Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I've said to myself this affair it never would go so well

But why should I try to resist when I know so well

That I've got you under my skin

I've Got You Under My Skin - by Diana Krall

3 July, 1998

She roused after daybreak, when he rose from the bed. The shafts of early morning sunlight struck him as he donned a non-descript dressing gown over plain dark pyjama bottoms. So he hadn't slept nude, after all. She wasn't sure if she felt relieved or perversely disappointed. Then he turned towards her as he belted the dressing gown, his unreadable gaze flicking over her as she lay curled on her side...and she was startled to see the tenting of the pyjama trousers. He registered her discovery with a slight narrowing of the eyes, and she immediately shut hers and feigned sleep, turning towards the wall.

Good God! Was he aroused?

Don't be stupid! her inner pragmatist scolded. Men wake up with morning erections all the time. It doesn't mean a thing.

The bedroom door closed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough masturbating beside him in the dark, driven by equal measures of craving and humiliation, frantic that he should sleep through her shameful desperation...but to be given any further fuel for the fire of her insane sexual preoccupation with him was a piece of cruelly bad luck.

Obviously, the Fates hated her.

She curled into a tight ball, clinging to the far edge of the mattress, and prayed to fall asleep again, but she was too agitated to manage it. The prospect of looking into his face after being caught out eyeing up his morning glory was more than she could contemplate. It was simply too embarrassing.

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed when she heard the door again, swiftly followed by the voice of her husband.

'There is a bathroom outside this door that will vanish in half an hour. If you despise sharing with a horde of people, as I do, you will get up and make use of it.'

Hermione was surprised enough to push into a sitting position. 'You conjured a bathroom?' she said blankly. 'But we can't use wands!'

He was dressed in clothing identical to what he had worn the previous day, black hair still damp from the shower. He was not looking at her, but placing neatly-folded soiled clothing in a bag.

'We cannot use wands registered in our names. I have an unregistered wand that will be used for any necessary magic for our stay here. The loo conjuring is durable for about an hour,' he added, his tone devoid of inflection. 'If you do not wish to be left standing naked on the landing with soap in your eyes, you'll shake a leg.' He looked up suddenly, his endlessly dark eyes piercing her. 'In my experience, you are not particularly quick in the shower.'

Suddenly mindful of her dishabille, she pulled the sheet up to cover herself, trying not to imagine how her hair must look...but she quickly regretted her action, for the professor reacted with a narrowing of his eyes and curling of his cruel lip.

'Suit yourself,' he spat and stalked out, closing the door with a jerk of his wrist.

Feeling defeated before the day even began, she dragged out of bed.

Hermione walked into the kitchen to find it devoid of males. Molly drank tea whilst flicking over the pages of Witch Weekly, and Fleur handled the washing up of the dishes in the sink.

'Where are the men?' Hermione asked, wandering over to pour a cup of tea from the pot.

Fleur gave her quick, knowing smile. 'I remember when I was first married,' she said dreamily, as if it were in the distant past, rather than barely a year ago. 'I could not bear to be separated from Bill, either.'

Embarrassed by the very notion that she would feel something so inappropriate for the professor, Hermione pretended she had not heard. 'Did they go somewhere?' she persisted.

'They are patrolling the perimeter, checking the protective enchantments...well, your husband is, for he has the usable wand. Bill and his father went for the exercise, I believe. Lupin was the only one your husband required to go with him.'

Hermione put sausages on her plate with eggs and sat down near Molly.

'I'm just glad Bill and Arthur got up early enough to eat a good breakfast,' Molly said, putting her magazine aside. 'Severus marched in here and rousted Lupin out before he could finish eating his eggs!'

Hermione was surprised to hear it. The professor loathed Lupin and seldom passed up a chance to make his feelings known. Why would he want Lupin's company for something so mundane as patrolling?

'Hermione, dear,' Molly said quietly, 'I know you've been living at the castle, where the house-elves do all the cooking, but I hope you mean to begin cooking for Severus now. He's so thin, and he wouldn't sit to eat or even drink a cuppa this morning.'

Hermione didn't know what to say to such an absurd suggestion. She couldn't begin to imagine preparing food in the kitchenette in the professor's quarters at Hogwarts, much less voluntarily sitting down to a private meal in his company.

'He's gained some weight since the end of the war,' she offered, sprinkling unnecessary salt on her eggs, avoiding Molly's eyes.

Fleur slipped into the chair on her other side and began to butter a piece of toast. 'I was a terrible cook,' she said. 'Then I asked for help.' She placed a hand on Hermione's arm. 'I am sure Bill's mum would help you, too.'

Hermione felt trapped and a bit panicky. If breakfast was going to be like this every morning, she might have to learn to do without it at Forest Haven.

'Just say the word, dear,' Molly affirmed.

Hermione muttered a muffled acknowledgement and put a bit of sausage in her mouth, forcing herself to chew.

'I imagine you'll be starting your family soon?' Molly said, and rather unwisely, Hermione was startled into answering honestly.

'God, no! I'm going to uni!'

Fleur seemed offended by this, abandoning her confiding attitude and withdrawing behind a posture of disapproval, but Molly broke into a broad smile. 'University!' she exclaimed. 'I didn't know! Congratulations, Hermione! Severus must be so proud!'

Oh, shit. Of course Molly didn't know...no one knew, especially not her husband.

'I just found out,' she lied desperately. 'I ... I haven't told him yet. Please don't mention it until I've had a chance to tell him.'

Molly looked concerned. 'But where will you go to school? The nearest wizarding university is in Geneva.'

Hermione began to feel unwell, her stomach churning with anxiety. 'There's one in Salem,' she said.

'In America?' Molly demanded, her voice going up to a near screech on the last word. 'You can't possibly mean to commute to America! You have to travel by Portkey, and only registered international Portkeys are allowed by the American wizarding government. Oh, those are frightfully expensive, dear. You can't have thought this out!'

Fleur's interest was roused by this subject, and she deigned to speak again. 'Perhaps the professor is going with her to America,' she said.

Going with her? As if he would even care if she went to live on another continent! But she had promised to maintain the fiction of a happy marriage...oh, this situation was going positively pear-shaped.

'We ... we'll work it out,' she said. 'As I said, we haven't talked about it yet. I'll let you know when we decide...but please don't tell him before I have a chance to do it.' Hermione heard the pleading tone in her voice and was ashamed of it, but she couldn't have him finding out about America from someone else.

Fleur assumed a sanctimonious expression. 'It's wrong to keep things from your husband,' she said.

Molly looked grave. 'Fleur's right, dear. Secrets will come between you.' She patted Hermione's hand. 'You'll tell him soon?'

Hermione nodded miserably, even though there was no conviction behind her acquiescence...she couldn't imagine telling her husband she meant to leave him whilst penned up in this house with him and unable to escape his reaction.

Boredom drove her out of doors later with her lunch sandwich in her hand...that and the desire to be away from the overly-wise Weasley wives. The other young witches were lying about on a rug beside the stream, their impromptu picnic piled in their midst. Padma saw her and waved.

'Eat with us, Hermione!' she called brightly. 'The men can't be bothered.'

Parvati laughed at this witticism, but Cho murmured, in her soft, northern accent, 'They're playing Quidditch, except for Percy. He's up in his room, working.'

Luna stood and gestured at the place beside Ginny. 'Have this seat, Hermione,' she offered. 'I need to go in for more crisps.'

Hermione sat and gnawed on the sandwich she clutched like a lifeline, unaware of the speculative consideration of her companions.

Parvati was the one who broke the conversational ice. 'Hermione, I've always wanted to ask you, but there never seemed like a good time...but now we've got absolutely nothing to do but talk to one another, do we? So, what the girls and I are wondering is, how's married life?'

Hermione paused in mid-chew. Seriously? Was there not going to anywhere at any time during this ordeal of being in hiding when she would be alone with her thoughts? When there would be no one prying into her business? She gazed around the group, seeing Ginny and the Patils looking interested; only Cho had the decency to look a bit ashamed of the nosey question.

When she didn't say anything, Padma broke the awkward silence. 'I thought it was so romantic, how he married you to keep you in school, and then when that thing happened with the Death Eaters ...'

Hermione swallowed her food and picked up a bottle of Butterbeer and drank before saying what was on her mind.

'I'm not going to discuss my marriage.'

Ginny snorted. 'We don't want any gory details, Hermione...it's creepy enough that you married our Potions professor. I'm not interested in his ... habits.'

Luna had returned with a bowl of crisps, which she held aloft as she frowned at her friends. 'It's just that none of us are married,' she said to Hermione. 'And we're ... curious.'

Hermione stood with her bottle of Butterbeer in hand. 'Talk to Fleur,' she advised, turning to walk away.

'Fleur is ooey-gooey in lurve,' Ginny said disdainfully. 'I was hoping you could tell us how it really is.'

Hermione felt the flash of hurt...not because she was not in love with her husband, but because her feelings were so clear to her peers...and she had no hope of it ever, ever being better. But she was no more confident of being able to hide this sadness than she was successful at pretending to be Severus Snape's wife, so she fled into the house again.

By the time they all assembled for dinner that night, Hermione was ready to jump out of her skin. The professor had remained out of doors for hours, and she did not see him until he stalked into the kitchen for dinner and sat down beside her.

'Severus!' Molly exclaimed, placing a platter of chops on the table. 'We haven't seen you all day! You must be starving!'

If Hermione had dared to say such a thing, she had no doubt it would have been met with stony silence. Therefore, when her husband turned to Molly with a polite reply, she was surprised.

'It smells delicious,' he said.

Hermione picked miserably at her parsnips and peas, fretting over her indiscreet disclosure of the morning. How long could she rely on Molly and Fleur to keep her secret? And even if they didn't tell the professor, would they divulge the secret to their husbands? She could easily imagine Arthur sharing the titbit of information with her husband 'for her own good'.

She meant to tell him. She had always meant to tell him. But hard on the heels of the Leaving Feast, they had been sent willy-nilly into hiding. She had every intention of telling her husband she would be going away to America to further her education, though she could scarcely imagine why he would care! It wasn't as if they were actually a part of one another's lives, was it?

'I think Miss Weasley might combust,' the professor murmured into her ear, the warmth of his breath stirring her hair.

Hermione was jerked out of her own head to what was happening at the table.

'... a total lunar eclipse,' Cho was saying enthusiastically to Harry, who was giving her polite attention, and Hermione understood the danger in a heartbeat. Ginny was looking on, her expression growing more stormy with each second that Harry listened to Cho.

Having Ginny and Cho together in the same house was a good idea only when Harry paid Cho no mind whatsoever. Obviously, Harry had made the mistake of responding to Cho, and now, unless Ginny were diverted, there would be hell to pay.

'Percy,' Hermione said, drawing the attention of the serious, sober Weasley brother, 'Cho took the school award for Astronomy a few years after you...did you know that?'

Percy turned courteously to Cho, who was ensconced across from him, between Fred and George. 'I did my project that year on the moons of Jupiter, with particular attention to Ganymede and Calisto,' he said. 'What was your topic?'

Cho smiled. 'I remember your paper,' she said. 'Mine was on lunar eclipses.'

Percy nodded judiciously. 'I happen to have my telescope with me,' he said, 'if you would care to borrow it to observe the eclipse tonight.'

Ron snorted rudely. 'Yeah, I never leave home without my telescope.'

Molly scolded her youngest son, Percy rose from the table to fetch his telescope, and suddenly, dinner was over.

'That was rather well done of you,' the professor said quietly.

Hermione glanced at him, searching, as ever, for signs of mockery or derision, but finding none.

'Cho doesn't mean to cause trouble, but she does still fancy Harry just a bit,' Hermione said.

'Young witches inevitably fancy ... someone,' he replied. 'I wonder who that might be ... for you.'

Suddenly, with no warning, alarm bells were clanging in Hermione's head...how had they arrived here from where they'd begun this conversation? She had to get away.

Acting as if she had not heard him, Hermione began to stack dishes, standing and calling, 'I'll do the washing up!'

She carried her pile of plates and utensils to the sink, where warm, sudsy water awaited. When she dared to glance again at the table, the professor was gone.

The late summer sunset spread red tendrils across the clear sky, casting the sitting room into gloom, prompting Arthur to light the lamps. Hermione stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands upon a tea towel, hunting out a safe place to be. Harry and Ron had gone outside with Ginny and Luna; Molly and Fleur had retreated to Molly's bedroom for a knitting lesson; the two sets of twins were playing poker for popcorn kernels; and Lupin sat on the sofa with Percy and Cho, examining the telescope and commenting on its use.

'A total lunar eclipse doesn't require the use of the telescope you know,' he said to George, who was complaining that there were not enough telescopes to go around. 'You can view it with the naked eye.'

Fred leaned close to his brother. 'Lupin said "naked",' he informed George, in case his twin had missed it.

Fortunately for him, Arthur failed to hear the comment, for he and Professor Snape had their noses buried in back issues of Wizarding Life magazine, but Padma and Parvati giggled.

Naked. The word had scarcely penetrated Hermione's mind before she had a flash of herself, standing naked, with unbound locks spilling down her back, her hands buried in the blue-black hair of the man kneeling at her feet, his face buried at the apex of her thighs.

The vision filled her mind and then it was gone, leaving her weak-kneed and discomfited. Why? Why did she have to think these things about him...some of them things she never would have dreamed of doing with him or anyone else!

'Are you unwell?'

He had abandoned his magazine and crossed the room to her with the stealth of a panther on the hunt, and when she raised her eyes to his face, he watched her with a line between his brows. Then like an ill wind, it came in his wake, reaching her a moment after he did...the scent that was the greatest trigger of her inexplicable feelings. The sandalwood and musk mixture was a catalyst, her torment and her oxygen; she loathed the dark, sexual fantasies, but clung to them like an addict to her drug of choice, for the sensations they engendered were such as she had never known existed within her.

Even so, she could almost feel the colour draining from her cheeks in response to the potent physical reaction.

'You're as pale as a ghost. Perhaps you should lie down,' he said, his concern palpable. 'Go to bed early and get some rest.'

Endure more time lying in bed with him than she absolutely had to? No!

She stepped away, turning to fold the tea towel and put it away. Just as she turned, she heard Parvati speak, her voice soft, but carrying.

'She never touches him...not ever.'

Hermione felt slightly sick to her stomach. Didn't the gossips have anything better to do than watch her every move? But the answer was obvious, wasn't it? They were cooped up in this house with nothing to do but observe one another; of course they'd be making note of the difference between how Hermione and Fleur behaved with their husbands.

She could only hope the professor hadn't heard Parvati's remark, but who was she fooling? This man was a secondary school teacher: He heard everything.

'I'm fine,' she said, turning to him with all the composure she could manage, though she spoke to the top button of his shirt, unable to force herself to look at his face. 'Besides, I planned to sit outside and watch the eclipse. The ... the fresh air will be good for me.'

Lupin paused in the doorway, the tripod for Percy's telescope in his hands.

'You should come out with us, Severus,' Lupin urged. 'We won't have another total eclipse until after the turn of the century.'

'Hermione.'

It was odd to hear her name upon her husband's lips; in his rooms, when he had spoken to her, he had usually called her 'Miss Granger'. But there was a note of command in his tone, and years of conditioning forced her to meet his eyes.

His attention was focussed on her, as if Lupin had not spoken to him. She knew he wanted her to comply with his wishes...why? Why does he want that?...but she couldn't. Given a choice between being trapped alone with him behind a closed door and being outdoors with friends, the decision was obvious. Surely even he could see that.

'I'll be up afterwards,' she said nervously, averting her gaze from his compelling black eyes. 'I wouldn't want to miss the eclipse.'

'Clearly.' The word was snapped in an attitude of severe displeasure, and though he wore no robes, she clearly saw them swirling about his menacing figure as he whirled and exited the kitchen, shouldering Lupin to the side as if he were a bothersome drapery.

When their outdoor excursion began, they were grouped together. The clearing before the house was the perfect place from which to watch the sky. Percy and Cho set up the telescope in the best position and took it in turns with Lupin, watching through the lens. After a time, Lupin joked about his back being too old for bending over a telescope, and he moved to sit beside Hermione.

Hermione sat upon her favourite boulder perch, her jeans-clad legs dangling down, her palms braced on the rock behind her as she gazed up. The large white moon, six days past the full, turned as red as blood as it was overtaken by the shadow of the earth.

Hermione watched the show, utterly rapt, dimly thankful to have something so momentous to chase her worries out of her mind for a bit. The respite was sweet, but not everyone was as absorbed by the spectacle as she was.

Ginny and Harry were the first to creep off, hand in hand, traversing the stepping stones across the stream to the relative privacy of the opposite bank. Ron and Luna followed almost immediately, though they appeared to turn to the left rather than the right when they reached the other side.

A soft laugh floated through the air, and Hermione turned her head to see the Weasley twins on either side of the Patil twins, like matching bookends. The couple on the right...she thought it was George and Padma, though she couldn't swear to it...melded into a kiss, swiftly emulated by the couple on the left, Fred and Parvati ... perhaps. She couldn't be sure. She watched the twining arms, wondering if it mattered who kissed whom when two sets of identical twins paired up.

Of course it matters! she scolded herself. They're people, not just vessels of alleviation for each other's ...

No, she wouldn't finish that thought. But was she doing that? Using Severus Snape as the convenient target of her burgeoning sexual awareness? He had done nothing to warrant that sort of objectification from her. He deserved more respect.

He deserves to have someone who can put on a better performance as his wife than I do, she conceded to herself. I'll do better. I must, for the sake of our agreement.

Another sound reached her then, a low, purring moan, followed by a gasped French word Hermione was unfamiliar with. Fleur's voice was cut off, and if one were to judge by the growl of Bill Weasley's voice, it was by an insistent kiss. Hermione realised that Bill and Fleur were directly behind her, at the base of the boulder, certainly hidden from the other sky-watchers, but clearly audible to Hermione ... and to Lupin, who exchanged one embarrassed, humorous glance with her before she turned from him. She would not share Bill and Fleur's amorous adventure with Lupin...it would be far too intimate.

But the couple seemed oblivious to possible detection. Hermione shifted positions, feeling suddenly disinterested in the progress of the eclipse. Sitting forward, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms about them, resting her forehead there. Now the only stimuli discernible to her were of the auditory sort: The low-voiced conversation between Percy and Cho, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees, and the distinctive sounds of lovemaking from the Veela and her man.

Hermione felt the now familiar heat begin low in her belly, the arousal commencing its slow, tormenting spiral. Each murmur, each gasp, was like a piercing blow, but it was not Bill and Fleur she saw in her mind's eye...no, her traitorous memory served up every shameful fantasy she'd endured about her husband in the last several weeks. The feminine coo of pleasure was her, as the dark head at her breast moved from one side to the other, his lips releasing a nipple with a distinctive pop. The masculine groan, followed by the unmistakeable slap of flesh on flesh, was their coupling, hers and his, the rocking, striving motion like a fire in her blood.

Such provocation as lovemaking in the great outdoors made short work of it; Fleur's cry of completion was surely heard by everyone, whether within the house or without, and it was followed almost immediately by a shuddering sigh from her husband. Hermione raised her head, seeing that everyone was now staring in her general direction, from whence the sound had come. But she was acquitted almost at once, as the lovers rose from the ground, straightening their clothing and going unconcernedly into the house.

'Without so much as a "sorry for the disturbance"!' Percy was heard to say, followed by the raucous laughter of his brothers.

Hermione slid down from the boulder, feeling the need upon her like an itch demanding to be scratched. She had to be alone...perhaps in the bathroom...but if not, Snape had slept through her activities the night before. If she had to, she could do it in their bed again.

'Goodnight,' she said, feeling that some explanation of her leaving was necessary, but unwilling to put forth the effort to make one up.

'Sleep well, Hermione,' Lupin said, and he reached down to pat her shoulder, but Hermione shied away from his touch. She registered Lupin's hurt, but she turned and walked away from him.

Remus Lupin was not her concern.

Neither she nor Lupin noticed the brief flare of light from the window at the top of the house nor the movement behind the darkened glass.

The sitting room was empty, but when Hermione reached the bathroom, she could hear the water running and voices behind the closed door.

Apparently, Bill and Fleur had moved their activities to the shower.

I won't think about that, she insisted, but she might as well have saved the energy, for the shower dream and been one of the most vivid she had experienced, and in her current state of disturbance, she could not repress the memory.

Still, she doggedly advanced up the steps, heading for the relative privacy of the bedroom where her husband slept, even as the steamy images from the dream streamed through her head. There had been so much steam, in fact, that the face of her partner had been obscured, but the voice was inimitable. The shower dream was one of her favourites, because there was no scent associated with it, save the aroma of bath soap. She liked it as well because there was more to it than her own heady pleasure. She had delivered some of her own beneath the pounding pulse of the water, mapping the contours of his erection with eager hands before sinking to her knees to repeat the exploration with lips and tongue.

Before she was ready for it, she stood before the closed door behind which her husband slept...he must be sleeping, for there was no light showing beneath the door. She scarcely hesitated before entering this time; the throbbing need was intense, but even so, she was not made of the stuff that would permit her to bring herself off on the staircase landing.

As before, the man-shaped lump occupied the near side of the bed. Hermione knew where her nightdress was stowed, this time, and she quickly changed into it. She slipped into the narrow space between the bed and wall; from this vantage point she could see the professor, the bedclothes pulled halfway up his shirtless torso as he lay upon his back, his breathing deep and even.

His chest riveted her attention, the hair indistinct in the golden candlelight, but the slight, rippling definition of a fit body evident in the tone of his upper arms and pectoral muscles. Would his belly be as interesting? Might she move the bedclothes down to see?

Get in before you do something stupid, she thought. She clambered onto the high mattress and put out the candle. Even if her arrival disturbed him, he ought to settle down again fairly quickly, and she could ... take care of business.

He stirred as she settled onto her pillow, shifting onto his side, so that he faced her.

Damn! she railed. Why couldn't he turn the other way?

Hermione lay as still as a stone, every second that ticked by feeling like an eternity. Some of the arousal from listening to the lovemaking had seeped away, but the shower fantasy had refuelled her passion, and seeing his well-toned upper body didn't exactly dampen her ... interest.

She counted slowly to one hundred, listening to his breathing, straining to detect any change in his position, but he remained stationary. After counting to one hundred a second time, she judged herself safe to proceed with the rather pressing business at hand.

Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, ready to stifle any sound, she pushed the sheet down with one hand and with the other reached down to administer a much needed ...

She wasn't sure which happened first...was it the flare of light as every candle in the room came to life, or was it the iron grip about her wrist?

Severus Snape loomed over her, black eyes glittering, and he slowly bore her arm back, until it rested over her head, still imprisoned by the vise of his unrelenting grip.

'Stop it!' she cried, pulling fruitlessly to retrieve her hand. 'What are you ...?' but she couldn't force herself to complete the sentence.

He looked into her eyes so intently that she wondered if he would attempt Legilimency, but that was not his purpose. When he spoke, it was in a cool, even tone, his voice completely devoid of feeling, though his words spoke of powerful emotion.

'No wife of mine, Hermione Snape, is going to lie in my bed and pleasure herself as if I am not here.'

Hermione struggled against him again, wanting to escape his merciless gaze, but she did not succeed in throwing him off, so she closed her eyes and turned her burning face away from him. Had he known what she was doing the night before? He must have done, else he would not have known what she was intending tonight. The mortification knocked every vestige of fight out of her.

She might better be dead than have to live with the humiliation of being found out by her husband in this shameful way.

'Now,' he continued in the same even tone, 'tell me what you need, and I will attend to it.'

A/N: There was no total eclipse of the moon in the summer of 1998, so you needn't check on me and tell me so. I made it up and stand upon my Poetic License (which is framed and hanging in my Writing Nook, of course!)