Muladhara

VII. Muladhara

'Come, come, whoever you are –

– Rumi

'No one has ever attained by suffering

– Abu Said

~~~

From Hermione Granger's perfume notebooks:

The basis of any powerful perfume are distillations that Paracelsus calls 'quintae essentiae'. A 'quinta essentia' is the essence of an ingredient, the extract that remains when the relevant substance has been freed of all impurities, refined to highest purity, and separated from all other elements interfering with its inherent quality. In this inherent quality, says Paracelsus, the true nature of a substance is revealed, pure power without any foreign, distracting admixtures. It is the soul of a scent and alchemically equals the spirit of life itself.

Only from the absolute of a soul can arise the power that allows a Perfume Master to understand magic on a molecular level, to enchant fragrances instead of ingredients, and to perceive the scent of magic itself.

~~~

10 May 2009

By the time we stand in the library, I'm desperate. My mind is reduced to nothing but need. Frantic, pathetic need that makes me cling to Severus and has me clawing at his coat, fumbling for his buttons.

Severus grabs my wrists to keep me at a distance, but I fight him. I squirm, I flail, I thrash. He has to push me back against the closed door and use the full weight of his body to keep me from trying to tear off his clothes. As he leans against me, his erection presses into my stomach. He wants me, too. Even with the head of a Great Horned Owl, and almost no sense of smell. I moan and grind my hips against him.

'Not like this,' he growls. His feathers tickle my throat, and I gasp.

'No,' I agree, inhaling deeply. I am already drunk on his scent, but I want more. I want to taste his skin, his lips. 'I want you to kiss me.'

'That's not what I meant.' With a groan, he presses even closer against me, and I am drowning in his beautiful, beautiful smell – it will be a happy death! 'Not. Like. This.'

Without relinquishing his hold on my hands, he drags me to the door, stumbling up the stairs, and to his bathroom. With a crash he flings open the door to this private sanctuary, and I follow him willingly. But when he attempts to shove me into the shower, clothes and all, I dig in my heels. 'Not like this!'

The tuft of feathers above his left eye twitches. 'No?'

Suddenly his wand is in his hand. 'Evanesco!'

Clutching my own wand, I find myself undressed. Shivering and naked, I stand in front of him. The cool air makes my skin prickle with goose bumps and my nipples pucker pertly. But it also calms this insane need that has gripped me, and I'm able to look around instead of trying to rip the buttons off Severus' frock coat and shirt.

More than a few square feet of wizard space have gone into the creation of this bathroom: the shower, neatly inserted into a closet in the wall to my right is as big as my whole bathroom up in the attic. Peeking inside, I glimpse a wide wooden bench lining the right side of the shower. The showerhead is a height-adjustable nozzle and as big as a soup bowl. A shelf on the left holds a selection of soaps, shampoos, and potions, as well as a full set of sponges and bath brushes. The glass door and the wooden bench make me wonder if the shower doubles as a sauna. Not bad, not bad at all. Clearly, the rumours about Severus' habits concerning his personal hygiene bandied about at Hogwarts so many years ago were absurdly off the mark. And the huge bathtub at the centre of the room behind Severus looks even more inviting than the shower ...

Severus is wearing far too many clothes for my taste. I twirl my wand at him in a suggestive gesture and return the favour: 'Evanesco!' To see him naked and very much aroused right in front of me increases the urgency that burns in my veins once more. And Merlin, the smell! I can see it, rays of green and gold, radiating from his body. I already regret washing away that delicious magic, but Severus is right – our first time shouldn't be like this, distorted and blurred by a magical drug. And besides, I think, smirking a little, there's still enough left in my phial for fun and games at another time.

'Get rid of that bird head now!' I command, pulling him into the shower closet. 'Or your feathers are going to get wet.'

He manages just in time before the jet of hot water hits him. Shaking his head, he sprays me with warm droplets and sends a few downy feathers tumbling down to the floor, where they swirl away into the drain.

'Wench!' he mutters and grabs the nozzle from my hand. 'Time to get you clean!'

'Oooohh!' I gasp and undulate in the stream of heated water, trying to get closer to him again. I want to touch him! Feel him! Now!

'No, Hermione,' he reminds me, his voice stern. But I can see that the hand that his holding the showerhead is shaking. Now that he's no longer protected by an owl's weak olfactory senses, he is affected by the perfume again, too. 'Remember what we agreed upon – not like this.'

'Not like this,' I echo feebly and start shivering again in spite of the hot water rushing over my body. My knees are so weak that I wonder how long I'll be able to stay on my feet without collapsing. The effect of the perfume is definitely stronger for the one who wears it than for the one who smells it.

'Shhh...' he soothes me. 'Lean against me. I'll hold you. And tilt your head back ...'

I obey. He is slender, almost slim, but at the same time more muscular and stronger than I expected – he supports most of my weight without any apparent effort. The way he presses between my buttocks from behind, hot and solid and deliciously slick with water, makes me marvel at even more hidden assets. Instinctively, I throw back my head, not bothering to suppress a moan.

'Yessss,' he hisses, but makes no move increase the friction between us and to alleviate his own need. Instead, he fastens the shower nozzle to the wall somewhere above my head, lowers the intensity of the spray, and plucks a soap from the shelf.

There is an ease, an intimacy between us that amazes me and fills me with deep delight. I feel as if we've done this a hundred times, when in fact we've only ever touched each other casually so far, perhaps not even a dozen times, all in all. At the same time, I revel in the thrill of discovery as I watch how his long, slender fingers deftly spread fragrant suds over my skin.

'Lotus, wintergreen, and vervain,' he explains. 'A soap I made for purposes of spiritual purification. It should work for that perfume, too.' I should think so – especially lotus, as a flower of divine purity and physical asceticism. He starts with the top of my head, the crown chakra. 'Careful now, you don't want to get soap in your eyes.' The forehead. A caress of his right palm, thumb and index finger at the base of my throat. I arch back my neck and sigh with pleasure. But he's already moving on, hands gliding downward, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples with slick, gentle pinches. 'Glorious,' he murmurs. 'So full. Hmm... so heavy ... so lovely ... When I saw you with Draco last week, I could have killed the boy for envy. To be allowed to touch and revel in such bounty when he has no more than a passing interest in your beauty ...' Now he rubs both hands downwards between my breast, soaping the chakras of heart and solar plexus, until he lets his hands rest on the sacral chakra, the pubic bone.

'Draco's a friend –' I manage, before I have to gasp for breath as Severus rubs the soap into the curls at the apex of my thighs with his left, frothing up the suds with the heel of his right. It's a miracle that the warm drizzle of the shower doesn't go up in steam. I writhe against Severus and whine, producing incoherent noises of need. 'Severus, please!' I beg. 'Have mercy!'

Breathing hard, he involuntarily thrusts against me from behind. I wouldn't mind even that, which is not my idea of an ideal first encounter, but I'm desperate now. How Severus manages to restrain himself is a mystery to me. My whole body is pulsing with need, vibrating –

'Don't move now,' he orders. And I obey; I hardly dare to breathe while my heart beats out a wild, irregular tattoo and his left hand glides down to the root chakra between vagina and anus, while his right index finger slides between my wet, slick folds and finds the swollen nub of my clitoris.

For a moment, he just rests his fingers on my skin. Then he presses down and moves his fingers in tiny circles. Once. Twice. Three times. I have no breath left to scream. Silent, gasping, I convulse as the absolute pleasure of orgasm surges through my body. Distantly, I notice Severus thrusting against me, groaning with the power of his own release. But although he must realise that I would welcome him inside my body, he does not enter me.

Then my knees buckle. Severus catches me. Arm in arm, we slide down on the bench of his shower. Away from the warm sprinkle of water, it is noticeably cooler. When I shudder against him, he reaches a shaking hand for the showerhead, and turns the water on full again, hot enough to steam up the cabin.

When we finally emerge from the shower, all my muscles feel like jelly, but there's not a hint of perfume left to affect my senses or my mind. Only Severus and I are left, in full possession of our senses, wet and flushed with the heat of the water and our passion.

'The tub next?' I suggest, grinning.

~~~

Silent, he stands before me, his black hair clinging wet and slick to a surprisingly graceful skull. He stands tall and pretends to be at ease, but I notice a certain tightness to jaw and eyes, and the slightest quivering of fingers that betrays his nervousness. And yes, down there he's trying his err... hardest to disappear, a feat made rather impossible by grace of girth and length.

Severus can't possibly think I would ... I frown. Yes. That's exactly what he is thinking.

'You're thinking I'm going to turn around and walk out on you now,' I state. 'Without looking back.'

He just stares at me.

I know that Lily let him down, and that Dumbledore didn't give a rat's arse about his soul. I cannot fathom what else is hidden in his painful past besides what the Prophet and the Quibbler and Time Magazine (the wizarding edition) printed. And I don't trust any of those publications as far as I can throw them without magic. Which is not far – I suck at sports.

For a moment I contemplate kisses, vows, and promises. Then I remember the months of therapy I spent talking to no avail, and I just shrug and walk to the tub. Big enough for three, it's sunk halfway into the floor, wrapped into a wooden platform shaped like a leaf.

'I like bubble bath,' I announce decisively and turn on the tap, hot, strong, full power.

~~~

Apparently, so does Severus. At least he has an amazing selection of bubble baths to choose from. Or maybe he's just one bored Potions Master, besides being a very busy Perfume Master. In the end I randomly choose a mixture of linden flowers, honey, and lemon. Mellow and fresh at the same time.

When I sink into foot-high foam of finest bubbles, I know I've chosen well. And Severus proves himself to be a romantic at heart by conjuring up a bottle of Prosecco and two long-stemmed, delicate glasses. He has refrained from adding a vase with a flower – probably because he's afraid I wouldn't believe his veracity in that case.

I raise my glass to toast him from my end of the tub and refrain from toeing the line ... or rather, the as-yet-unchartered territory under the water and his waistline.

For a while we just sit in the hot water, the foam fizzing around us, sipping the sparkling wine.

It's almost too comfortable to be true.

'Sooo,' I drawl. 'Do you do this kind of thing often?' I gesture at bottle and bath.

Living at Spinner's End for over a year I know that he doesn't get private visitors often, and even fewer of the female persuasion. Apart from Minerva and Poppy, who visit regularly – but neither of them stays for the night. However, I just can't shake off the memory of beautiful, powerful Mystery de Medici. The idea of her long legs twined sinuously around Severus' body makes me stretch my own legs along the sides of the tub, until I can almost touch his buttocks with my feet. How can I feel so ... possessive about him when we've only made out in the shower, not even had sex yet?

Severus smirks. 'I will tell you about Velia if you tell me about Draco.'

'Unfair!' I cry and throw a handful of foam at him. 'Legilimency should be illegal!'

'It already is,' Severus replies dryly. 'As you well know.'

Indeed, I do. That moment in the lab posed a risk for both of us – and a test of trust.

'Well, what about Velia?' I prod, unable to hide a tiny smirk of my own at his interest in my relationship with Draco.

Raising his glass, Severus stares into the pale golden liquid as if it's a Pensieve taking him many years into the past. Curtly, he shakes his head. 'That was over before I started teaching at Hogwarts. When I went to Dumbledore in August 1980, he decided it wouldn't be safe for me to stay close to Voldemort and my ... former friends. He didn't trust me – or my abilities as a spy – at that point. For good reason. So he sent me as far away as possible, to Italy. To all appearances I conducted Dark and arcane research for Voldemort while gaining my Mastery in Potions and working for Velia's Master. But in truth, Dumbledore's goal was simply to keep me out of harm's way. And even more important, to prevent me from causing more harm than I'd already done.'

Dark memories carve lines into his face that were invisible before. He closes his eyes for a moment, exhales, and his features relax into that expression of bittersweet wistfulness I've noticed now and again during the past seventeen months of living and working with him. He's made peace with his past, but that peace is hard-won, and hard-kept.

When he opens his eyes again, there's a new softness to them, and I realise that wherever we go from here, I need not fear Mystery, or any other shadow from the past to come back to haunt us.

It is a gift I can return. 'Romantic breakfasts in bed Draco reserves for his current boy toy,' I explain with a smile. 'I think he only keeps up with the female side of the game out of perfectionism ... and because he hasn't met the right man yet. Although he himself claims that his heart of hearts will always belong to his art and no one else.' After a pause, I broach a more difficult subject than Draco could ever be. 'What about Lucius? Why do you think he kept that perfume for such a long time? And why did he give it to me now?'

Thoughtfully, Severus slides a slender finger over his lips. I have to concentrate to listen to him and not to become mesmerised by the way he strokes his sensitive lips. 'There is a matter of ... guild politics that he, Velia, and I do not see eye to eye with. They think I should exercise certain ... powers. For our greater good, of course.'

'Uh oh.'

Severus snorts. 'Exactly.' Then he shrugs. 'Maybe he just wants to yank my chain, maybe he thinks that a nice shag would do me a world of good, maybe he wants to save my soul, or maybe he's simply bored. With a man like Lucius, you never know.'

When it's time to refill the glasses, I somehow end up on Severus' lap. The tub is deep enough that I'm floating and barely put any weight on him. He cradles me in the crook of his left arm, using his right to clink his glass gently against mine. I wonder what kind of toast would be appropriate, but somehow words seem unnecessary. After taking another swallow, I put my glass aside on the leaf-shaped wood that frames the tub and turn to examine the man whose scent has haunted my life for the past thirteen years. Boldly, I slick back his damp hair with both hands, then trace the contours of his face with my fingertips. I discover that his eyebrows bristle, that there's a tiny black mole at the centre of his left temple that begs for kisses, and that there are tiny golden specks in his iris when you look really, really closely. And his teeth may be crooked and off-white, but perfectly flossed and brushed. When I've expressed my approval with long, languorous kisses, it's his turn.

I am not surprised that my corkscrew curls draw his attention. That doesn't surprise me – I have yet to get acquainted intimately with a straight-haired man who's not fascinated with my recalcitrant hair. But even more than that, he adores my ears, especially with the way the earlobes are attached to my skull. He caresses the curve of my ears and nibbles on the lobes until I squeal and squirm – and that only seems to spur him on!

At last he stills my breathless, helpless laughter with a kiss and tightens his embrace, allowing me to notice that in spite of wine and warm water, his stamina lives up to the legends of a wizard in his 'golden years'.

He inhales deeply and offers me the opening I've been waiting for. Resting my head on his shoulder, I murmur, 'So what do I smell like for you? And has my scent changed much over the years?'

It must have been so painful for him when I entered his life, not only a child, but a Muggle-born. What a cruel, cruel joke fate played on him!

'And how come I couldn't smell you? When Slughorn's Amortentia didn't smell of Ron, I spent weeks and weeks sniffing after every living soul in the castle, including Filch and Minerva!'

That makes him cough and sputter, and finally, laugh – a wonderful, deep-throated laugh that rumbles through his body, making him shake and shudder and the water spill over the edge of the tub.

'So that's what you were up to that term!' He tilts back his head and groans. 'And I was worried that Potter and Weasley had finally succeeded at alienating you and driving you into the arms of the Dark Lord.'

'Oh, Merlin! No! How could you think that?' But even as that cry spills from my lips, I know why – and I turn around to kiss him. 'I'm sorry,' I murmur. 'I didn't mean to worry you. And besides, it's all worked out all right now.'

'A head note of Linden blossoms in a warm night,' he says, replying to my first question instead of reacting to the rather Gryffindor affirmation of my last statement. 'A heart note of honey, fresh from the extractor, warm and fragrant with summer. And a base note of the holy grove on the other side of the Forbidden Forest, at noon in August.'

'Wow.' I lower my head and inhale the delicate scent of the remaining foam of our bath. 'Wow.'

'Indeed.' He tightens his hold on me once more. But I'm not ready to be completely distracted quite yet.

'But what about your scent?'

'A spell,' he replies simply. 'A soul mate searching for me based on my smell was the least of my worries at the time. Apart from my conviction that I didn't deserve to have one anymore – or at least none who'd ever be within my reach ... I couldn't risk to be identified by smell. By either side. And besides, what would you have done had you realised then that you were smelling your nasty, greasy, old Potions professor?'

While I don't think I would have reacted the way he imagines, I do realise the complications this would have caused. I was a teenager then, after all. And a Gryffindor to boot.

'Is that why you accepted me as your journeywoman?' I ask. 'Because –'

'Of course that aspect influenced my decision. But frankly I was more interested in the work you had done with BPAL and the Monell Center than the scent of your soul when I considered your application. And in the time you spent in the jungle with Luna. That was quite unexpected.'

'Luna will do that to you.' I think of the invisible lotus flower that is supposedly blossoming on my window sill upstairs. 'How about getting out of here now, before we turn into prunes?' I tug on a limp strand of black hair. 'There's a nice big bed up in the attic, and I assume you don't sleep on the floor normally, either, or do you?'

'Dinner first, I think,' replies Severus, climbing out of the tub. He turns to watch me emerge from the foam. 'You will need your strength,' he adds suggestively.

'Is that a promise?' I ask, lust coiling and uncoiling low in my body. Severus just smiles.

So we traipse down to the kitchen first to prepare a light supper that we eat on the terrace out back in the light of many candles. Tomato mousse, salad with fried green asparagus, and for dessert a bowl of fresh strawberries, with a thick, smooth sauce of cream cheese mixed with whipping cream and flavoured with vanilla, along with the remaining Prosecco.

We haven't bothered with dressing, instead warming the air of kitchen and terrace with Heating Charms. Time slows down with languid looks and leisurely caresses. The balmy evening enfolds us in the sweet embrace of spring while anticipation adds spice to our dinner.

When I suck a long, green stalk of asparagus into my mouth, Severus swallows hard. Smirking, I observe the hard growth of a very different stalk. Black eyes glittering, Severus accepts the challenge as we move on to the dessert. But instead of making a show of licking sweet juices off a berry, he draws me down on the wide wooden bench next to him. A quick, long finger spreads vanilla cream around my nipples. My squeal of protest turns into low moans when he strokes strawberries over my skin and licks off cream. Each caress swirls with a scent of vanilla and vellum around me, teasing me with teeth and tongue, torturing me.

'Bed,' I gasp when he sucks a nipple deep into his mouth, making me writhe with near painful passion. 'Please!'

We Banish the dishes into the kitchen. Running up the stairs, I hear the crash of a bowl that didn't make it to the sink, but neither of us cares.

In the attic, we tumble into my bed. Urgently, I press myself against him. Dinner has done nothing but feed this hunger ...

This time I do not have to beg – his need is a great as mine. Still, he slides himself into my body with sinuous strokes and excruciating self-control. Draws back again. Thrusts almost too gently. Leaves me. Fills me. And again. Until I clench my hands into fists to keep myself from clawing at his back and almost whine with need. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on Severus' forehead. But he keeps up his rhythm relentlessly. This is glorious torture. When a still damp strand of hair falls forward, and I smooth it back behind his ear, the smell of musk envelops me. Hair, his hair, clean and damp, scented with linden blossoms and lust. Uncurling my fingers, I arch up against him and grip his buttocks.

'More,' I urge him. 'Har-der!'

Pushing himself up on his left elbow to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he moans but increases the force of his movements. Then, with a wicked smirk, he slides a hand between our bodies and gently down until my gasp tells him he has reached the right spot. Alternating stroke and thrust, he sends the fiery shudder of almost there, almost there, coursing through my body with each movement.

'Now, now, now!' I want to cry, but all that emerges are incoherent sounds – ngh, ngh, nrgh!

But Severus understands. With a grunt he pushes himself even further up, to thrust even deeper, harder –

Abruptly, the exhilaration of orgasm rushes through my body. I scream and moan and now I claw at Severus' back after all, in the rhythm of those sweet contractions that grip my body, and now his, too. Until I don't know where I end and he begins, until we lose ourselves to each other and to this union ... until he collapses on top of me, until we roll to our sides and lie, limp and spent, clinging together in sweat and fulfilled passion.

Hours, days, or minutes later, my frantic heart rate slows down. I can hear Severus' ragged breathing even out until only gentle exhalations cool my heated skin. Softly, he slips from my body. Turning on his back, he draws me against his side. My curls must tickle his sensitive nose, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Later I revive enough to light some candles. In their flickering golden light I admire the man in my bed and marvel at how right it feels to be together with him this way.

'Like what you see?' His lips curl in a self-deprecating smile.

'Oh yes!'

He laughs at my fervid assertion but allows himself to be convinced with kisses and caresses. And it's true; I have always liked men with striking features, and there's an intensity to his expressions that is more attractive to me than conventional handsomeness. Then I sit up and turn my attention to his body. Amused, he suffers my hands-on scrutiny. Hmm... Nice ... Long lines. Lean. A few old curse scars, blue-white and long since faded. Well-toned muscles, but not too pronounced. A sinewy, subtle strength that I have come to appreciate tonight. My fingers follow the pronounced treasure trail. He lies flaccid on a thatch of black curls and only twitches when I slide my index finger over silky skin and bristly hair drenched with the remnants of our lust, sweat and shared fluids. I inhale deeply. Ahhh, yes ... Musk.

When I look up, Severus is blushing. Awkwardly, he clears his throat. 'You never said what I smell like for you.'

I curl into his embrace again, the intimate odour of our encounter still strong and strangely delicious in my nose.

'It's a bit of a story,' I warn him while my heartbeat quickens and my stomach flutters. It is our story now, no longer the lonely tale of my obsession.

'I expected Slughorn's Amortentia to smell like Ron, of course. Only it didn't,' I begin. 'It was a mature scent, quite different from that of a boy or even a young man.' And I wonder if Severus ever smelled like Ron did way back when, of innocence and impudence and Quidditch lawn. 'You smelled of herbs then. Of a grassy meadow on a hot summer's day. Almost like hay. Of parchment, to be exact, of finest vellum, lightly scented with lilies. And there was a distinct smell of hair, hair washed with a shampoo with basil, mint, and lemon.'

'Amazing.' Severus shakes his head. 'Not only that anyone would feel attracted to the smell of my hair, which is really more than miraculous enough. But those are the herbs I used in my shower soap then. I had little time to devote to such an indulgence as the finer details of personal hygiene (and sometimes it was quite useful to come across as the greasy, unattractive bat of the dungeons), so I used solid soap – which has a long shelf-life, but is considerably less effective than freshly made liquid shampoo.'

For a while, we lie there in silence, watching the shadows the candle flames are chasing across the sloping walls and ceiling. With his thumb, Severus draws leisurely circles around the nipple of my left breast. 'And now?' he prompts. 'You mentioned that my scent has changed.'

'Hmm,' I agree and stretch with pleasure under his caresses. 'Condensed. Refined. The herbs smell more like a potion now, an herbal syrup, perhaps. The scent of parchment has changed in the opposite direction, though, back to the raw ingredient. As if you've become truer to yourself, maybe. It's leather now. Warm. Masculine. Very much alive. And the base note ...' I trail off, thinking of how the day developed. From the frantic, crazed confrontation in the lab to the barely contained release of passion in the shower. From bath to bed. I inhale deeply. There's still a hint of the base note in the air.

'Musk,' I say with a satisfied sigh. 'Composed of sweat and hair and orgasm.'

Another deep breath.

'In short,' I murmur, closing my eyes, 'you smell of paradise.'

~~~

11 May 2009

When I open my eyes, I am perfectly relaxed and pleasantly sore from our vigorous lovemaking the previous night. Severus is already awake. Lying propped up on my pillows, he has barely moved. He still holds me in a half-embrace with his right arm – a feat he has only managed because my favourite sleeping position is curling up on my left side ... and because I was so wonderfully exhausted when I fell asleep. There is none of the often experienced awkwardness of the morning after. Everything – he – I – we – feels simply right.

'Good morning,' I mumble. Only when I blink fiercely and rub the sleep out of my eyes, I realise that Severus is staring fixedly at something in the distance.

I follow the direction of his gaze.

In a spot of spring sunshine on the window sill, Luna's vase – mere hours ago beautiful but empty – overflows with very visible lotus flowers in full bloom.

Had I still needed a sign, I could not have asked for a better or more poignant one.

'It seems I have chosen the right Master after all,' I murmur and smile at him.

He shakes his head as if he can't believe what he's seeing, and I'm not sure if it is my presence in his arms or the sudden appearance of the lotus flower that surprises him more. Then his eyes and his smile are all for me.

'And I the right Mistress,' he vows.

oooOooo