Two: All On A Misty Morning

Anti-Litigation Charm: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. All characters are property of JK Rowling and not me. If they did belong to me, Severus Snape would be alive and well and snarking his way through Hogwarts even as we speak.

For Arwyn

I come to you when you least expect, I call to you to come with me now

All on a misty morning I come to you with love

She tried to be dignified, told herself not to act like a child. At his quiet voice, speaking her name so gently, his arms opened wide in invitation to join him; her sense of propriety abandoned her, and she all but flew into his arms, sobbing her relief at seeing him. "You've come. Oh gods, you've come."

He enfolded her into his arms, and their mouths met frenziedly, hungrily, their pleasure at being together again almost painful. How could it not be? He broke her kiss and looked down into her face searchingly.

"Merlin's arsehole, witch, haven't you been taking care of yourself? You look like you've been dragged through the Forbidden Forest backwards." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace of pain. "How can I bear it, knowing you're wasting away?" Before she could form an answer, his mouth all but tore hers open, his need a grasping, selfish, greedy thing that made his natural poise oddly clumsy and off balance.

He growled deep in his throat, a sound that inflamed her lust for him like a match to paper, and she pressed her body closer to his, breathing in his scent deeply. There were the familiar warm smells of cedar and spice, enhanced by the night air. She could smell the delicious scent of his skin, and she answered him with a feral moan of her own. She felt the rasp of stubble on his face and the hard planes of his cheekbones beneath her fingertips. He pulled away to look at her again and graced her with something like his old familiar sneer. It held no mirth, no joy. It was a look of possession, of very great need for that which he wanted to own.

As she embraced him, he moaned, a desolate, pitiful sound which she answered with a comforting response, like the coo of a dove. He took her hand and placed it on his straining erection. It was hot through his clothes. Everyone thought him so cold. How could she explain to them the heat of the man – how he could scorch her to pieces with his gaze? How he burned as incandescently as Fiendfyre when they made love?

Already, he was pulling her toward her bed. "I can't wait," he whispered, and the anguish in his voice was palpable, an apology. He closed his eyes as her hand cupped him through his trousers, squeezing him gently. His brows furrowed together as if in pain.

"It's alright," she said, trying to sound as if she believed it. He was here, wasn't he? Did anything matter as long as he was here, moving her toward her bed, tangling his hands in her nest of hair, pulling her toward his beseeching mouth? She had seen him in many aspects as a lover: menacing, demanding, gentle, playful, cruel, and tender, but she had never seen such melancholy desperation.

She allowed him to unfasten her jeans, his hands growing frantic as he pushed them down her hips. "Take your knickers off," he urged, after unceremoniously yanking her jumper over her head. Then he was over her, pushing her down on the mattress, on top of her, his kisses needy and desperate, his voice harsh with want. His clothing scratched her bare skin, but she didn't mind. He moaned as her arms went around him, and Hermione understood enough to know that, at this moment, he was seeking comfort, not sex. Sex was just the only way he knew how to accept the comfort he sought.

I talk to you as a lover should with a voice close to your ear

All on a misty morning I come to you with love

"My sweet, little kitten," he crooned, nuzzling her with his large nose. He kissed her over and over with light, sipping kisses, as if to draw some secret elixir from her mouth into his. She reached down and unfastened his belt and trousers, and he gently but deliberately pushed her hands away, releasing his rigid cock. As he rubbed the weeping head of his sex between her labia, sliding against her swollen clit, he was stunned at the moisture he found waiting for him. His face crumpled, and he almost wept. "So wet," he whimpered, as if he couldn't believe her body was as ready for him as he was for her. He looked into her face, helpless with need and incendiary desire. "So wet for me, love?"

"Yes, Severus," she whimpered. "Please. Please..." His eyes rolled back as entered her slowly, his face a mask of painful pleasure. He looked down at her, shaking his head. Hermione felt her own eyes fill with tears. It had been so long since they'd touched, so long since her dark lover could claim her...

He settled into her deeply, his breathing harsh and rasping, as if he'd run a long way. He took a long, shuddering breath and, drawing back, he plunged into her welcoming heat, and he whimpered her name. He actually began to weep, then. At that moment, Hermione knew that Severus truly believed he didn't deserve this pleasure. It broke her heart that this fine man, this hidden soul, could think so little of himself.

"I love you," she whispered, and pulled him to her, covering his face with kisses. "I've missed you so much it hurts. Make the pain go away, Severus, even if it's just tonight. Let me take your pain away."

His only reply was to move inside her, to start that sweet rhythm that nature had fashioned to bring life together. It was exquisite and he sobbed, his tears dropping on her face as he moved. Gods, she thought. What hell is this man going through that the kindness, the simple act of making love can destroy him so?

"Oh, my sweet girl," he moaned, gasping at the pleasure of nestling within her. "It feels like you're melting around me," he breathed, and finally, finally, he accepted this gift of love and desire gratefully.

Let my hands be nimble, let my tongue be quick, let my loins move slowly against your skin

All on a misty morning I come to you with love

As Hermione's body soothed his, the lines that ran deep in his face softened, and the scowl loosened. His face relaxed, and with each stroke, he seemed to grow younger, stronger, calmer. He smiled for the first time as he increased his movements, and he could feel his lover's climax begin. He looked down at her glowing face.

Her concentration and intense expression slackened, and he thanked the gods gratefully that he still had the ability to give her this pleasure. The beauty of her complete surrender almost always unmanned him. He could feel her body gathering around him, pulling him into her and he moaned, his voice rising with his impending release. "That's it, my good girl. Come for me... Come for me, now, Hermione, now!"

She cried out her pleasure, calling his name over and over, pulling him down to her, even as his own orgasm found him and turned him inside out. His hoarse shout of completion echoed in the small tent. He trembled with each thrust. His wail of relief was painfully sweet, and he collapsed on her, his body and mind overwhelmed. His body shook so hard the entire bed shuddered.

Hermione kissed him over and over, licking the tears from his face, giving him her love. When they were together they were free to give the best of themselves to one another. Everyone else could take what was left. They had so little to give, and each was the best recipient for the other.

The madness that had gripped them had been appeased, and as he looked down at his lover and stroked her hair from her sweaty face, he tenderly smiled at her in this, the first sane moment since he'd arrived. "We don't have much time, Hermione." He touched her lips briefly with his own. "I don't have much time."

-o0o-

From his robes, he drew out dozens of potions. Pain Potions, Blood Replenishing, Vitamin Replenishing, Pepper Up, Dreamless Sleep, Essence of Dittany, Calming Draughts. Bezoars, phoenix tears, unguents, salves, lotions, philters. Bottle after bottle was withdrawn from his robes, and catalogued and stored into her beaded bag. He was so proud of her and that bag. She explained in detail how she'd done it, and he gave her a look he'd never graced her with before. It was an expression of admiration, of pleased respect. It was an admission of his esteem she would live on for days.

He produced a small package, laid it on the table, and enlarged it. It contained dried foodstuffs, everything from freeze-dried beef to Pot Noodles; enough to keep them going for almost the entire winter. "I raided a Muggle camping store. The sell-by dates are always much further out," he said, watching her transport the food into the bottomless beaded bag.

Hermione remained quiet, allowing him to look around. He nodded approval at a certain ward she'd used, frowned at another, weaker protective spell. He enforced some and added more of his own. She knew she had questions to ask, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. Finally, she spoke.

"How did you find us?"

Severus smirked and nodded toward her beaded bag. "Headmaster Black overheard you tell Potter you were in the Forest of Dean. It was a matter of detecting your magical signature and coming to find you."

"But Harry is on watch..."

"Potter and Weasley are no doubt finding the Sword of Gryffindor. I wasn't told exactly how it would be of use, but I have an idea." As he explained Dumbledore's orders to bring the sword, Hermione filled in the blank spots regarding the locket. One thing stood out and she latched onto it.

"Ron's here?" Hermione said, shaking her head. "Did you bring him here, too?"

Severus walked toward her, shaking his head. "I'm afraid Weasley blundered his way back on his own. I'll not be held accountable for his untimely return. Right now, they are doing what needs to be done, and when they return, they will feel an overwhelming urge to check the perimeters, not to mention avoid you. Each time they approach the tent, Weasley will feel a terrible dread in having to face you, and he and Potter will no doubt sit outside all night long catching up."

Hermione nodded, and reached out to touch Severus' forehead. In the few months since Dumbledore's death, its horrific aftermath and Severus' induction as Headmaster, he had seemed to age years. Hermione's heart ached for the man who had become her lover.

-o0o-

She burned with shame, remembering those hideous weeks of uncertainty when she questioned his motives and listened to Harry plan his revenge on Dumbledore's murderer. She'd been very proud of herself when the pieces finally fell into place, and before she, Harry and Ron had been forced on the run, Hermione had managed to sneak off and meet with him to test her theory.

He had been as shuttered as she could ever remember him in those dark, dark days. His guilt and remorse was pitiful, and he fretted that he had split his own soul in freeing Dumbledore's. "How could you, when you feel this remorse, this pain for what he forced you to do?" Hermione had cried, silently begging him to open up to her. It had been the worst week of her life, wringing from him the story, his ghastly role in Dumbledore's little morality play called, The Greater Good.

Only she had watched over the broken man who'd sobbed inconsolably all night, like a heartbroken child. Only she had been there when he woke the next day, angry at being used, the scales of guilt fallen from his eyes, staunchly resolving to save his own soul and Hermione in the process.

It had been Severus' idea to modify her parents' memories, and get them out of the country. Under the guise of spying on the Grangers, he had helped her with the spellwork to ensure it could be reversed. If Hermione was unable to get to them, they would lead a perfectly happy life without any knowledge they'd once had a daughter.

At that point in time, Severus was making her no promises. He was a wreck, encased in a black suit of dark armour. A wraith disguised as an assassin. He hid even from himself, lest his fear eat him alive. Hermione had never known someone so brave and so afraid at the same time.

She knew she was intelligent; she knew she was a pain in the arse, who covered her lack of self-confidence by sounding like the smuggest know-it-all in the world. She also knew just how vulnerable she was as the friend of Harry Potter. Determined to succeed where Harry had not, she had secretly come to Severus near the beginning of their sixth year and begged him for Occlumency lessons, and he'd grudgingly granted her request.

It was during those lessons she accidentally revealed her feelings for him. He'd been furious, of course. She now knew his secrets and spent untold hours strengthening her Occlumency skills, so that no one would ever learn of Severus' double life, due to her capture or carelessness.

It was a pity, or a blessing, that she was never quite able to keep her true feelings hidden from him. He was too hypersensitive, too ready to see negative aspects of himself deep within her psyche. Once he found himself within her mind, it was just a matter of retracing his steps, until he saw the exact shape, breadth, and size of the throne on which she'd placed him in her heart.

"You're a bloody student, Granger," he'd growled, pacing nervously around her, determined to frighten her away. "I'm a bloody Death Eater!"

"Was a bloody Death..."

"I still am, you foolish child – look!" He'd jerked the cuff of his sleeve back so forcefully, he'd popped the buttons, and they clattered blamelessly onto the floor. He had thrust the Dark Mark under her nose, and she looked up at his face defiantly, and grabbed his wrist. He had tried to pull away, but Hermione was stronger than she looked.

"Do you think this mark defines you? Are you honestly standing there, telling me that this tattoo sums up the heart and soul of Severus Tobias Snape? Honestly, Professor, you'll have to do better than that to scare me away." She had grabbed his forearm, careful not to touch the Mark, and kissed his palm. He had hissed as if she'd burned him. She stroked his fingers tentatively, and when he didn't pull away, she threaded her fingers with his.

"These hands tell me more about Severus Snape than any Dark Mark." She had touched his index finger, tracing the scar of a knife cut from many years ago. The palm of his hand showed a neat, crescent-shaped mark left by grabbing Neville Longbottom's cauldron during their first year, seconds before an impending explosion. There were calluses from holding his knife just so. His nails were neatly trimmed, but there was a torn cuticle here and there, which gave his hands the appearance of being oddly vulnerable.

"These hands are the hands of man who has served and created, and performed his duty with determination and skill and care. These hands administered a potion you created to release me from a basilisk's stare. They've shielded me from a werewolf."

Severus had looked at her strangely, and his fingers had almost imperceptively curled around hers. Sensing she had the upper hand, Hermione had pressed on.

"These hands have protected me and my friends since I was eleven years old. I trust you with my life." She took a deep breath and looked into his onyx eyes. "These hands have cast protective spells. They have taught me what a true wizard is, not by what he says, but by what he does. I can only know you by your deeds, not by your past."

Wordlessly he had nodded, still wary, still as skittish as a Thestral colt, but he hadn't pulled away. Hermione went in for the kill.

"These hands tell me so much about what you are, Severus. All that Mark tells me is about what you were."

Suddenly both hands had grasped her and pulled her close to his chest. For a breathless moment, Hermione had thought he would kiss her. Instead, he had embraced her roughly and sighed.

"I'm old enough to be..."

"My lover. My companion. Let me help you, Professor!" Hermione had pulled back from him, and with more confidence than she actually felt, she said, "You and I are perfectly suited. Search your heart and you will know I'm telling the truth. When you finally admit that I'm right, I'll be waiting."

She had risen on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, and her arms had encircled his neck in a quick, fierce hug. "I'll be waiting," she repeated, giving the words the hidden meaning she knew he would hear perfectly. He was still as stone, his obsidian eyes unreadable. She stepped back and his arms slid away from her waist, to be captured in her hands. "Goodnight, Professor."

On the way out, she spotted the button that had flown from his shirt in his haste to reveal his Dark Mark. She picked it up and quietly placed it on his desk. He had not moved one centimeter. She smiled softly as she drew herself up to full height. "Goodnight, Severus."

Early in their relationship, he had confessed he was irritated with her beyond measure for picking up that button. He had waited weeks before approaching her, and only then it was done so grudgingly he might as well have been preparing for a Dementor's kiss. He began his reluctant relationship with her, and together they had started building the first steps toward an understanding of how to defeat the Dark Lord. Hidden within were the baby steps toward an understanding of their love for one another.

He was still awkward; he still frustrated her and baited her, snarked and bullied. He had also shown her moments of tenderness. As vehemently as he could vent his spleen over a carelessly ruined potion, he could also explode with heart-stopping moments of passion that would take her breath away with their heat and intensity.

He could kiss her into insensibility in one minute, and the next berate her so callously for a simple mistake she would be fighting tears. She could make him smile with her leaps of intuition and send him into a rage with her hesitation faster than the blink of an eye. The very fact they were so much alike both aggravated and ennobled him.

She didn't care. If her brain power helped to keep them alive and find what they needed to defeat the Dark Lord and keep Severus safe, he'd just have to learn to live with it. Severus would just have to learn how to live, full stop.

Song is All On A Misty Morning, by Paul Weller. A beautiful version of this song can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5bq-FDKbdk

It is a spell in and of itself.