Chapter Five

To be great we need to win games we aren't supposed to win.

Julius Erving

Severus had always had a lot of time for Hagrid. The gamekeeper had been a kind and discreet companion in the dark years during Riddle's return. Many was the night Severus had stumbled onto the grounds of Hogwarts, shaken and bleeding from Voldemort's Crucio practice, to be carried into the infirmary in the massive arms of the warmhearted half-giant.

On the rare nights he returned blessedly unharmed, Severus would see the huge bear of a man waiting patiently by the gate, lantern in hand. Hagrid's smile of relief was always a welcomed sight, and never failed to bring some small comfort to Severus' bleak existence.

However, as tolerant as he was of Hagrid's less-than-orthodox teaching methods, Severus did not appreciate the aggro he was receiving from Hagrid's latest specimen. Until the magical signature on the perimeter gates was re-calibrated, Hagrid had permission to bring his newest subjects into the castle, where he could teach in one of the spare classrooms instead of on the grounds. One creature in particular was proving a lot more provoking than Flobberworms.

"Rubeus," Severus began, determined to hold onto his patience with both hands, "Why on earth is this," his face pinched with disdain, "thing in my school?"

The thing in question, an obnoxious little ferret-like creature, spat up at him, "Piss off, conkface!"

Severus looked up at his Care of Magical Creatures Professor with an eyebrow arched so eloquently it looked capable of speech.

Hagrid at least had the decency to look a little chagrined. He glanced down at the subject of the day's lesson and stroked it gently. "Oh, Perfesser, it ain' nuthin' but a little Jarvey, ya know," he rumbled affectionately. "They don' mean no 'arm, and they're dead clever - ain' you just, lil feller?" Hagrid tried to tickle the Jarvey's chin, and pulled back with a hiss as the mouthy little furball snapped at his finger.

"I'll show you 'lil feller', you big gobshite!" it squeaked. The large man looked at Severus with a placating look of great tolerance.

"Jarveys are vastly misunderstood creatures, Headmaster," Hagrid said sincerely, as the sleek little animal thrashed angrily in his large hands. "I think tha's part of me job, to educate students that there's more t' these beasts than just chasin' garden gnomes."

"You're mother was a garden gnome!" shrieked the Jarvey, trying once again to escape from the prison of Hagrid's huge hands.

"I see," Severus drawled. "Not only have you brought a potentially dangerous creature into the school, but students can also experience the ignominious joy of being insulted while he attacks them." Severus felt contrite at Hagrid's crestfallen expression, and added kindly, "Please make sure the classroom's protective charms are in place before the students arrive, Rubeus."

The Jarvey blew a raspberry at the Headmaster, who rolled his eyes. Testily, he added, "Just keep this overgrown ferret out of trouble, Hagrid." He nodded to the large man, and turned to go.

"Will do, Perfesser," Hagrid called after him.

"I'll 'Perfesser' you, you cocksucking hairball!"

"Oh, hush up, you," said Hagrid affectionately, as the Jarvey tucked himself in his arms, sniping all the way to class.

Hagrid and his Jarvey had been the start of a typical day of minor little skirmishes for Severus. As the Headmaster of the world's most prestigious Wizarding School, his days were filled with petty inconveniences, red tape and administrative bullshit, with occasional passing glimpses of nurturing and education.

Today was proving no exception. He had approved a mountain of purchase requisitions; everything from baby mandrakes to new potions ingredients to various school supplies, and had declined just as many. Hogwarts did not need another thousand crystal balls or broom polishing kits.

He had listened, Solomon-like, to an argument between Sybil Trelawney and Septima Vector, rival candidates for the latest Ministry Research grant, each extolling the virtues of their respective disciplines. He had promised to split the grant in half for each field of study, and the two women who had been nearly at each other's throats moments before had left his study chatting amicably with one another like old friends. "Glad to be of assistance," he'd muttered under his breath, watching the two witches cackling together like the old crones they were.

He had patrolled halls, looked in on classrooms, and admired the latest batch of Professor Longbottom's Acromanta Hydrangeoidus, or Spidergrangea. He had spoken to several board members regarding the Museum, grabbed a hasty lunch, and just happened to come upon his wife in a deserted corridor to steal a clandestine kiss before her last class of the day.

He approved the temporary transfer of one of his house-elf cooks to Malfoy Manor, with the directive of simply cooking something edible. "After Tiddle, they'll be happy for egg and chips if they're not burnt to a crisp," he'd told the plump little elf, who called herself Puffy. She'd been transported with joy at the thought of being able to serve a family again, and tears of happiness leaked from her huge brown eyes at the prospect.

Like so many of the house-elves who'd come to Hogwarts in the past decade, Puffy had once served one of the ancient Pureblood households that had backed the wrong horse. After Riddle's demise, most of the Death Eaters' homes were confiscated by the Ministry, their elves given clothes and turned out to wander.

One of Severus' first acts as the newly-reinstated Headmaster was to renew Dumbledore's old policy of offering every disenfranchised house-elf a home at Hogwarts; none were turned away. These creatures, with their sense of duty and love of service, had been just as instrumental in the rebuilding and repair of Hogwarts as the wizards themselves.

Having dispatched Puffy to Malfoy Manor, Severus felt the wards shimmer for his last meeting of the workday. He composed his face into tranquil lines as Undersecretary Orchid appeared, timidly poking his head around the corner to Severus' study.

"Come in, Mr. Orchid. Please have a seat." Severus waited as the little man settled into one of the visitor's chairs. Severus steepled his hands together and rested his chin on the pinnacle of his long fingers. After a moment, he spoke quietly.

"I wish to apologise for my outburst yesterday, Mr. Orchid. I'll admit I was somewhat taken aback by some of the more radical ideas for the Installation, but that is no reason to take my frustrations out on you."

Orchid cleared his throat importantly, then smiled, "That's quite alright, sir -"

"I should have never vented my anger on you, Mr. Orchid. We must work together on this project. There should be no animosity between us."

The dumpy wizard nodded eagerly. "Quite right, quite right, Professor-"

"Indeed," Severus said, turning the full battery of his large, liquid dark eyes on the younger man. "After all, if I wished to lodge a complaint, I should've referred it to the wizard in charge, and not taken out my dissatisfaction on his representative."

Orchid's smile faltered. "In – in charge? No, you see, I am actually - "

Severus shook his head regretfully. "It was very wrong of me to chastise the person who has no real authority to make any changes – why should you be punished for something you have no control over? A classic case of hexing the messenger. Inexcusable."

Orchid began to stammer, "Headmaster you don't understand, I have the authority of the Ministry - "

"Who have sent you here, no doubt, as a whipping boy for my temper tantrums." Severus looked sheepishly contrite. His luminous eyes were full of sympathy. He shook his head at the injustice of it all. "It's not fair, is it? To have to put up with my moods and not be able to do anything about it, while the ones with the power to make the changes I require sit in their ivory towers and let you take the abuse!"

Mr. Orchid puffed up to twice his size. Severus privately thought the man was going to burst. "But – but I have full authority here, Headmaster!" He drew himself up indignantly. "I don't know what they've told you at the Ministry, but I have the authorisation to make any changes to the original plan that you deem necessary, Sir! If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, you just tell them they will have to answer to Pervis Orchid!"

Severus could not have looked more innocently hopeful. "Oh, really? That is good news, Mr. Orchid. You see," he said, a note of regret in his musical, persuasive voice, "when I asked if you could charm the Death Eater mannequin to be static in my part of the exhibition, they told me you had no power to do so."

The Undersecretary to the Assistant Director of Satellite Museum Locations in the Greater Scotland Area drew himself up to his full five-foot three. He stuck out his chin defiantly. "Headmaster Snape, if you wish it, I will amend the blueprints this very moment, and you can tell those troublemakers at the Ministry that if they try to change it back – why, I'll thrash 'em!"

"Oh, Mr. Orchid, that is a load off my mind," Severus said, and produced the binding magical contracts. In seconds, the changes were made. Not only would the mannequin not stalk around, telling his tale in Severus' own voice, but the figure would no longer be in his likeness. It was reduced, for all intents and purposes, to a dress-maker's rack which bore no resemblance whatsoever to any wizard, living, dead or otherwise.

After Orchid left, Severus sat quietly for a moment. He heard a familiar chuckle and turned in his chair to see Dumbledore's portrait smiling at him.

"A Slytherin to the core, eh, Severus?"

Severus' satisfied mood soured a bit, and he glowered at his former Headmaster. "Where manipulation is concerned, old man, I learned from the best." It gave him a grim sort of pleasure seeing the look of hurt on the portrait's painted face.

Mr. Orchid was smiling as he tripped down the hallway toward the Installation site. It was only much later that night when he recalled that the animated Snape/Death Eater mannequin had originally been his idea in the first place.

Severus entered the bedroom quietly, and removed his over-robe. He looked around guiltily, as if he were doing something forbidden. Their chambers were empty. As the Head of Gryffindor House, Hermione was meeting with her prefects over an incident during the last Hogsmeade weekend, and hadn't as yet returned for the evening. Severus decided now was as good a time as any to do this.

He pulled the small box from his pocket and laid it on the bed. "Engorgio," he muttered quietly, and the box enlarged to its original size. Severus' hands were steady as he pried the lid off the top, and solemnly looked down into his past.

It was a robe made of fine material, a boiled wool that had held its shape and colour perfectly over the years. It was so black it made other black garments look dark grey; it had been spelled to blend with every type of darkness, from the physical dark night to the absence of light in the soul. It was without any embellishment, save a trimming of deep black velvet around the cowl and pointed cuffs.

The wide belt sashing was silk-lined velvet, garnished with black beaded tassels on either end. It was a decadent, hedonistic garment, and Severus remembered the sensual thrill of putting it on for the first time. Wearing it, he felt powerful, dangerous and alluring. There were nights when women would follow him with their cool gaze, and their eyes had told him they thought so, as well.

Sitting on top of the folded robe was the silver mask, which he'd hated more than anything, and could count on one hand the amount of times he'd actually worn. As a young man, blistering with defiant pride and ambition, he'd arrogantly wanted his face to be seen, to single him out as one of the Dark Lord's elite Death Eaters. Severus paused, and favoured that angry, lost, bitter young man with a sigh of regret.

In those days, he had been high on domination, and he had used his new-found skills to seduce and subjugate as he himself had been seduced and subjugated. He had learned to use his talents well; smarting from Lily's rejection and his own crippling insecurities, he'd channeled his abilities with whet-stoned precision, and his appetites and desires had been fostered and encouraged in order to keep him under Riddle's thumb. In his own lust for power, Severus had unwittingly surrendered all that power to Lord Voldemort, and then afterward, to Dumbledore.

Severus hated thinking back to those dark days. Hermione was right when she told him he either had to acknowledge them, or put them behind forever. He was stuck in limbo; to remember those days was to remember the darkness he'd cradled to his breast like a favourite child. To relinquish them would mean ... what? To embrace and cherish the good in himself? Why did he feel so unworthy of that?

And then there was Hermione. When she had breezed back in his life, it was as if she'd swept all the cobwebs from his heart and he could breathe again. He did not have to pretend he was someone he wasn't; she had known him almost all her life. There was no prevaricating with Hermione.

She never allowed him to wallow or sulk or guilt about the bad old days, as she called them. The first time she'd referred to his life as a Death Eater in such a dismissive manner, it had sounded like something akin to blasphemy. He had felt almost frightened to reduce that time in his life down to such a silly phrase, as if diminishing their importance would somehow diminish him as well. How trivial it all sounded, now.

But he hadn't been completely truthful with Hermione, either. The first night he had taken her to his bed, he had been determined not to give into those dark desires that had tainted his youth. He had lain down with her, and worshipped her body with his mouth, his hands, his body, and she had worshipped his.

He had been more than confident in his abilities to satisfy his wife without resorting to the coarse, fleshly earthiness that had once excited him. He had told himself that she was better off not knowing exactly what he was capable of doing – what he would love to do to her, if he had the courage to admit those things, even to himself. He had not wanted to frighten or sully her with his dark talents, or corrupt her innocence with his more esoteric appetites.

Her confession after their last games night at Malfoy Manor both frightened and exhilarated him. In every aspect of their marriage, he and Hermione were the best of partners, friends, the most compatible of confidantes. In all aspects, he shared his heart, his mind and his soul. In all aspects but his secret yearning to do those things to her which she thought, in her innocence, she actually wanted him to do...

Severus sighed, and took the robe from the box, and shook it loose from its folds. It was a little dusty from storage, but a whispered charm made it look as if it were newly-made again. He stroked the velvet trim; it felt warm, almost alive beneath his fingers; it was as soft as the inside of Hermione's creamy, silken thigh. Almost trance-like, he turned and looked into their full-length mirror, and held the garment up to his shoulders. He shook his head at his reflection. That was a long time ago, lad, he thought, and it's just a sodding robe -

"Put it on."

Severus whirled around to find his wife standing in their bedroom doorway. She was unsmiling, and her eyes were huge. They met his with trembling intensity, and he felt a burst of spontaneous magic jolt between them. It immediately settled into his groin, and he saw from the look on her face that she felt it as well.

She nodded toward the robe. "Put it on, Severus." She licked her lips, and her eyes flicked over his body hungrily. "I want to see you ... I want to know what it looks like."

Something in her unsteady voice made his heart decide it needed to beat a little faster to keep up with the latest developments in his body. He stood still as stone as Hermione walked into the room, her steps soft and tentative, as if afraid to spook him. He could see the faint blush of her cheeks, and as she approached him, Severus realised her eyes were glowing, her pupils huge. His sensitive nose picked up the delicate but oh-so-welcome scent of arousal, and when he replied, "Why would you want me to do that, Hermione?" His voice was pitched low, and so deep that it sounded seductive to his own ears.

She stepped closer, and looked up into his face. She bit her bottom lip. "I've – I've never seen you with it on ... before," she said, her voice husky and soft. She ventured a smile. "Please, Severus?"

Severus straightened. He knew he had about three seconds to make up his mind how far he wanted to take this. He could refuse, or he could comply. He could change the dynamic of their relationship forever. He could enhance it, or damage it permanently, and that frightened him. But something in her eager eyes told him to risk it; he could take the first steps toward something he now knew they both wanted, even though Hermione did not possess the vocabulary to truly name it.

"Very well," he said, softly, and made a little twirling motion with his finger. "But you must turn around." When she didn't move, Severus lifted his chin, and gave Hermione her first command. "Obey me, pet. Now."

Hermione's face was instantly wiped clean of expression. She blinked, then lowered her head and turned around. Severus smiled.

For perhaps five minutes, Hermione stood still, listening to the faint rustle of fabric behind her. The room was quiet except for his soft breathing, the sounds of clothing and her heavily beating heart.

Obey me, pet. Now. Hermione felt amazed that four little words, spoken in her husband's mellifluous voice, could drive such an intense thorn of arousal into her abdomen. It literally made her knees weak, and she felt hot and flushed, almost feverish. It was as if she'd never heard him speak to her before. It was as if she was standing in a room with an exciting, forbidden stranger, and Hermione was Imperused to obey his every command.

His voice made her jump. "You may look now." He sounded carefully neutral, as if afraid of her reaction, and Hermione took a deep breath and turned around.

Hermione gasped as she looked up into the face of her husband. Coming face to face with Severus as a Death Eater was to come face to face with her past. It was as if she was looking at him over the span of their years together, and she whispered his name reverently.

She saw her husband, but it was more than her husband. Merlin, so much more!

He radiated power. He stood tall and proud; his long black hair, freed from its silver clasp, flowed iridescent and sleek over his shoulders like black water. The robe was so dark it looked as if cut from negative space. It made him look imposing and arrogant. He held the silver mask in his hand, and she was glad he had not put it on as well. Seeing his haughty face, his long, angular body encased in unrelieved black, was frightening and exciting enough.

Severus' eyes bore into hers, and as she walked toward him, he grew rigidly hard, his erection blindly beckoning Hermione like a divining rod. As she neared him, he reached out and caressed her cheek and her lovely, long neck. The latent power that he had resisted since the night of her confession reared its head, and he could no more deny it than he could his need for her. It was as if the robe itself was imbued with the dark lust that slid into his veins, tattooing his heart with the rich ichors of dominance.

She grasped his hand in hers and kissed his palm feverishly, her eyes never leaving his. She was trembling. "Look into me, please," she whispered hoarsely, pleadingly. "Look into my mind."

Severus Snape was, without conceit, the greatest living Legilimens, and he used his ability well. He had learned that invading someone's mind could be used in any myriad of ways. The mind could be raped, or it could be caressed. It could reveal its secrets to him, each layer revealing more, like Salome's veils; they could be ruthlessly ripped from the mind without regard for safety. He could and did master the intricate labyrinths of an accomplished Occlumens, who could set up a minefield of mazes and traps so diabolical in design as to drive a skilled Legilimens insane.

And, of course, the discipline could be used to seduce, and to prepare the mind for the midnight-stained joys of submission. This was the first step toward that aim, and the fact that Hermione herself had begged him for it was enough to thrill any dominant Legilimens. It was tacit permission to strip her bare and build her to heights she'd never experienced. It filled him with a desire so potent it made him giddy.

With a faint sneer, Severus stepped closer, until their bodies were touching. She made a soft noise in her throat as his erection pressed into her belly. His face hard and unsmiling, Severus looked deeply into her eyes. "Legilimens."

As Severus quietly stepped into the highly organised mind of his wife, she opened a door for him and beckoned him through. It was a familiar door, and he realised with a start he remembered this moment well; he had, after all, been an active participant in the memory she wanted to share with him.

All around, he could hear her whisper, "This is what I wanted you to see ... this is what I've tried to tell you ..."

The year before he killed Dumbledore, Severus had finally been given the job he had coveted since his early days as a Hogwarts' professor: the Defense Against The Dark Arts position. It was the only year as a professor in which he actually felt he was imparting to the students skills they needed to survive, and he was ruthless in his pursuit of their ability to defend themselves against the inevitable. He was still convinced that his teaching had ultimately saved lives; it was the only thing he could recall from that year that gave him any sense of worth.

He'd only had a passing acquaintance with the so-called "Dumbledore's Army," but he'd been impressed with the performances of many of his pupils - not that he'd told them. Their improving abilities only made him push them harder.

He remembered Hermione, of course, her brow furrowed, lower lip chewed to raw meat, ducking, diving; her reflexes had been excellent, but her skill was tainted with the tendency to question the moral implications of the spells and hexes she was forced to cast. It was a problem with many in her House. "Integrity," he told the disgustingly earnest Gryffindors, "will get you killed. Hex first and ask questions later, if you have any."

She had actually attended the wrong class on this day in her memory. Minerva had asked Severus to excuse her during her regular DADA class for a Careers Seminar, and to be allowed to make up the class later in the day with the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff sixth years. The lesson was on learning to parry blocking spells. He had paired everyone off, placing Hermione with the odd but capable Miss Lovegood. Luna Lovegood, while perfectly fine at defense and blocking, was atrociously slow on parrying a blocking while renewing her shielding spell.

"Class, stop," he'd droned, irritated with her sluggish response. "It appears Miss Lovegood doesn't truly understand the purpose this exercise." Far from looking embarrassed at being singled out, Luna had turned her rather protuberant blue eyes at him expectantly.

"I think I understand it in theory, Professor," she answered serenely, "but I'm just not that good at it. Would you please demonstrate it for me?"

Impatiently, Severus had stepped between Hermione and Luna. His voice was the very essence of suave menace as he intoned, "Miss Lovegood, you have been ambushed by a Death Eater, who is kidnapping your friend, Miss Granger."

He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, and deftly plucked her wand from her fingers, tucking it into his robe. "She is wandless and defenseless." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but a look from him silenced her.

With the entire class' attention on him, he continued matter-of-factly. "As a Death Eater, I have been instructed by the Dark Lord to bring her to him at all costs. I will stop at nothing, including harming her and you, to obey his commands."

He raised his wand in a defensive posture and cast a shield charm around himself and Hermione. "Your challenge, Miss Lovegood, is to break down my shields by battering away at them until they fail; I cannot risk Apparation while you do this, in case I splinch myself or Miss Granger, but you must also keep up a steady and unpredictable attack."

Lune had nodded, and raised her wand. "I think I understand now, sir. Protego!"

Severus allowed the shield to fail, then struck back with a minor hex, which Luna blocked easily. "Now Miss Lovegood," he said, "Speed and rhythm is vital; I will not hesitate again." He cast the shield, and they began. Every time Luna threw a spell or hex or jinx, Severus parried it and immediately cast another, which she doggedly blocked, casting her parry at the same time.

"That is the idea, Miss Lovegood," Severus said. "Now you must keep up your shields and defenses. Nothing will stop me from claiming my prize." The two of them began to duel in earnest, with Hermione as their ultimate goal.

Lovegood was consistent, her magic strong and at times uncontrollably powerful. As her rhythm and confidence grew, Severus was forced to take a step back, which obliged Hermione to step back with him. When the young Ravenclaw hesitated, Severus sneered. "Is that how you protect your friend, Miss Lovegood? I don't think you realise what is in store for Miss Granger. As a Death Eater, I do not plan to show her mercy or kindness."

The blond girl's eyes narrowed and she increased her speed, making her aim less precise. Severus played with her for a few rounds, then was forced back several more steps as Luna adjusted her grip. Severus felt Hermione stumble as he moved away from Luna. By now, every pair in the class had stopped and was watching this exhibition of parry and thrust with rapt interest.

"Miss Lovegood, you must not think very highly of Miss Granger if this is all you can do to protect her," Severus had taunted, throwing off her hex easily. "I know I don't. Once I disarm you, I will take her by force and it will be your fault, knowing you let me have her so easily."

Two more steps back, and Severus felt Hermione, unyielding, behind him. He had been forced back until he was pressing her against the wall, fending off Luna's increasingly assertive attack. Still he jeered at her. "You may think you are winning, Miss Lovegood, but I have been ordered to bring Miss Granger to the Dark Lord. I will be rewarded for my exertions, perhaps with Miss Granger herself. I will fight you until I am either outnumbered or you are too exhausted to continue. I am a patient man, and I take what I want."

By now, Luna was sweating, her aim and magic tiring, but Severus still pushed, secretly pleased at her mulish tenacity. He idly wondered if Granger would last this long. She was standing behind him, sandwiched between the wall and his broad back. She had made no sound, other than her rapid breathing. He could feel her hands pressing against his back to prevent him from crushing her, but Luna was relentless to the point that he barely acknowledged the girl behind him other than to use her as a reference to provoke the young Ravenclaw.

As a final goad, he said in his most menacing tone, "If you do not stop me, I can and will do unspeakable things to Miss Granger, and as a Death Eater, I will enjoy doing them!"

In Hermione's mind, Severus saw her, her heard gasp at his deliberately sinister declaration, its obvious meaning. She was looking at his back, and he felt the heat gather in her core, and her hand reached up to touch his shoulder just as Luna's rhythm faltered and her depleted magic left her too exhausted to continue. She held up her wand to concede defeat, and leaned down, winded, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw for your work, Miss Lovegood. You show potential, but I would suggest you work on your stamina." He remembered feeling the gentle hand on his shoulder, and in Hermione's memory he watched himself spin around to face her, his expression harsh and unforgiving. Severus saw himself, bearing down on his not-as-yet wife, pitiless and powerful.

She was looking up at him with eyes enormous and dark. Her breath was coming in pants, as if she, too, had been dueling. Her hands were still raised, as if to push him away, and on her face was an expression of what he mistook for fear. As he returned her wand, he noted the shaking hand that retrieved it from his fist. He scowled at the young Gryffindor girl and snapped irritably, "Merlin's sake, Miss Granger, it's just a lesson! Kindly stop gaping at me as if I were the Big Bad Wolf!"

He looked over his shoulder to Luna Lovegood, who was still hunched over, panting as if she'd run a race. She gave Hermione what could only be considered a sympathetic glance, which irritated him further. "Miss Lovegood assessed the situation correctly and responded properly, Miss Granger; I suggest you learn to do the same when your usual class reconvenes." He turned to the other students, who were watching Luna recover. "Class dismissed! Lovegood, get some chocolate in you, now!"

He had been winded himself from his duel with Luna, and because the air was full of the smell of sweat and the pine-scented ozone of cast spells, Hermione's scent had not been easily distinguishable or identifiable. He had dismissed her reaction that day as one borne of fear and weakness.

Pulling gently from his wife's mind, ten years later, he caught the scent again, and he knew. Hermione had not been childishly frightened by his performance that day – she had been painfully aroused by it.