Chapter 28

XXVIII.

Protected by wards erected around the book to counteract any possible curses, and wearing a talisman carved with further protective runes on an ash-wood bracelet that now replaced the Velocitemplet on her right wrist, Hermione carefully tended to the Anima Te early each morning. The rest of her time she spent with Harry and Ron in the Hogwarts library. Or in training sessions at Headquarters with the boys and either Tonks, Moody, or sometimes Remus or Violetta. And of course, in reading.

New Year's Eve came and went. Clinging to the hope that Severus was alright--for she dared not contact him while he was busy, since his absence could only be Death Eater business--Hermione laid plans for his return. In specific, she laid plans for his birthday. Every time she glanced up at the banner pinned to the wall of her room at Grimmauld Place, Hermione read the words inked there with an ache in her heart.

Love is worth whatever pain you have to suffer, whatever risk you have to take, just to know even one gentle touch from your lover.

She'd originally written them as an encouragement to herself. There was nothing she could do about her husband's feelings; they were his own to control, to shape, change, or keep the same. But she could try to guide how he felt. It was the lattermost part of Tonks' advice that spurred her to try. To know even one gentle touch from your lover. That was the way to guide a man who had precious little affection in his life. No matter how he felt, no matter how he acted or reacted, she had to get him to accept gentle touches and kind words from her.

It wasn't easy, but she could only control, shape and change herself. Reviewing her actions since the unveiling of his identity, Hermione winced at her memories, and consigned them to a list of Things To Never Do Again. Then, examining her actions more deeply, she made up a second list of Things To Do Again (And Acceptable Variations Thereof). Those could only be put into practice after his return.

She also studied her Seventh Year Potions manual, completing her first read-through the night before Severus was due to return, just in case there were any other advanced techniques she hadn't learnt in her sixth year that would be required to handle the Anima Te correctly. All she had to do was don protective spells and gear, gently pour a cup and a third of water into the cauldron each night--without stirring--and then cleanse herself once the cauldron was safely lidded again. Nothing seemed amiss when she did so; according to the descriptions listed in the Diary, the potion was doing fine.

He didn't contact her on the 7th. Hermione consoled herself with the fact that ten days might mean a full two hundred forty hours. But he didn't contact her on January 8th, either. Adding water to the cauldron early in the morning hours of the 9th, she nibbled on her lip with indecision. A trip through the Floo to his quarters revealed nothing but a bit of dust, which the house-elves apparently only cleaned once a month. A quick trip to Headquarters allowed her to Apparate to the hotel room, but he wasn't there, either. Returning to Headquarters, she fetched what she would need for that evening, then returned to their kitchenette suite to sleep, and to wait for him to arrive.

When she woke, he still wasn't there. Rising, Hermione wrapped herself in the terrycloth dressing gown she'd worn for their honeymoon breakfast, alternately worrying and working on the latest jigsaw puzzle on the table. Just as she was ready to make up her mind to risk changing and going to the house in Spinner's End, a bang startled her with a little shriek. A dark-clad figure whipped around, wand at the ready, arresting her mid-leap from her chair. Freezing, heart pounding in her chest, Hermione stared at her husband with wide brown eyes.

"--Shite! Do not scare me like that again, Jane!" Snape swore at her. She could only think of him as Snape, as he was wearing his professor-clothes, the fully buttoned frock-coat, trousers, waistcoat and so forth. He lifted his other hand, stopping her as she started to move away from the table. "Do not come any closer. I may still have certain ingredients about me to which you, in your condition, should not be exposed. Stay here, while I bathe. And cast a Scourgify on the room, just in case."

Relaxing back onto her chair as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, Hermione let her relief pound through her blood. That wasn't Snape; the man who had just spoken was Severus. It wasn't easy, keeping his three identities separate. Drawing her wand, she spell-cleaned the air and the carpet, then settled back to listen to the shower running in the next room. She was tempted to go to him, to join him in the shower, but a glance at the clock showed there just wasn't enough time. In fact, if she didn't hurry to dress now, they might be late.

When he emerged several minutes later, she had just enchanted the zipper on her dress to slide itself up to the nape of her neck. Turning to face him, Hermione caught his puzzled look. She also spotted his lack of anything other than a towel around his waist, and a second cloth draped over his hands, his hair ruffled from having been scrubbed dry.

"...What are you doing, Jane?" Severus asked her, frowning. "Why aren't you still in your dressing gown?"

Hermione toed her stocking-clad legs into her dress-pumps, wriggling her feet to settle them in place. Her hair had been swept up into a bun that was skewered in place by her wand, ensuring that she would have it available in a flash if they were attacked, and she had applied a charm she'd learnt from Lavender Brown that was the magical equivalent of a light application of make-up, but without the taste of lipstick or the smell of foundation, blusher, or eye-shadow. "I'm getting dressed, Severus. Which you need to do, as quickly as possible--as Russel--or we'll be late."

His dark brows lowered in confusion. "Late for what?"

Firming her courage, hoping he would forgive her the temerity of what she had done, Hermione fixed him with a firm look. "Today is your birthday, remember? I made dinner reservations at La Chocolat on the outskirts of Highgate--I took the liberty of pre-ordering our meal so there'd be no delays--and then we're taking in a performance of Phantom of the Opera, uptown. It's an utterly Muggle evening," she shrugged with a touch of diffidence as he studied her silently, "but then I figured that was the easiest way to avoid detection from the wizarding world while still celebrating your natal day. Dinner is in fifteen minutes, so you really should hurry and get dressed, if we're to make it on time."

Tossing the towel in his hands at the bench, he pulled the ebony shaft of his wand from where it was tucked into the waistline of the towel wrapped around his hips, and flipped open the folds of that one. "And what am I supposed to do about this?"

Hermione glanced down, and flushed. His erection jutted out from his hips, turgid and red, clearly aroused with desire. For most of the past eleven-plus nights, she had only been able to sleep after frigging herself into a relaxed state of satiation. It wasn't the same as having her lover pleasuring her, though. The sight of him like this, excited and ready for her, made her own body ache with need. Clearing her throat carefully, she dragged her mind out of the gutter.

"...Unfortunately, we don't have time for that. After the play--"

"Bollocks, we don't!" Snapping his wand-hand, he muttered under his breath.

The drawers of the dresser that stood against the wall on the bathroom side of the bed jolted open, fabric sailing out and wrapping itself around his body. He had chosen the formal white shirt, black, plaid-trimmed dinner jacket and kilt ensemble of his wedding clothes, with blue-green argyle socks and black dress shoes. The great-kilt wrapped itself around his hips and shoulder, cinched in place by the black leather and silver fittings of his belt and sporran. The pouch canted out at an angle, however. Shifting the thing to one side, he smirked at her as he finished balancing from the enspelled donning of his footwear. His hand drew out the black velvet ribbon and its dark, carved cabochon.

"Forty seconds. That leaves us fourteen minutes, minus a few seconds to Apparate. Bend over the bed, wife," he ordered her, fastening the enchanted choker around his throat. "Hands on the mattress. Now."

The autocratic order made her feel hot with both desire and annoyance. Still, it was his birthday. Hermione turned and complied, balancing somewhat awkwardly until he nudged her feet apart with one of his own, lowering her hips with the spreading of her legs. The sigh that escaped him as he studied her was masculine and flattering, especially considering he was usually already inside of her before she got to hear it.

"Mmmh, good...oh! Why, Mrs. Snape, how naughty," he muttered, the hands sliding up the backs of her thighs having encountered the tops of her stockings. Sheer stockings, coloured to go with the high-necked, sleeveless, classic little-black-dress she had donned. They matched the suspender belt, too, black satin that contrasted in its texture with the nubbly black crepe-de-chin of her dress.

He pushed the knee-length skirt higher, up to her waist, and sighed at the sight of her black bikini knickers. She'd almost chosen a thong, but didn't want to be squirming uncomfortably all throughout the musical. Eventually, he would get to see the demi-bra that completed the ensemble, but for now, she could feel the warm puff of his breath as he crouched and breathed in her scent. Not just breathed--a mutter, and her knickers vanished. They didn't crawl down her legs and wrestle with the straps of her suspenders; the undergarment just vanished.

The soft feel of satin was replaced for a moment by cool air, and then by the slick heat of his tongue. Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione bit her lower lip, arching her head back. His voice groaned into her flesh between slow, savouring laps.

"Sweet...I've missed this...so good..." Abandoning her abruptly, she heard him rise, felt the flipping of wool against her backside as he lifted his kilt out of the way.

She felt him prodding her nether-lips with the rounded tip of his shaft, felt him dipping in and out by only a fraction of an inch, not enough to really push inside. Just enough to tease. Maybe they did have a few minutes for this... Flesh in hand, he rubbed the glans against her folds, taking extra care to bump it against the hood of flesh that was her bundle of sexual nerves. He did this for more than a minute. Rolling her eyes, Hermione demanded, "Oh, stop playing around, Severus!"

Nudging her opening again, he pushed a fraction deeper and withdrew. "And what would you have me do, if not this?"

"Fuck me!"

Her deliberate choice of words, carnally blunt, made him drag her hips backward under the clutching grasp of his hands. It shoved him into her as he pulled her back onto him, and forced a grunt from both of their throats. It was a surprisingly tight fit. They'd been apart for just as long as this at other points in the tumult of the last few months, but it felt as if her inner muscles just snapped down around him, not wanting to let go, contracting tight enough to stimulate both of them with each quick withdrawal and rapid return.

"Oh god, yes! Oh god, oh god, oh Severus, oh god god god god--!" Hermione chanted, lost in his grip. His bollocks, slapping her clitoris with each pounding stroke, twisted her body with pleasure against the clutching of his hands.

"--Jane! Jane!" Two hard slams, and he shuddered in straining, rhythmless bucks, spilling inside of her.

Her limbs trembled, making her worry through the haze of her pleasure that she was going to collapse, that he was going to fall with her. But somehow he held on, kept them upright through the last twitches of their flesh, then withdrew abruptly. She felt his hands shift on her hips while she was still panting and seeking enough energy to stand upright, and felt his tongue and nose delving into her no doubt glistening folds.

"Mmmh, divine...but I need more sustenance than this, tonight." A light slap of her hip, just enough to make her lax muscles jiggle a little, and he ordered, "On your feet, and straighten your dress, wife. We have two minutes to be at the restaurant--wait," he added as she righted herself with a groan and turned around. "Suck me clean."

Arching a brow, Hermione tugged the hem of her form-fitting dress back down over her hips. "Ask nicely, and I might comply."

Grey eyes batted short, thick, sandy-blond lashes at her, and his tanned mouth curved up on one side. "Pretty please? With the sweetness of your musk on my cock?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dropped to one knee, letting him lift the folds of the kilt out of her way. His penis had deflated partially, but hadn't shrunk by that much, an inch at most. Not when she knew it was normally half-length when uninterested in anything. Fully erect, he was probably just over seven inches long, about as long as the distance between her longest fingertip and the seam of her wrist. Right now, he was about three-quarters of that, with the firmness of a peeled banana. He didn't taste like a banana in any way, however, but rather a combination of his salty-bitter seed, the musk of her dew, and a hint of sweat.

What peculiar things we wives get to learn, in the intimacies of a married life... Swirling her tongue over every inch she could manage, Hermione pulled back at a touch of his hand on her nape. Less than a minute, according to the bedside clock. Rising to her feet, she found herself briefly but deeply snogged, tongue and all, then released.

"Mmmh, thank you."

"Hurry and get your knickers on," she ordered him, looking around for her own.

"Jane, men have pants; women have knickers," he countered, giving her a dark look. It shifted as she peered past him at the dresser, annoyance replaced by a masculine smirk. "And you're not putting your knickers back on, so don't bother looking for them."

Her mind calculated the impact of his amused little smile, sexy though it was, and came up with a spot of blackmail. "If I'm going out there without my knickers, you're not going out there with your own undergarment, either!"

"Only if you promise to grope me," Russel had the temerity to tease her. At her cocked eyebrow and folded arms, he smirked. "Besides, you wouldn't dare make me leave here regimental."

"I'm a Gryffindor, husband dear. I thrive on dares!" she retorted.

And found herself spun around abruptly, and shoved over once again. Yanking up the back of her skirt, he prodded her damp clitoris with his wand, and dragged it up the length of her slit as he intoned, "Numivoluptremens! "

A brief tingle swept over the peak of her flesh, soaking into her vagina and labial folds, and ending at her anus. A jerk lifted her upright, a tug lowered her gown, and he spun her around, wrapping her in his arm. He met her confused gaze with a smirk, then flicked his wand, summoning their cloaks. Another sharp swish, and they Transfigured into Muggle-acceptable overcoats.

"Now, Apparate us to the restaurant."

Gathering her wits, knowing they were late, Hermione closed her eyes, concentrated, and squeezed them into the alley next to the building they wanted. Orienting herself, she started to walk toward the mouth of the alley, but his hand on her arm stopped her. Glancing back, she found the blond-haired wizard still smiling like a cat that knew which household pet had eaten the canary.

"One moment, my dear..."

Hermione gasped softly; the moment he said one, she could feel a faint buzzing in her loins.

He laughed softly, wickedly. "Testing...one, two, three..."

The buzzing increased on two and three. It was centered around her clit at the moment, though the tremors did stimulate some of her vaginal opening, too. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he nudged her towards the street. The buzzing didn't stop. Hermione swallowed. "What...kind of spell is this? What exactly does it do?"

"Every time I say a number between, well, nothing, and as many digits on both your hands as you possess, that is the number of the intensity you will experience," he murmured in her ear, that exotically accented baritone slithering into her ear and down her spine, joining the level-three buzzing of her flesh. "The spell is selective, in that it only chooses actual numbers. There is a difference between 'to go', and 'two toes', after all."

The buzzing diminished slightly.

"Or if you prefer, "After we have eaten our meal, it will take us eight seconds--"

Hermione stumbled, choking as the buzzing stimulated everything from the top of her cleft at the front to the rosebud of her anus at the back.

"--to Apparate...in time to get to the theatre and not be late," he murmured in her ear, reaching for the handle of the restaurant door. Hermione could only hope it was the right restaurant. The bastard had turned her brain to mush, and knew it. "Which means you should have one very interesting evening, my dear. And I'll have a very enjoyable birthday, watching you writhe with hidden pleasure in such public settings as a restaurant and a theatre."

"Shite," she swore, feeling her blood rushing through her veins as the intense stimulation settled into a discreet, barely-felt throbbing. Blinking, she cleared her throat and pasted on a smile for the restaurant hostess as they stepped through the double-door entry and into the foyer. "Er...dinner reservations for Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson?"

A brief check of the list at her podium, and the woman smiled, gesturing a server forward. The gentleman gave them both an abbreviated bow of his head. "This way, if you please...?"

Feeling torn between wanting to glare at the bastard at her back, and wanting to grin like a silly, mouth-breathing Hufflepuff, Hermione let her hips sashay as she wended her way between the tables. 'One' was just a tiny little bit of stimulation. She could live with that.

Until the glorious, kilted bastard whispered while seating her at their table, "Four..."

...

She attacked him in the alleyway beside the restaurant, her flesh still silently buzzing at level five, which was where he had held her through most of dessert. Grabbed him by his jacket, shoved him against the stones of the restaurant wall, yanked his sporran to one side, and groped underneath his kilt, all while she kissed him breathless. He was already hard, and clutched at her wrist to stop her from caressing him after only a few seconds. Tearing his mouth from hers, he nipped his way to her earlobe, growling, "Now, now, Mrs. Snape. No accosting me before we've been to the theatre."

"Sod the theatre!" Hermione snapped, tangling her fingers in his dark blond hair. He'd had her boiling from one to nine and back, bouncing all over the scale at his bloody whim. It was time to finish this. She didn't even feel the winter chill in the air; her blood was boiling too hard with desire.

Turning his head to the side, she licked a path from his collar to his ear canal, spiraling around the outer folds before reaching the dimple of the center. That, she knew, would burn him with his own desire. He stiffened, inhaling sharply, then spun them around. With her pinned to the wall, he covered her with his body, lifting her skirt with a glide of his hands as he kissed her throat and jaw. Hermione kept her mouth to the shell of his ear whenever she could. With her other hand, she helped him shove the folds of his kilt up out of their way.

A bend of his knees, a lift of one of her own, and he nudged his shaft against her pubic curls. A hitch, and both of her legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted her off her feet, the weight of his torso pinning her to the wall. A shift of his hips, a tilt of her own, and he slid home. Groaning softly, he stayed that way for a long moment, eyes closed, face straining for control in the shadows of the alley.

Opening his grey eyes to slits that glittered in the light shed from a streetlamp across the way, he studied her open, panting mouth, the involuntary little twitches triggered by the vibration in her flesh, and the need for him to move inside of her. Which he didn't. Instead, he quietly intoned, "Six...seven... Ten."

Hermione choked, head thumping back against the wall. That was when he moved in her, long, hard, driving strokes that ground her into the thankfully flat stones of the alley wall. Her body was one mass of pleasure radiating outward from the earthquake of her loins, triggered by the bliss of that damned spell and the rhythm of his own fierce need. How she kept from screaming aloud, she didn't know. Maybe it was because everything else was too busy spasming with the intensity of her climax.

Somewhere in there, when her loins were filled with his semen, when his breath was as ragged as hers, he whispered, "Eight...six...four...two....nine."

Her torment returned. Again, she choked on a cry, this one audible. Covering her mouth with his own, he let her punish his softening shaft in the vise of her inner muscles for a few moments, then pulled back and ended it.

"Five...three...zero. "

Gasping for breath, Hermione continued to shiver, but not from the spell. The only magic keeping her trembling right now was the after-pleasure of her orgasm. At least he'd had the courtesy to bring her down out of the stratosphere gently. He even held her against the wall with his body, making sure she didn't fall.

Mouth brushing her lips, he gave her a few more moments to regain her wits before gently guiding her legs back down to the ground. The shift in position pulled them intimately apart; his withdrawal was accompanied by a trickle of liquid that seeped down her thighs. Blushing, Hermione leaned back into the wall behind her. Legs feeling about as strong as a steamed pudding, and as messy as a melting sundae, she studied her husband as he extracted a square of linen from his sporran. Smirking, her blond-haired lover discreetly wiped himself clean under the fallen folds of his kilt.

She cleared her throat as he moved to put it away. "Hey--what about me?"

Even in the dim light of the alleyway, she could see one of his brows rising. "What about you?"

"I need a spot of cleaning, too."

He leaned forward, pressing his hips and abdomen into hers. "Do you, now?"

"Yes, I'm...leaking." It was embarrassing to admit out loud. Not just because it was a biological sort of thing, but because it aroused her to admit that he'd just had her up against a wall without any care in the world as to who might've peered into the alleyway and seen him taking her like a high-class call-girl. At least, she hoped she looked high-class in her little black dress. She wasn't wearing any jewelry, but it was still a nice dress, with a nice overcoat.

A smile curled the corner of his mouth. Sliding his right hand under her hem, between her thighs, he slowly scraped two of his fingers upward. When he encountered moisture a few inches from her apex, the smile spread across to the other side of his lips. Scraping upward, he flicked his fingertips across her slick nether-lips, then extracted his hand carefully. Tongue curling around his fingers, he slowly suckled the combination of her juices and his seed from his skin. Then wrapped one arm around her waist, smirking. "Apparate us to the theatre, Jane. We don't want to be late."

Closing her eyes, Hermione gathered her lust-scattered wits and carefully pictured the alley she had scoped out earlier in the week. A pop, and they Disapparated from the shadows next to the restaurant. It was a good thing they'd had half an hour of leeway between the end of their supper of delicately baked sole, grilled vegetables, and the chef's signature chocolate mousse, and the start of the show. By the time they crossed the street to the pavement in front of the theatre, almost everyone was inside.

Her husband strode up to the box office, his wife tucked firmly at his side. "I believe you have some tickets on hold? For a Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson?"

It was a good guess; Hermione had indeed reserved and paid for the tickets under that name, as well as the prepaid, pre-selected meal they'd just eaten. If he hadn't come home in time, she'd have shanghaied Harry to go with her, but it wouldn't have been nearly the same. Thank god, she thought wryly, feeling her thighs dampening with another slow trickle from her feminine depths.

"Yes, here they are; two tickets," the lady inside the booth announced.

"Yes...two tickets," the bastard holding her to his ribs agreed. Bastard, because the buzzing started up again, a soft but distinct stimulation of her senses. Hermione hissed in his ear as soon as they were past the ticket-takers at the entrance.

"It's doing it again! Aren't you going to remove it?"

Craning his head, he cocked a blond brow at her, his grey eyes glinting with a very Slytherin sort of half-cruel amusement. "Whatever are you talking about, my love?"

Given the proximity of the usher pressing a pair of programmes on them, she didn't doubt he'd said the endearment deliberately for their audience. She walked with him down the steep section of the aisle, whispering. "The numbers game you've been playing with me all evening, that's what! It's still going on!"

He stopped halfway to their seats--prime ones, too; it had cost her a number of pounds to get eighth-row tickets on the ground-floor, though they were at the far left of the row--and caught her close. "You could end the problem with a flick of that glorified hair-pin of yours," he murmured in her ear. "But it's my birthday...and I am not through playing with my present to myself. After all, you're the one who wanted to get dressed up to the nine...and go out for the evening, instead of staying in our hotel room."

Her brain had turned to mush. So had her legs. Her breath was rather rapid and shaky, too. Apparently he didn't care to hold up that much of her weight; nuzzling her earlobe, he took pity on her.

"But one must do what one must, in a situation like this..."

The buzzing melting her brain and stimulating her flesh from pubic mound to tailbone thankfully stopped. Almost. There was still a tiny bit of a tremor in the hood of flesh guarding her most sensitive nerves, and he had the gall to drop a kiss onto her brow before stepping back. The smiling bastard left it that way, too, guiding her quickly to their seats as the lights dimmed. And then he tormented her by muttering the Act and Scene numbers, referencing his programme in the glow of the lights on the stage from time to time, and by muttering other randomly picked, randomly timed levels of torturous bliss.

Apparently he was familiar with The Phantom of the Opera, for he permitted her three climaxes, which she fought to keep silent, fingers digging into his wool-covered thigh during the signature, title song in the first act, a second one during the Don Juan seduction song late in the second act, and a third one during the kiss scene near the very end. That one was expected, but ambushed, for he cupped her cheek and pulled her to him, whispering 'ten' just before kissing her himself. Thankfully, he muttered a 'zero' somewhere in there, permitting her to relax and recover from her increasingly sore, deliciously abused pleasure-zones.

When they broke apart, the musical had already progressed by several lines. Thumb caressing the edge of her chin, he rested his forehead against hers. "Unlike our dear Phantom," he whispered, his mouth curved in a Russel way, but with his eyes glittering under the calculation of a Snape, "I will never let you go. Do keep that in mind."

A soft brush of his lips, gentle in contrast to the sharp edge underlying his words, and he sat back, letting her absorb his determination on the matter as the musical drew to its poignant close. Hermione was grateful for the respite, even as his words gave her mixed feelings. She was finally beginning to reconcile and accept his true identity, to accept that her feelings for Russel were transferable to Severus, and adjust to the fact that he was Severus Snape. Acceptance was only part of the matter; she still had to figure him out, to understand the complex man seated at her side, if they were to have any hope of a real relationship.

Sliding her hand over his where it rested on his kilted thigh, she laced her fingers with his. The fate of the wizarding world depended on how well the two of them interacted, how well they got along. For such a heavy responsibility, Hermione felt remarkably buoyant as she daringly held his hand. It didn't last very long. The musical ended and the audience applauded, many of them rising to their feet as the cast came out to take their bows; she was forced to let go of him so that she could rise and applaud beside him. Gathering their coats, he guided her up the aisle from behind, wrapping his arms around her whenever they had to pause and wait a while as the crowd slowly cleared from the theatre.

By the time they reached the street outside, it was very late, and very crowded. Walking by silent, mutual accord, they didn't use the alley they'd Apparated into, earlier; it was too close to the theatre, too easily noticed by the throngs of leaving patrons. Instead, he guided her a few blocks away until they were virtually alone, then pulled them into a recessed doorway just long enough to Disapparate.

Banging into their hotel room, he shifted back from her. A flick of his wrist enchanted his evening-wear into slithering off of his body. Stepping out of his footwear as they wriggled off his feet, he flicked his wand at her, too. The black dress peeled itself off her body, followed by her stockings, shoes and undergarments as she moved backward under his naked advance. He didn't reach for her though; instead, he swept his chest-length hair back, twisted it into a knot, and pinned it in place with his wand. It was a peculiar look for a man to wear, but a practical one for a naked wizard, if that naked wizard wanted his hands free but his wand kept close.

Hermione dropped her gaze, eyeing the rest of him. He was aroused, though not yet fully erect, when he removed the ribbon holding the raven-carved stone at his neck. Hermione glanced down, watching the tanned hue of his skin swirling upwards from his feet, vanishing into his leg-hairs. Curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, "Where did you come up with that skin-changing spell, anyway? I've never heard of anything like it, before."

"It's an advanced disguise Charm. I learnt it from an Auror years ago." The blond nest of curls at his groin darkened, holding her attention until the ribbon took its place. He offered it to her. "Would you like to try it?"

Tempted, Hermione gave in and nodded, accepting the ribbon. Taking her hand, he led her into the bathroom, flicking on the light-switch. His hair was nearly black, only his shoulders and face still tanned. The last of the magic drained into his hairline as he positioned her in front of him, facing the broad, full-length mirror on the wall opposite the bathroom door.

"Put it on."

Obeying, Hermione lifted the ribbon into place, making sure the cabochon was the right way up. He assisted her, hooking it behind her nape. Magic tingled across her skin, pouring down from her scalp. Fascinated, Hermione watched as her chestnut hair lightened and her skin darkened, spreading down through her skin like a dollop of coffee in a glass of cream. Warmer-complected to begin with, her skin still turned only as tan as his had been. Her hair just wasn't as dark as his, though the amulet drained her curls of colour until they were as pale as a Malfoy's.

"Wow, I look...I look and sound different!" she laughed, hearing the oddity of a Canadian accent changing the way her words emerged. Staring at her image, Hermione shook her head after only a few moments. Even her eyes had lightened from light brown to a pale hazel-amber. They looked very strange, to her. "...This isn't me. Unlike you, I don't look good as a blonde."

He stilled her hands as they reached for the ribbon. "Wait another minute for the magic to settle." His hands shifted to her throat, then slid up into her curls. "You don't look hideous as a blonde. Very different, but not exactly repulsive." A pause, and a Russel-grin flashed across his face. "Care to see if blondes really do have more fun?"

Hermione attempted to elbow him for that. They tussled for a few moments, Hermione squirming for an advantage and him grappling for purchase. When she realized he was more interested in groping her breasts, she gave up and unhooked the choker. Ignoring the tickling, swirling feel of melanin reorganizing itself in her flesh, she turned in his arms. Their eyes met, his black and shuttered, hers darkening to brown even as she smiled at him. "Happy Birthday, Severus."

His mouth twitched. "You wouldn't say that, if you knew what I wanted to do to you."

Unable to resist her curiosity, Hermione eyed him warily. "And what would that be?"

Leaning close enough to brush his half-turgid flesh against her lower abdomen, he gave her a tight little smile. "Claim your final virginity."

That puzzled her. Frowning up at him, Hermione asked, "What final virginity?"

Turning her around, he pulled her back against his chest, her buttocks against his groin. Arms wrapping around her, he rested his chin against her temple, her hair darkened once more to its natural chestnut brown. A brief readjustment of himself against her, and he pulled her close again, this time with his half-erect shaft nudging between her nether-cheeks. "Your anal virginity."

Hermione stiffened with shock. She felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment when he smirked at her reaction. "You...surely, you can't be--"

Two of his fingers flew to her lips, cutting her off. "It is my birthday, and I am invoking Lesson One."

Hermione gasped as her flesh started buzzing again. It was still a very faint tremor, but she was a little sore from her earlier pleasure. "Oh, no...tell me you're not going to leave that spell still going?"

"Why not?"

Bastard. She could hear the smirk in his voice, as well as see it reflected in the mirror. "Because I'm feeling a little tender and sore. Do you know how many times I've come, tonight?"

The chuckle that escaped him reverberated from his chest to her shoulder-blades, caught against him as she was in his embrace. "Four? Five?"

"--Bastard!" The epithet escaped her as her genitals buzzed.

"Don't you mean Birthday Boy?" he countered, growling the words into her ear. Hands shifting, he crossed his wrists and tweaked her nipples. His dark eyes gleamed as he studied their paired reflection. "Put your hands behind my neck...and I might lower the level."

Lifting her arms as bidden also lifted her breasts, Hermione discovered. They were a handful, not exactly large, but not small, either. He cupped them, caressed and massaged her pale curves, then slid one hand down the soft skin of her stomach. As her fingers delved through the dark strands of his hair, his fingertips stroked and slid through the coarse curls of her mound. Eyes half-closed, enjoying the feel of him embracing her, she finally frowned at him. "...Well? Aren't you going to stop it?"

"Now, why would I want to do that?"

Annoyed, definitely feeling tender down there, she snagged the hilt of her wand, pulling it free of her upswept hair. He caught her wrist even as her curls flopped into his face, loosened from the impromptu vinewood hairpin. Biting her lip, she tried to hide her smile, but he shook off her hair and glared at her for being amused at his expense. Taking her wand from her, he twisted her hair into an unruly mass on top of her head, skewered it with her wand, and drew his own from the smaller knot at the back of his own head.

Stepping back, he tapped the crease between the cheeks of her rump. But not to cancel his previous spell. "Rectumundirenu!"

Hermione gasped and squirmed as the level-five buzzing mixed very strangely, but not unpleasantly, with the magic that voided and vanished the contents of her rectum and bladder, cleaning her flesh.

"One," Severus murmured, lowering himself to his knees. Hands on her hips, he nudged her. "Lean forward. Brace yourself on the mirror."

Curious, Hermione complied. The position thrust out her backside. A nudge of her legs to separate them, a grip of her muscles to spread open the crease between, and he had enough room to lick the cleaned flesh exposed by her stance. Hermione shivered.

It was definitely an unfamiliar sensation. If she hadn't had the buzzing in the front half of her femininity to distract her, she might have felt too uncomfortable to continue. She knew that was hypocritical of her; she'd already done this exact same task to him, as Russel. But she knew from her reading that stroking a man's prostate through his thin rectal wall could give him pleasure. Women didn't have a prostate gland. And yet...

He murmured something. A number. She guessed it to be a 'three' on the scale, and was glad for it. Anything higher would've been too much for her sensitized skin, but this was enough to make the experience pleasurable. The buzzing distracted her, and kept her from being unnerved by the probing of his tongue. He tilted her hips a little more, then licked a little lower, lapping at the juices seeping from her body. That was enjoyable. The rimming of his tongue had felt good, but this wasn't nerve-wracking.

He stopped, though, and tapped her fundament with his wand. "Lotiungere..."

Startled, Hermione squirmed at the sudden...slick...feel invading her nethermost region. It wriggled, making her gasp. Teeth nipped at the curve of one buttock, making her gasp again. "What...?"

"Shh, these are merely my fingers, wife."

Since when did he get two of them up in there? she wondered, wide-eyed. He dragged them slowly out and in, slick with whatever spell he'd used, but slightly curved, and rotating with each thrust and withdrawal. She had never realized just how many nerve-endings existed, back there. A whispered number, and the buzzing in her flesh increased, extending all the way to the back, where his fingers gently twisted and played.

A stretching pain told her he was working another finger inside, but it didn't feel too terrible. Head bowing, hands braced on the mirror, she found herself rocking slightly backwards. Feeling the warmth of his lips on the back of her thigh, she relaxed herself into his touch. "This...isn't so bad..."

His fingers stilled, wedged deeply inside her flesh. Lithe, lean body rising, he wrapped his arm around her waist. "Stand up...now face the sink...and place your hands on the counter. Step back a little...yes, like that. Turn your head to the right," Severus ordered quietly, extracting his fingers, making her shiver as she turned her attention from the mirror behind the sink back to the one at their side. "Yes, like that...now, watch as I bugger you."

She watched as he gripped himself with his left hand and tapped with the wand in his right, casting the same lubrication charm as before. Watched as he nudged against her opening, and felt him squeezing the head of his shaft inside. Closing her eyes, she fought with herself. She wanted to pull back, wanted to push down, wanted to resist, to accept, to be a hypocrite and say this wasn't pleasurable, just nasty...but it did feel good. Disgustingly, deliciously good. At least she was very clean, back there.

Her head had shifted forward, bowing between her braced arms. Hermione dropped it a little lower and peered under her right arm. He whispered a number and the buzzing intensified, making her knees tremble. A second number, and it stopped. Leaving her with just the gliding, tantalizing, forbidden stimulation of sodomy.

Trembling in her thighs led to the buckling of one knee. Hermione repositioned herself, but knew it wouldn't be enough. Bracing her weight on her left arm, she yanked her wand free, slashing it through the air as she concentrated through her pleasure. "Semobilim!"

That lifted her up, but she pressed back down again. And grunted, panting as he yanked her into him, guiding her now floating body. She still had to use her hands on the counter, since each thrust threatened to bang her head into the counter if she tipped forward too far, but it allowed her muscles to quiver without having to support both her own weight and the rhythmic pressure of his actions. Best of all, she didn't have to concentrate on her own movements; the spell kept her aloft, but mobile enough to be manipulated by him.

"Two...four...six...eight--!"

Pleasure surged up through Hermione's nerves; she gasped, squirming and tightening around his shaft as that damned spell reactivated--but it was the thought that tumbled at the heels of his command that tipped her over the edge of her peaking pleasure. The shout of laughter that escaped her rang painfully loud against the walls of the bathroom. His rhythm fumbled, faltered, and then shuddered as her laughter-tightened muscles triggered his own climax. Squeezing her name out of him.

"Jane!"

Laughing madly, Hermione flopped in his grip, clutching at her bare stomach. She was still gasping for breath when he pulled out, still chuckling as he reduced the spell to zero and guided her out of the bathroom. Unable to stop giggling, she let him cast the Canceling Spell once she was centered over the bed. Bouncing onto the bedding, she panted for breath, but burst into a new round of mirth as he settled at her side, leaning over her with his elbow propping up his torso.

"--What is so amusing, wife?" The growled demand sobered her somewhat, but just looking up at him, his hair hanging in black clumps that were still tangled from the vigors of their passion, made her choke and snort unbecomingly. His black eyes narrowed in warning, making her gasp out the truth.

"...Two, four, six, eight; who do we appreciate? Snape! Snape! Yaaaaaay, Snape! --Bahahahahaha!!" And she was off again, peals of laughter crunching her abdomen and scrunching her eyes as she laughed until her face was red and streaked with tears. Her body spasmed just as she was calming down again, but not with laughter. This time, with pleasure. Stiffening with it, she arched her back, moaning.

Her hands scrabbled for an anchor as the powerful aftershock shook her senses. One fisted in the covers. The other clutched at the sweat-damp skin of his chest. Moaning again as it passed, Hermione found enough energy to roll herself over, flopping her arm across his abdomen. Nuzzling his chest with her cheek, she sighed, mumbling into his shoulder.

"Mmm...you're bloody...brilliant..."

If he made a reply to her compliment, she didn't hear it; the delicious bastard had exhausted her literally insensate.

...

The screeching beep of the electric clock dragged Hermione rudely back into the land of the awake. Groaning, wondering where her wand had gone, she rolled her very stiff body away from the warm flesh that was thankfully moving to silence the blasted thing. In the quiet following the whap of her husband's hand on the buttons, Hermione groaned again, covering her eyes as he clicked something.

"Oh, god... I utterly and completely blame you...for every single ache and pain I'm feeling, this morning."

Hair tickled her forearm, which she'd draped over her eyes to block out the light of the bedside lamp. Pushing her arm off her face, he claimed her mouth in a kiss. Only after she had managed to respond for about a minute or so did he pull back and murmur, "You're welcome. But we have a potion to check, and water ."

"Mmmh," she agreed, returning her forearm to her face as she felt him move away from her. Then sat up quickly. "Oh! I have to tell you, Percy recovered enough to report!"

"What happened?" Severus enquired, opening the drawers of the bureau to extract fresh clothing to wear.

"We all saw his memories in a Pensieve," she related, pulling the covers up to her breasts. Not to hide herself from him, but because the room was a little colder than usual; wherever they were, it felt like the weather had taken a dip for the worse. Not even individual heaters in each hotel room could take the chill off a truly cold winter day. "There were three Death Eaters. A very tall, thin fellow, a flattish-chested woman who did most of the hexing, and Pettigrew, the night that Percy was attacked."

"--Pettigrew?" He struggled to clear his head through the neckline of a scarlet jumper she hadn't seen before. "That's impossible."

"I saw it for myself," she reassured him, picturing it again in her mind. How the woman had hexed Percy without any show of hesitation or remorse, how Pettigrew had watched, how the tall, thin man had held that long chain wound several times around his hand. "Ugly teeth, plump, greasy face--well, from the lips down, given they were all clad in deeply cowled robes--and one silvery hand. Aside from the hand, he was the exact same traitorous git I saw back in our third year. Peter Pettigrew was there at the Ministry on Christmas Eve."

He shook his head, stepping into undershorts. "Every account I've heard of Christmas Eve said that Pettigrew didn't leave the Dark Lord's side. Not for more than a few minutes. Only Bones was unaccounted for, that night!"

Long chain, merciless hex, silver hand...long chain--

"Time-Turner!" Hermione gasped, staring at him. "They stole a Time-Turner! That's how Pettigrew could appear to be in two places at once. That's why they were after Mr. Lubbock, too! He's a Chronomancer; they were trying to get their hands on a Time-Turner, back during the summer."

The navy utili-kilt slipped from his fingers, his skin paling almost to the point of looking green. "Of course... The stasis spell on the bottle--the traces of granite, and grass, mud and lichen--but what was it used for?"

"Severus?" Hermione asked him.

"I was given a potion to make. Part of the reason why it took longer than expected was this dusty old bottle of blood, with bits of grass, and stone, and lichen in it. I had to separate out the blood from the rest of it, to purify it before I could use it in the draught...but I didn't know the purpose of the brew. Only Bella would know--it was from one of the Borgia witch's other texts," he added, cutting his hand through the air between them in a gesture that was more disdainful than dismissive. "But he Obliviated her memory after each recital session.

"Whatever was in that book, only she had the skill to read it unharmed, as well as the right gender. But he knew. Somehow, he knew what was in there," Severus repeated. "And I have no idea what it was, or what it did. Only that the Dark Lord watched us both the whole time, and that he drank it in the end. I couldn't fake a single step. But from what you say, he must've sent Bones back in time to fetch that blood, and maybe the book, and he has a Time-Turner in his care, with Merlin knows what disastrous effects on the continuum it could trigger.

"I have to get the Time-Turner away from them," he muttered, raking his hands through his hair, "but I don't know how... It has to be done discreetly. Bones probably still has it--potion first," he ordered her, slashing his wand through the air.

Hermione gasped as one of the spare sets of clothing she had taken to storing in one of the bureau drawers leapt out and attacked her body, dressing her as she quickly flicked the sheet aside. Wriggling the leg band of her knickers through her jeans so that the soft cotton knit didn't bind, she searched for her wand. It was on the nightstand next to the radio.

"We can't let the Ministry know openly that we're trying to get it back. Not if I've any hope of getting or smashing that Time-Turner without getting caught. Certainly no mention of the device to anyone--for now, that includes the Order," he warned her.

"Not as a whole," Hermione agreed, "but I'm telling Minerva."

"Hermione--"

"--She needs to know!" Hermione protested, wishing he'd used her middle name instead. He always seemed softer, or at least more flexible, when calling her Jane. 'Hermione' was reserved for when he was being implacable. "And if nothing else, Albus' portrait should also be told. Just because he's dead doesn't mean his portrait is as dumb as a door-knocker."

"Fine. I'll check the potion, and you check the time-table and the next few steps, to make certain we're on schedule. Then you go tell Minerva, and I'll Apparate back to that hellhole and try to see what I can find."

Rising from the bed, Hermione wrapped her arms around him, taking advantage of the arms uplifted to fasten the choker around his throat. "You will be careful, do you hear me?"

"Jane, I am quite aware that there is only one of me, and that there is no one who could possibly replace me, if anything goes wrong." His tone was impatient, but the arms that held her close to his jumper-clad chest squeezed in unspoken comfort.

She hoped it was because he, too, was finally coming to terms with their relationship. However bizarre and riddled with perceived lies and betrayals, they had to start working together, and in more ways than just cooperation. Or love-making. Squeezing him back, she released him. "Let's get the Anima Te out of the way..."

...

Emerging from the Floo in Madam Pince's office, Hermione stumbled into a tall, lean body. Choking on the soot-dust that had accompanied her egress, she found herself steadied and set back from a tight-faced Ron. He addressed her as she dusted herself off.

"About time you showed up," he stated bluntly. "Harry and I need a little help with some of the advanced binding and loosening Charms we've been studying, but you've been off doing other things all night long. Where've you been? And why were you in Professor McGonagall's study, just now?"

He must've checked for my whereabouts with the Maurader's Map... She paused a moment, gauging how much to tell him about what she and Severus had uncovered. "Russel...told me something important, this morning. Pettigrew wasn't absent for more than a minute or two, all of Christmas Eve, from everything he'd heard. And that long chain, wrapped around the tall man's hand...we think they stole a Time-Turner from the Ministry."

"A Time-Turner?" he frowned thoughtfully. "But most everything was smashed in the...oh, of course! It was all just a diversionary tactic! That's why Dad's friends in the Department of Mysteries says that every single person who worked in that department was accounted for! That hooded witch wasn't from the Talismans section--she was from the Chronomancy Department! That explains why Mr. Lubbock was attacked, too, last summer!"

Hermione smiled at him, glad his freckled mind was working full-speed on the problem. She switched it to a grimace. "Yes, and Russel's gone back to try and find out more...but we can't tell anyone, Ron."

"Why not?" he challenged her.

"Because he's going to try to steal it, or smash it, without getting caught. Time is too delicate and too powerful for them to meddle with, and he thinks they've already meddled," she confessed. "He was...um...well, I can't say, because it would be too dangerous," she added, cursing herself silently for almost giving away his identity. "But he'll do what he can to neutralize the Time-Turner, as soon as he can locate it and figure out how to do so without giving himself away. We really can't afford to lose our only spy."

"Right," Ron agreed. He frowned after a moment. "...But that was this morning. Where were you yesterday?"

She couldn't help the blush that stained her cheeks with heat. "Erm...celebrating his birthday. We took in dinner and a musical, down in London. We were sort of distracted, otherwise I would've remembered to talk about all of that stuff last night with him." A yawn caught her off guard, forcing her to smother it behind her palm. "--Excuse me. I didn't get as much sleep as I could've. I'm off to bed for a while."

Reaching for the Floo pot, she cast the powder into the hearth, stating her destination. As she whirled around, green lighting up around her, she caught sight of Ron's face. It was crumpling, but the impression was too fleeting to tell if he was wincing from disgust, indignation, or anger. Spat out into the kitchen at Headquarters, Hermione waited for him to come through, to ask him what was wrong.

He didn't show. Giving up on him after a minute, she climbed the back stairs. Nothing could harm him, at Hogwarts. Still, she didn't relax until she heard the stairs creak. Clad in her pyjamas, she opened the door a tiny crack, and watched the scowling wizard stalk towards his room. He averted his whole head, not just his gaze, as he passed her door. Something had wedged his knickers in a knot, but Hermione didn't know what.

Shrugging philosophically, she retreated to her bed, nudged Crookshanks over a bit so that the marmalade fluffball would stop hogging the center of the mattress, and settled down to sleep. Whatever it was, it could wait for morning. Or rather, the afternoon. It was already morning right now.