You didn't exactly give me time to think about my situation!"

"I didn't want you thinking long enough to think about hexing me!"

Whirling, jeans in one hand, wand clenched in her other fist, which she planted on her hip, Hermione retorted, "I'm a girl, Severus! In case you hadn't noticed? Girls don't automatically go around hexing everything in sight, just because it upsets them! Only boys are that idiotic. Men, for that matter..." Turning back to her task, she tapped her jeans, repairing them. Stepping away from the foot of the bed, she found the torn cotton of her knickers and cast another repair charm. "Disarming me, I can understand. But that was all you had to do. You didn't have to break my other wand!"

"I was under orders to destroy it and return your original to you. They'd cast a spell on the one they had," he warned her. "I disabled it, but it was designed to backfire on you if you tried to hex a Death Eater. It was also enchanted so that Ollivander wouldn't notice it, if you took it to him."

"I already know about that. I took it to Filius to check over and he dismantled the last of the spell," Hermione returned, Summoning the two missing buttons from her blouse so that she could repair them and the ripped shoulder seam. "That was how I came to be at the School in time to overhear what the two idiots had done, in kidnapping Draco."

Her jumper was unharmed, if mangled, but his shirt was torn in two. Hermione repaired it absently as she hunted for her bra. Busy thinking about what they had to do once they were dressed, she almost didn't hear his muttered, "Thank you."

Pausing, Hermione glanced over her shoulder. She almost offered the question that he cared about the Slytherin boy. At the last moment, she bit it back. Professor Snape had cared about his Slytherins, and undoubtedly Severus did care about Draco Malfoy's fate, trapped among the Death Eaters, but pointing out a vulnerability like that would only make him wary, maybe even make him deny it to some degree. Instead, she simply said, "You're welcome."

Silence passed between them as he found his own wand and started repairing more of their scattered clothes. "That virility spell of yours is very potent. Where did you find it?"

"I made it up."

He stopped, wadded folds of wool in his hand, and frowned at her. "You made it up? That damned curse and the counter-spell?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. The curse came out of the Diary, as did the original counter to it."

"--You used something from Lucrezia Borgia's diary on me?" Severus hissed at her.

Hermione planted her fists on her hips, one holding her wand, the other clutching the broken strap of her bra. "I made a mistake! I fixed it! No fifteenth century witch is going to best me when it comes to Charms!"

He stared at her through narrowed eyes, then shook his head. "You are unbelievable. You cast a castration hex on me, the counter for which doesn't even work, and you do it from the spellbook of one of the most notorious witches in Italian history--"

"--I'm unbelievable?" Hermione countered, touching her sternum. "Who was the idiot who should've been pacifying me, instead of terrifying me, when I uncovered his identity? How did terrifying me further the advancement of trust between us?"

"How did uncovering my identity when I told you to not do so advance that trust?" he shot back.

That backed her down. Hermione was fair enough to concede his point. "Touche. But you spent all of your time in your identity as Russel disparaging your identity as Snape," she reminded him. "That kept the wound of what you did fresh-picked and painful, rather than scabbed-over and healing."

"Oh, like you'd have trusted me if I'd said, 'Wait a moment, Snape isn't quite as nasty a bastard as everyone thinks he is!'" Severus retorted. "No one would've listened to me!"

"I would've listened--not eagerly at first," Hermione conceded as he snorted and drew breath to argue. "But I would've listened to what you had to say, even if I didn't agree with it. You wouldn't have gotten that much from anyone else, but you would've had it from me." He snorted again and she rolled her eyes. "I was the only student who ever gave you consistent respect! Even you surely noticed that."

"At the time, I thought it was just because you were a suck-up to whoever was in authority, in your quest for perfect grades." He held up his hand, cutting off her protest. "Yes, yes--it was just your innate respect for everyone, all the way up through Merlin's arse." His gaze drifted down over her body, but it didn't look like a sexual perusal. "I'll admit I picked you as my first choice to send the ring to, figuring you'd be the most likely person to listen to Russel's story. But I'm surprised I haven't been denounced by anyone, yet."

"Credit me with some intelligence!" Hermione retorted. "You're still our only means of spying on the Snake-Snogger's encampment! I'm well-aware that your precarious position depends on an extremely elaborate tapestry of interwoven lies and truths. The fewer people who know the truth, the fewer chances there will be for the lies to be noticed and picked apart, unraveling everything else about this war."

And there they were, the words she needed to reach him. Hermione didn't care where they came from, but they would allow her to steer him where she--the whole Order, though they knew it not--needed him to go. The logic was perfect for her needs.

"The success of this whole war now hinges on one thing, and one thing alone. It's not that ruddy Prophecy about Harry and Voldiebutt," Hermione told him as he studied her. "It's not even what Harry, Ron and I are doing to destroy the Dark Lord. The success of this war now rests entirely on our relationship. How you and I interact will determine the outcome of the wizarding world. Yes, we've made mistakes, and told lies, and broken trust within each other...but if we don't work together, if we don't figure out how to work together, to rebuild those broken trusts and work as a team, then we might as well kiss our arses goodbye! I, for one, would rather Avada myself on the spot, than live in a world ruled by that snake-snogger!"

He closed the distance between them, catching her arm tightly in his fingers as he pinned her with a hard look. "While there is life, there is hope--you will not kill yourself! If the worst comes to pass, you will continue to work against him, even if you must foment a one-woman rebellion! Do I make myself clear?"

Biting her lip, Hermione nodded. She was containing the urge to crow at her success, not wincing at the tightness of his grip, but he released her arm with a muttered oath. Stepping back, he twisted his mouth wryly.

"...My apologies. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

"You're forgiven. Just remember that you need to concentrate on surviving, too," Hermione ordered him, poking a finger lightly into his sternum. He shifted back warily, stopping just out of poking range as she continued. "I cannot do this without you."

"Yes. You need me to make your precious potion. You still refuse to tell me why you need it?" Severus prodded her, arching a brow.

"For your own protection, no, I cannot tell you. You only need know that it needs to be done, and that it will help end the war," Hermione countered. "Don't push this issue, Severus. It's already a suspicion in the Dark Lord's mind, what we're up to. If he thinks it's a reality, he will break you, and he will kill you."

"Yes, and then you'll lose your precious spy. I'll not push the matter any further."

His reply was bitter. Hermione lowered her brows. "First and foremost, we'd lose a man who doesn't deserve to die. Second, I'd lose my ruddy husband! Thirdly, we'd lose our spy, in that order. You really have a low opinion of your self-worth, don't you?"

"I don't have a low opinion of my self-worth. My opinion is very high," he retorted, jerking his thumb at his chest. "It is everyone else's opinion that's scraping the bottom of the Thames, where I am concerned!"

"Not my opinion! I respected you--"

"You respected all of your teachers, like a little bleating sheep!"

"I didn't respect all of them! I never liked Trelawney! And that toad, Umbridge, could garrote herself with her own extra-large garters, and I'd be cheering her on like it was the bloody Quidditch finals!" Hermione snapped.

Severus winced. "Merlin's sweet arse! Don't put that image in my head! I could've gone my whole life being happily tortured by the Dark Lord, without being tormented by the thought of that toad-woman's thighs!"

Hermione shuddered at the thought. The absurdity of the moment struck her after a second or two. She let out a short, involuntary laugh, folding her arms under her breasts. He eyed her warily, so she ruefully explained. "Here we stand, naked as the day we were born, oblivious to the fact because we're too busy arguing about someone else's thighs!"

His gaze drifted down to her legs, lingering briefly at her bared cleavage and the curls at her groin. "...I will admit yours are far more pleasant to contemplate."

Returning his perusal with one of her own, Hermione shrugged and stated as honestly as she could, "Yours are rather good-looking, too. You looked rather dramatic in your teaching robes and all, but you really look smashing in a kilt. You've certainly got the legs for it."

Expression shuttered, he returned dryly, "I'll make sure to rearrange my wardrobe choices just for you."

That made her roll her eyes. "Stop being so snarky! When I give you a compliment, accept it. I don't give gratuitous compliments to anyone, and I don't spout false flatteries!"

Severus moved forward, closing the yard of distance between them. "...Is this part of that surly-bastard clause you insisted upon?"

Hermione didn't back down from his intimidating advance. He was naked, after all. Both of them were. Nakedness didn't exactly lend itself to the right sort of intimidation factor. She even shifted her hands to her hips, swaying forward until the tips of her breasts almost touched his chest, though his proximity put a crick in her neck. "Yes."

He let out a scoffing sound. "No wonder you're so determined to carry through your part of the bargain!"

"I have more than one reason for the things I'm doing, Severus. Just as you have more than one," Hermione pointed out. "You wanted a child, to continue your family line. I have agreed to be the mother of that child, in exchange for you ceasing to act like a surly prick around me. What's so difficult to understand about that?"

"Tut tut, Mrs. Snape. Less than half a year out of school, and already your language skills have severely deteriorated," he chided her tartly. "If you're going to go through with this, then I'm amending the agreement to include you cleaning up your language. That's hardly the sort of vocabulary a child needs to learn."

"Only if you clean up your own," she bargained tartly. "And it's not just about the language. I don't think you've quite realized what it means to be Mr. Hermione Granger, just yet."

"...'Mr. Hermione Granger'?" Severus repeated, arching one of his brows. "Explain yourself."

"Harry and I are now blood-bound brother and sister, as well as best friends. That makes him your brother-in-law."

He winced.

"Oh, yes, I'll expect you to be civil to him, within or without your Russel guise. I'm not giving him up just because I've married you. Furthermore," she warned him, "my parents are expecting to share Christmas with myself, and Harry...and you, as Russel, the man I've gone and married, however magically archaic the ceremony might've been. They want to get to know you better. The Weasleys are also expecting Harry and I to share the holidays with them.

"Right now, the idea is to invite my parents to the Burrow for Christmas Day, though they'll probably insist that I spend Boxing Day Supper with them and the rest of my Muggle family...and they'll expect Mr. Hermione Granger to come along, too, so they can brag about you...except they'll expect you to pretend to be a Muggle, since no one outside of my immediate family knows anything about the wizarding world, and it's going to stay that way.

"And you cannot weasel your way out of this nightmare," Hermione reminded him as he covered his face with his hands for a moment. "As Russel Fawkeson, you're supposed to be ingratiating yourself into my life, and the lives of the Order members, so that you can spy on us for the other side. Of course, it's getting to the point where I'm going to have to chart out who actually knows what, and how much they're supposed to know, regarding our situation..."

Dragging his hands down his face, Severus exhaled heavily, studying her. "And, amidst all of this, we're supposed to be brewing some deadly concoction created by a madwoman centuries ago, without killing ourselves."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm trying to find and repair all of our clothes," Hermione agreed, glad he'd brought them back to this point in the conversation. "If we hurry up to the School and get started tonight, now that it's past curfew, we'll be able to hit the first of the days-long simmering stages right before Christmas Eve, and be free to deal with the holidays."

"I am not going back to Hogwarts."

"Where else can we brew the ruddy thing?" Hermione prodded him. "I realize the place now holds a whole host of terrible memories for you, but the Muggle world doesn't have the facilities we need, and we cannot do it at Death Eater Central, Malfoy Manor, or at your own home, for fear of being interrupted by one of them. Merlin knows we've already run into enough troubles with Draco," she pointed out in an exasperated mutter. "You haven't learnt the Secrets of the Burrow or of Headquarters, Diagon Alley would draw too much attention, as would Hogsmeade, and the Shrieking Shack is second only to brewing out in the open for the worst possible preference in location, given that we're not even at the start of winter, yet, and it's already snowing, up in Scotland!

"We'll have the facilities we need, and the security we'll need, now that I've figured out how to command the Room of Requirement. So long as we're careful about not being seen by the students, it's the best place for us to be. We can even require ourselves a suite of quarters next to the conjured lab, for those stages of the potion that require constant vigilance."

Something in what she said made his eyes gleam briefly with intensity, but his expression quickly shuttered itself. "And how do I explain such lengthy absences to the Dark Lord?"

"What, old Moldiebutt?" Hermione disparaged, arching a brow. "If he asks, Severus Snape, you should tell him you're doing exactly what you've been ordered by him to do: seducing your wife, and worming your way into the trust of the Order, so that you can be his personal black adder, ready to strike and weaken us when we think we're at our strongest."

He winced again, confusing her. Whatever he was thinking, he took a few moments to mull it over, before surprising her with a change in topic. "Would you do me a favour, and repeat something after me?"

Hermione looked up at him, thrown by the seemingly random segue. "Repeat what?"

"'Severus Snape, you have my permission to lie when others are listening.'"

That made her frown.

"--Just do it! And do not ask me why!" he snapped impatiently.

"...Severus Snape, you have my permission to lie when others are listening," Hermione recited warily. "Now, why can't I ask why?"

"Why can't I ask you what you need that potion for?" he countered.

"Fine. I won't ask. For now," Hermione added in warning.

"Neither will I. For now," he parroted, folding his arms across his chest. The movement brushed his forearms against the tips of her breasts, tickling her flesh with the faint dusting of dark hairs on his skin. Hermione blinked, taken aback by the wash of pleasure prickling through her nerves at the simple touch. Those piercing, dark eyes didn't miss her shiver of reaction. He swayed forward again, brushing his limbs against her chest. Hermione swayed back, trying to keep a clear head, and he unfolded his arms quickly, catching and pulling their bodies together. "Lesson Number One, wife. I'm in the mood to play with you again."

She could've guessed that from the lump prodding against her lower abdomen. But they had a schedule to stick to, if they were to have the holidays free and clear...though the feel of him, warm and male and very naked, was very distracting. "We really should shower and dress, so we can get to work..."

"We will. Eventually," he murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle her chestnut hair away from her ear. "But first, I'm feeling the sudden urge to make you scream my name--my given name..."

"Are you always this randy?" Hermione managed to ask as he sucked and licked her earlobe. "Or is it the aftereffects of my spell?"

That made him stop, then pull back. Releasing her, he flicked his wand at himself. "Finite Incantatem! "

Magic sizzled over his body from dark head to bare toe, before vanishing. His erection bobbed between them, undiminished. An arch of his brow, and he encircled her with an arm again, pulling her close with a smirk before returning to nipping at the side of her throat.

"...Naturally randy," he murmured. "But then, what would you expect? I've a brazenly naked woman willing to be in my arms, which I haven't had in years. You're like a bloody green-grocer's to a starving man--" and she squeaked as he swept her off her feet, removing his nose from her neck so that he could study her in his arms, "--and I fully intend to feast. Consider it an effort to foment good-will and cooperation between the two of us, if we really are the pivotal relationship in this bloody war."

Clinging to his shoulders, Hermione let her bra fall, though not her wand. She'd pin it through her hair for convenience, or may be just set it on the bathroom counter... Recapturing her mouth, he navigated to the bathroom as they kissed, probably by some incubus-based instinct, since he didn't bang her against any walls or doorways. She didn't even resist when he set her on her feet in the tub and pulled her wand from her fingers, tucking it onto the soap-shelf.

A twist of the taps poured water from the faucet. A rattle of the curtain into place, and he pulled on the spigot lever. Cold water spurted down onto them, making her shriek in shock, since she was closer to the shower head than he was. The bastard had the temerity to grin, so she smacked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand as the water slowly turned warm. Catching her wrist, he pulled her against him, deliberately rubbing his body against hers, before bending to kiss her mouth, her chin, her throat, suckling the pouring water from her skin.

Twisting, she lapped at his own shoulder, determined to be an equal partner in exploring their relationship, even if there was still a part of her that found it very weird to be naked in a shower with her former professor. Hermione hadn't joked when she said their relationship--their situation--was the lynchpin for the success or failure of this war. They needed to work together, as equals and partners, in order to secure their victory.

She just hoped she could put the brakes on any future unorthodox means of winning the war--if not to stop him, then at least to slow him down enough to mitigate any resulting damages.

...

He stared at the note taken from the back pocket of her jeans for a long time before unfolding it. Hermione, guessing Severus wasn't happy at the thought of returning to the scene of his crime, returning to the place where he'd murdered his employer and mentor, hesitated a little before placing her hand on his shoulder. She suspected some of that reluctance came from the fact that he had to go back to the place where he'd been a professor for so long, a place where he'd been somewhat respected but mostly feared and despised. Instinctively, her hand rubbed at the tension in his back.

It was an innocent, unthinking act, but it earned her a swift, piercing look. Her hand stilled for a moment, then Hermione deliberately caressed him again. "Where else can we go, and have the same free, uninterrupted use of the facilities? I know you don't want to, but we don't have much of a choice. And you'll have to go back there as Russel, staying in my company to reassure Minerva that I'm keeping an eye on you, and staying in character whenever we could be seen by anyone or anything."

That earned her a slight, pained roll of his eyes. "I do know how to be a spy in dangerous territory, Jane. I've been one for longer than you've been alive."

Looking at the folded note again, he exhaled, then opened it. Reading the information written within, Severus didn't flinch when the strip of parchment incinerated itself. He brushed the ash from his fingertips without a word, inhaled deeply, and snaked his arm around her hips. A tug and a twist, and Hermione fell into his lap with a yelp. She didn't resist when he pulled her close, however. Not when it ended up with his face buried in her hair, blow-dried from the complimentary dryer in the bathroom after their shower. Not when it reminded her of what they'd just done, in that shower.

They'd caressed each other, under the guise of assisting with lathering each others' skin. She'd even daringly fondled his anus with one hand, while the other stroked his shaft. Pulling both of them down to their knees as soon as they were rinsed, he'd arranged her over him, straddling and riding him as he surged up into her. They'd kissed, too, tasting the spraying water, tasting each other as they copulated in the bathtub.

This wasn't kissing, though she could feel his lips pressing against the side of her neck. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, hugging him. This was about comfort, though she figured he'd deny it vehemently if she so much as hinted it was so. Some of the tension in his body eased. A deep breath, with his nose buried in her curls, and he straightened, allowing her to sit up from her cradled position.

Digging in his sporran, Severus pulled out the raven-carved amulet. Hermione covered his fingers with hers, making him frown warily at her. "Allow me."

Dark eyes studied her. "...Eager to have the nicer version of me back?"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes in a pained, impatient look. "Eager to assist, since it's bloody awkward clasping something behind one's neck, where one cannot see what one is doing. Give me the ribbon and lift your hair up out of the way."

He handed it to her, and lifted his chest-length locks with a scoop of his fingers. Hermione slipped off his lap, kneeling on the bench beside him. Straightening out the ribbon, she made sure the carved obsidian was facing the right way, then carefully fitted it around his throat. Hooking the clasp, she watched as colour started seeping down out of his hairline, spreading under the collar of his shirt.

Catching her hand, he tugged her back into his lap Already his face, throat, and the visible bit of his chest were Russel-tan, though his hands were still as Severus-pale as his knees. Hermione stared into his eyes, watching as the deep colour slowly lightened. His irises weren't dark brown, as one might surmise. Instead, they were a very dark grey; had they been brown, she figured his eyes would've lightened to a shade close to her own tawny colour.

It was a dramatic colour-change, watching his body alter from contrasting pale and black to complimentary tan and ash blond. The only thing that didn't change was his expression. Hermione lifted her hand to his jaw, fingering his spell-shaved skin. Not wanting to draw attention to the change in his appearance, and concomitant change in his demeanor, she remarked on a different observation. "Thank you for being clean-shaven. I was never that interested in beards or mustaches."

That arched his brow. "Not even a neatly trimmed goatee?"

His Canadian accent was back. She guessed it was enchanted into the translation spells of the pendant. It made sense to do it that way; his words would come out sounding like a native of that overseas land, without any mistakes. Studying him, she tried to picture him wearing a goatee. Even with his changed colouring, she couldn't do it. Canadian or British, he was a clean-shaven man.

"If I want to kiss something furry...I'll snog your groin," Hermione retorted boldly. To her surprise, he winced slightly, and urged her off his lap with his hands. "What's wrong?"

"I'm a little sensitive, after the third time." Closing his eyes, he stayed silent for three slow, deep breaths, then opened his eyes and smiled at her.

Just like that, Russel was back. Hermione was surprised to realize she missed Severus' own personality. Not because it was more pleasant, which definitely wasn't the case, but because she knew that, with Severus, she was getting the unvarnished truth of his opinions whenever he spoke. Russel had substance of his own, but he also gleamed with polish, so to speak.

Standing, he cradled her jaw in his palms and kissed her mouth slowly, gently. Tenderly. It felt nice, just the brushing touch of his lips against hers. It also felt a little wrong, after the tempestuousness of their previous, recent encounters. A little wrong, but a little right; Hermione didn't care if he was manufacturing emotions for himself to feel, or tapping into a side of himself that he rarely allowed to surface for long. It was nice, and she liked it.

By the time he pulled back, her fingers were tangled in his dark blond hair, her body hummed with relaxation, and the first thing she could think about when the kiss ended was pulling him down onto the bed and cuddling for a little longer. But the rest of her brain started functioning again, and she knew that the hour was growing late. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed her suspicions. The Order meeting would be over by now, and Harry and Ron would've most likely gone back to Hogwarts to study in the library for a while. Now was the time for her and him to skulk through the halls, while the students' curfew was in effect.

"...We need to get going."

He nodded. "We should Apparate to the Shrieking Shack. That's the easiest way to approach the grounds unseen. The Dark Lord does have Death Eaters scrying the landscape around Hogsmeade, looking for people who appear and disappear without a trace. He hopes to catch someone who can tell him who the Secret Keeper is, though so far there have been very few visitors who have approached on foot."

"I don't think anybody knows, save for maybe Minerva and the Keeper themselves, whoever it is." Drawing her wand, Hermione tapped her clothes, Transfiguring them into warm wool, including a cloak. "You'll need something warm to hike in, since the grounds are probably freezing."

Tapping his wand to his own clothes, he changed the black of his shirt and the greys of his kilt to warm shades of blue. A second tap, and his shirt became a woolly jumper; a third, and a kerchief taken from his sporran became a floor-length cloak, shifting from white to a rich burgundy red. He surprised Hermione by draping it over her shoulders, not his own. Extracting a second, rumpled kerchief, he enchanted that one into a royal blue cloak for himself.

Once the garment was clasped in place, he wrapped his arms around her. "Ready?"

Nodding, Hermione let him Disapparate both of them from the hotel room. The shock of cold air that greeted them at the far end made her instinctively bury her face in the warmth of his neck, her arms wrapped around his waist under the folds of his cloak. He permitted it for a moment, then set her back from him and lighting the tip of his wand, allowing both of them to look around. Ice crunched under their feet, slippery and treacherous. The roof had started leaking, allowing a fringe of icicles to form along one of the rafters overhead, the source of the frozen puddle on the floor. There wasn't a storm gusting a heat-thieving wind through the cracks in the windows and walls, like their last visit, but it was still icily cold.

Taking her hand, Severus led her toward the stairwell. The steps were dusty and creaky, but thankfully dry. When they reached the trap door, he released her hand long enough to open it, but caught it again to help her down the steep steps into the tunnel as soon as he was at the bottom. He continued to hold her fingers, too, keeping them warmly entangled with his as they walked down the tunnel.

At one point, he slowed and stopped, staring ahead of them. A frown pinched his brow, then it eased and he moved forward again. Hermione guessed they'd reached the edge of Hogwarts' grounds, which was where the Fidelius Charm would force him to focus on the message he'd read, allowing his eyes to finally see the rest of the path to the school. Continuing along the rough-hewn tunnel, they reached the uneven steps leading up to the Whomping Willow after a few more minutes.

Pushing her back when she would've led the way, Severus climbed up first, cautiously peering up through the hole in the ground between the vicious tree's roots. Only after a long moment of wary caution did he touch the knot that froze the tree in place, allowing them to climb out of the ground. Moving quickly out of the reach of the temporarily numbed tree, they headed up the hill towards the path that led between Hagrid's hut and the castle. She felt warmer when he sought her hand with his own, clasping it without a word.

There were only a few patches of snow on the ground, mostly under the northern shade of bushes and trees where the sun hadn't had the chance to eradicate their presence, but there was plenty of frost glittering on the tufts of grass, crunching under their feet as they headed for the path. Severus aimed his wand behind them, eradicating the evidence of their passage with a word and a cone of mist that disguised their trampled footprints. There wasn't much to hide, but it did obscure the location of the hidden tunnel. The night sky held wisps of cloud, and a partially occluded moon; it shone enough light to negate the need for any glow from his wand, allowing them to progress undetected as they came into view of the castle, and of Hagrid's hut, should the half-giant still be awake.

"...This long trek will get tedious, and troublesome, if we have to wade through snow drifts and worse, once winter progresses," he told her in a breath-fogged murmur. "When we leave, we will use the Floo to connect to my home in Spinner's End. We will Apparate to there, in the future, and use the Floo to the school. We'll have to find a hearth to use, for that."

"We've been using the Floo in Madam Pince's office, for the most part," Hermione confessed. "Harry and Ron have been spending more and more time in the library, these last few months, studying various texts and spells, in preparation for the war." She couldn't resist a giggle. "--I've never seen them so dedicated in the last few weeks, outside of maybe their last-month O.W.L. studies, and they're not even in class anymore."

"Most people aren't as studious as you. But...I'm glad to hear they're finally taking their lessons seriously, even if it's now self-directed. I trust you went ahead and bought your seventh-year books anyway, even though you're no longer enrolled?" he asked her as they started across the aging trestle spanning the ravine next to the castle.

"Of course!" Hermione nearly snorted the words, in her disdain at the idea of doing otherwise.

"Speaking of books, where is the Diary? I trust it is closed, and not lying open somewhere?" he prompted.

"Erm...it's actually back in my bedroom, at Headquarters. And it's closed, and buried in my book-bag. I'll find a Floo, once we get inside," she offered. "It won't take long to fetch, if you don't mind waiting for me. I've also figured out I'll need a sort of barricaded lectern to set it on, something with a low wall that's tucked into a corner of the lab we'll be using, so you cannot accidentally glimpse the pages while you work. There's a sort of copyright spell on the book, so I can't write down the instructions, but I can read them aloud to you."

He studied her as they reached the paved pathway from the trestle to one of the castle's side-doors. "I'm glad you've given this some thought. I have a request," he added, making her glance at him. "I would like to visit my quarters, first. There were several things I left behind, that night. Things I haven't been able to access since. Somehow, I doubt you'd feel comfortable letting me wander through the school unaccompanied...and you aren't one of my students anymore. I don't have to worry about you seeking a spot of retaliation for a low grade. Even if your idea of 'low' would've been a cause for rapture in anyone else."

Hermione stopped and stared at him. He stopped, too, their hands still clasped together. Arching her brow, she dared to ask, "Was that a genuine compliment? And a jest?"

He flashed her a Russel-style grin. "Scary, isn't it?"

"--For that, I will short-sheet your bed. And brag about it to Fred and George, during the hols. Though I won't say how I found the place, nor where it's located," she promised.

His tanned face crumpled into a pained wince, at that. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! Pardon the vulgarity, but...fuck! "

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, alarmed by his vehemence.

"--You'll expect me to buy bloody Christmas presents for all of them, won't you?" he demanded, frowning deeply.

"Of course. Along with being nice and polite and friendly, and full of Christmas cheer. Now do you see why it's a fair trade, my willing to take on the lifelong responsibility of being a mum, in exchange for you not being such a surly bastard?"

Even in the partially obscured moonlight, she could see him rolling his eyes. "...I'd better get copious amounts of passionate lovemaking out of this, too--oh, fuck! If Harry is now your blood-brother, that makes James fucking Potter my father-in-law! "

"Shh!" Hermione hissed at him, tugging him quickly into the archway of the nearby door. They were close enough to the castle to have drawn attention from anyone who was awake and near a window, with that outburst. "We could've been heard! And don't make me wash out your mouth with soap, for that!" she added in a hiss. "If I have to moderate my language by the time our child is born, so do you! So you might as well start practicing right now!"

His eyes glittered in the moonlight slanting past their shoulders, lighting one side of his face as his lips quirked on that side. She didn't know what to make of the humor in his tone, either, as he meekly murmured, "Yes, Jane."

Flustered, Hermione dithered for a moment in indecision, then caught the back of his neck with her free hand, pulling him down into range for a kiss. Whether it was a reward for his humor, his meekness, or what, she couldn't decide, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. When she pulled back and peered up at him, he was still smiling, though there was a puzzled edge to his expression.

Good, Hermione decided, turning to open the door. Turnabout is fair play, between us. He makes me just as confused...

They only got a few yards down the hall when a doorway opened abruptly, lantern-light spilling into their faces. Severus dropped her hand, snatching for his wand as Hermione shielded her eyes, guessing who it was. Her suspicions were correct when she heard Argus Filch hissing at her.

"You! You shouldn't even be here, you truant little Miss! If the Headmistress hadn't made an exception for you, I'd have you hanging in my office, in chains! Who's that with you? How'd you get him...Bob?" the caretaker interrupted himself, frowning at the face of the wizard standing beyond Hermione's shoulder. "Bob Sherleigh? Is that you?"

"Rorik Ferguson, actually."

Filch raised his lantern higher, squinting at Severus--at Russel's face. Hermione chided herself. You must remember to call him Russel, when he's blond instead of brunette. Even in your thoughts! The aging Squib grunted. "...You look like Robert Sherleigh, one of my cousins. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Mr. Ferguson is with me, and he obviously has permission from the Headmistress to be on the grounds, seeing how he came through the Fidelius Charm," Hermione asserted, dragging Filch's attention back to her. "As for what we're doing here, you'll have to ask the Headmistress, Mr. Filch, though I doubt she'll tell you. There's a lot of secrets happening, this year."

"I noticed," the caretaker muttered. "I saw your hands clasped! If you've brought him here for a snog, or more, I'll have points taken off your precious alma mater, for it! You won't be the first returnee to try that and be caught at it, either!"

The thought of the greying, sour-faced Squib catching her in a compromising position made Hermione's skin crawl. "...We'll keep that in mind."

Nudging Russel's arm, she hurried him past the caretaker. Russel took the lead, guiding her to the central stairs. He tugged her down into the dungeons when she would've climbed the stairs, having forgotten for a moment that they were heading to his former quarters, first. For a moment, as they approached the doors to his former classroom and office, she thought they'd have to break into Slughorn's territory, but he stopped them and faced other side of the corridor, between the two doors.

Leaning over, he murmured into her ear, the warmth of his breath making her shiver in contrast to the chill of the underground hall. "Severus Snape's quarters are across from the Potions professor's office and classroom."

Hermione stared at the age-worn stones lining the wall. Nothing changed. She blinked and glanced at him. He lifted his wand, tapped two adjacent stone blocks with the ebony tip...and they parted, forming a dark, arched tunnel. A touch of his hand at the small of her back guided her inside, and a flick of his wand cast enough light to see as the stones resealed themselves behind the two of them, cutting off the torchlight from the corridor.