Chapter 11

A/N: My dear ones, I have missed you! I bring you more of the honeymoon of our pair as a gift after my absence. You'll be happy to know my daughter is married now, the wedding was lovely, and my life is my own again ... well, as much as it ever is. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I will be very happy to read your thoughts and feelings on the matter.

Chapter 11

Time, you found time enough to love

And I found love enough to hold you

So tonight I'll stir the fire you feel inside

Until the flames of love enfold you

Somewhere in the Night

6 July, 1998

When he hadn't appeared by lunchtime, Hermione wrapped some sandwiches, gathered some other things, and thrust them into her knapsack, a lovely contraption with an Extension Charm on it.  The Weasleys and assorted Order members spoke to her, milled about and carried on with life in hiding, but Hermione felt as if she were watching them from a distance.  The only subject that held her attention was Severus...what had happened with him the night before...and she was prone to wander in her mind over the things they had said and done together in the night.

She wanted...she needed...to see him again, to know how he would look at her, the tone of voice in which he'd speak to her, and most importantly, the words he would say.

She escaped into the clearing between the house and the stream, and she paused for a moment in the freshly washed air to raise her face to the sun. Others were outside to enjoy the warmth after a day of unrelenting rain, and they smiled and nodded to her, but she spoke to no one. Her favourite perch, the boulder on the stream bank, was unoccupied, so she climbed up to wait and consider.

Remus and Tonks were sitting across the stream on the far bank with Percy and Cho, the four of them indulging in lethargic, post-lunch conversation. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins could be spied occasionally swooping into view overhead on their brooms, playing at Quidditch. Hermione had left the Patil twins indoors, flipping through well-thumbed magazines, making fun of the out-dated fashions, whilst Luna kept them company, watching them as if their behaviour intrigued her.

Bill and Fleur had gone upstairs 'for a nap' after lunch, but no one believed they were sleeping, and Hermione envied them the freedom to go upstairs for a rendezvous in the middle of the afternoon. What must that be like, to undress one another in the light of day, to see every facet of your lover's body unclothed and unshadowed? The very idea made her shiver, though whether in fear or longing, she could not have said.

I could go looking for him, she thought, but she lay back on the warm rock and looked up into the sky, content to let him come to her, in his own time.

He stood from his place beneath the tree and dusted the debris from his trousers. He'd been thoughtless, rushing out of the house without making provision for lunch. He would be driven back to the lions' den...that damned house, chock-a-block with noisy Gryffindors...in search of sustenance.

He began the walk purposefully, his shoulders squared, his back straight.  He had not been driven from the house by a slip of a girl...my wife, his brain supplied helpfully...no, of course not.  He'd had many important matters to consider, so he had slipped out into the quiet of the morning where he could think uninterrupted.

And what fabulous scheme have you concocted? he thought derisively.  How, precisely, will you sleep every night in bed with your wife without taking advantage of her ... proximity?

'But she needs me to,' he muttered, arguing with the voice in his head.  'And if she needs me to ... take care of her, what else am I supposed to do?' 

Because she didn't remember, did she?  And without the memory, she couldn't possibly understand why she reacted so strongly to his presence.  He wasn't blind...he hadn't been ignorant of her growing awareness of him...but he was damned if he knew what to do about it.  Her choice had been to remove her memory of their time together, and he was hell-bound to honour that choice...but how was he supposed to behave when her body remembered what her mind had forgotten?

He slowed his pace, realizing his long legs were carrying him to the house faster than he wished to arrive there.  She would be there, somewhere, and he would have to face her and handle her questions or her hurt or her indifference, and he was unsure which would be the most difficult task.  Questions might force him to articulate things better left unsaid; hurt feelings would be irritating; but indifference would be the unkindest cut of all.  If she could copulate with him with the tempestuous emotion she had shown the night before and the next day be entirely unmoved by the event...either to embarrassment or shame or some other female reaction he had yet to catalogue...if she could be that cold-hearted, then he really didn't know her at all.

What do you want her to do? his ridiculing inner self demanded.  Run to you with smiles and hugs and kisses, for the entertainment of the Order at large?

He balled a fist, as if to obliterate such puerile thoughts from his mind.  She had never embarrassed him with any show of emotion before other people...not in her right mind, at least...though she had at times shown him a cold disregard that had pricked his pride.  But he had never reproached her for it...not in words...because such conversations were unheard-of in their household.  He had contented himself with periodically...not every time she left their rooms, as she was wont to insist...reminding her to honour their bargain and to give the appearance to outside observers of being a wife in truth.

The voices from the clearing reached him now, and he tugged once at the placket of his broadcloth shirt, missing his teaching robes and the ease with which one could present a proper appearance when wearing a garment that covered one from throat to ankle.  But he marched on until the milling throng were in sight, mingling and laughing and talking as if life were a big garden party...all except for Hermione, who lay atop a shoulder-high boulder, lazing like a lizard in the sun.

Then she sat up, and in the same motion, turned towards him, as if she had known of his arrival...as if she was waiting for me, he thought inanely.  And when her eyes met his, she smiled, spontaneously and delightedly, as if she were suddenly lit up from within.

All thought of carefully planned, restrained response escaped his mind, as did his awareness of the assorted Weasleys and Order members littering the sunshiny space; his strongest instinct was to go to her, drawn by the woman's welcoming smile as surely as a moth to flame.

Hermione stretched and sat up, feeling warm and content.  She glanced across the clearing, towards the trees, and there he was, the sunlight on his curtain of black hair like the sheen of a panther's pelt.  Their eyes met and locked, her heart tripping into an accelerated rhythm, and then he was striding across the ground separating them until he stood within arm's reach...close enough for her to smell the treacherous sandalwood of his aftershave.

'Good morning,' she said stupidly, searching for words to hold him there.

One jet black eyebrow quirked.  'I believe you will find it is afternoon,' he replied, correcting her.  But even though he was correcting her, she didn't mind it, because his eyes seemed to be communicating something else entirely.

'Are you hungry?' she asked.  'You didn't come in for lunch, so I thought you might be ...'

He took one step nearer to her, still a proper distance away, if anyone cared, but the closer proximity made her feel strangely short of breath...or perhaps she felt so confused because of the way his eyes took her in, from head to toe.

'Thought I might be ...' he prompted, the barest note of teasing in his tone.

'Hungry!' she blurted.  'I've got some sandwiches and such in my bag.'  She indicated the well-worn rucksack.  'If you were interested, I mean,' she added.  It was as if he wasn't even listening to her...or as if he were hearing words completely other than those she was speaking.

His hands, long-fingered and strong, closed about her waist as he lifted her effortlessly to the ground, then they remained about her for just a moment longer than was strictly necessary.  When he released her, he lifted her old bag and slipped it over one shoulder.

'And have you chosen a place where we will eat this feast?' he inquired.

Hermione gazed up at his face, slightly averted now as he adjusted the strap of the knapsack, and she could still feel the imprint of his hands upon her, just as they'd been last night, creating utter havoc.  But she couldn't think about that now...not with other people watching them...not when he might guess that all she wanted was to be naked with him in the attic room in the light of day ...

'No,' she said, managing to remember that he had asked a question.

'Then allow me to suggest a spot,' he said smoothly, and with a hand at the small of her back, he guided her past the others, returning greetings with no more than a nod as he steered her into the trees.

They walked for perhaps ten minutes through the sunlight dappled trees, until they came to a bend in the stream.  The burbling of the water was softly audible, and the grassy bank offered a level space beneath the shade of a convenient tree.

'It's lovely!' Hermione said, feeling genuinely pleased.  She took the bag from him and withdrew a large red cloth, which she spread on the ground before seating herself in its centre and beginning to remove food from the rucksack.

He looked down at her with a sardonic eye.  'If I'm not mistaken, that's Molly Weasley's second-best tablecloth.'

Hermione sniffed and thrust her hand into the bag again.  'It's not Molly's...it belongs to the house...and besides, it will be back on the shelf, all clean and folded, before she ever knows it's been gone.'

He gave a snort of laughter, but at that moment she withdrew a tall blue thermos flask from her bag, and his attention was riveted.  'Is that what I think it is?' he demanded, bending to sit beside her.

Hermione darted a look at him from the corner of her eye, delivering her best Mona Lisa smile.  'Perhaps,' she murmured, allowing him to take it from her hands.  Men could become passionate about the oddest things, sometimes!

He unscrewed the top, and the aroma of hot coffee filled the air.  She watched as he poured the liquid into the blue thermos top, which doubled as a drinking cup, and he took an appreciative swallow, his eyes closing as if in sensual pleasure, the taste taking him away for a moment.  When he opened his eyes again, she offered a sandwich, which he accepted with a wry half-smile.

'How did you know?' he asked, taking a large bite of cheese and pickle.

Hermione looked at him, informal and relaxed, sitting with her on the ground to eat his lunch, and there was an unfamiliar ache beneath her breastbone, fleetingly there and then gone.

'At Hogwarts, you always took a cup of coffee with your lunch, even on the weekends,' she answered, suddenly embarrassed to be caught out with such knowledge.  She hadn't been spying on him...anyone might know he drank coffee at midday, not just pathetic stalker-types.

But all he said was, 'Right you are,' and took another bite of sandwich.

Hermione allowed herself to relax.  There was nowhere else for her to be, no other task she could be performing...not whilst Dumbledore kept them cooped up here...so there was no reason on earth why she ought not to lighten up and enjoy the opportunity to spend time with her husband.  He might have better things to do (Don't be ridiculous, Granger! Now, get out!) but not here...not without his office and his books and his papers...and she knew he had no interest in socialising with the others.  So she was doing him a service, really, providing a distraction from what would otherwise be an intolerably tedious interlude.

'Where's your cup?' he asked, brandishing the flask as he refilled his.

She looked blank.  'Oh, I didn't bring another one,' she said.  'I didn't think of it.'

He held the cup out to her.  'Have a drink.'

Hermione stared at the hand holding the cup, her eyes rising up to his shoulders...rising over her in the ambient light as he strove over her body...then to his face.  It seemed almost unbearably intimate, to drink from his cup.

'You weren't worried about my germs last night,' he said, his voice seeming deeper...rougher...than it had done before.

She took the cup from him, her fingertips sliding deliberately across his hand.  'I'm not worried about a thing,' she averred before taking a long swallow of the bitter black brew.  She could not repress the moue of distaste that followed.  'I don't usually drink it black, though,' she added, passing the cup back to her smirking companion.

He seemed to relax after that, and the rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence, with only the gurgling of the brook and the occasional call of birdsong to touch upon the quiet.

Not having ingested enough coffee to energise her, Hermione felt herself becoming drowsy in the warm sunshine, the only thing keeping her awake the fraught tension between her and the watchful man at her side.  The matter was put to rest when he leant against the tree trunk and gestured to his expanse of long, black-clad legs.

'Have a nap,' he suggested neutrally.  'We've nowhere else we have to be.'

Another time, she might have declined, but at this moment, she could imagine nothing she'd rather do with him fully clothed than drowsing in the detritus of their picnic lunch.  Pushing the rucksack out of her way, she stretched out and allowed her head to rest in his lap.

As she drifted to sleep, she could have sworn she felt the ghosting of his fingertips across her hair.

9 January, 1998

Her shout of completion was the sweetest music he'd ever heard, and for a few seconds he rested where he was, cheek upon her soft inner thigh, face coated with the essence of her, arms wound under her legs to embrace her hips, fingers resting now on the concavity of her belly.  Then he moved alongside her, mindful of her fragility; he knew it was of paramount importance not to forget his responsibility to her, even through the exercise of his husbandly rights.

The moment his head touched the pillow beside her, she turned into his embrace, clinging and trembling, and he pulled her as close as he could, gentling and murmuring as if she were a nervous unicorn.

'Oh,' she whispered, her face against his shoulder.  'Oh, Severus.'

No reply seemed to be required so he made none, simply cradling her against him, making no effort to hide his continuing arousal, wondering how soon he might be able to bring her to readiness again...for as pleasurable as it all was, he had a mission to accomplish here tonight, and it behoved him to be mindful of the passage of time.  Simply put, he had to fuck her before she slept, or the costly Lethe Elixir would have been for naught.

After a few moments she released her death grip on him and lay back, eyes big in a face changed in ways he could not articulate...not even to himself.  With careful fingers, she reached to caress his unlovely countenance, ineffable tenderness in her every movement.  'I want to tell you how that felt,' she said softly, 'but I seem to lack the words.'

His lips quirked into a twisted smirk.  'I never thought I'd live to see the day Hermione Granger was bereft of words.'

She emitted a breathy giggle before making her mouth prim and lightly punching his arm.  Enchanted with this flirtatious exchange, Severus swooped down to kiss her again, capturing her mouth and plunging his tongue between her lips.

Her response was sluggish, as if her orgasm had wiped her memory of the level of passion they created between them.  After a moment she pulled back, her expression a bit startled. 

'You taste ... different,' she said, the tip of her tongue darting between her cupid's bow lips, drawing his gaze like a raptor to a rabbit.

'I taste of you, little tempest,' he growled, 'and believe me, there's nothing sweeter.'  He loomed over her, knowing he was overwhelming her a bit, but unable to restrain the temptation to assert his dominance...he felt driven and wild with the need to have her yield to him.

The impact of his words was instant and visible; her lips rounded to an 'o' of shock, her brown eyes darkening, even as her hands twined in his hair, pulling him down so she could greedily suckle his lower lip, as if to feast upon her own essence.  Severus was galvanised by such a show of unfettered sensuality from this temptress in the traditional bridal wreath.  All vestiges of planned control deserted him, and he descended upon his prize with single-minded intent.

He kissed her with renewed purpose, his tongue dominating hers, invading her mouth, tantalising and provoking, drawing her on to incursions of her own.  He wanted to possess her, but even more, he wanted to engage her.  Their earlier grappling, the give and take of their shared passion, drove him to seek more of the same on a grander scale.  This was no quick satisfaction of carnal desires with a female whose interest in him was transitory at best; no, this was his wedding night with a bride worthy of any wizard's devotion to her pleasure...and her favour, best won by attention to every detail of her lusciousness, body and soul.

Keeping her pinned down by the mere expedient of overcoming her with kisses, he allowed one hand to wander free, gently pinching and twisting her nipples until she writhed helplessly, her attempts to reach him and deal commensurate attacks thwarted by their relative positions, she flat on her back, he bending over her.  The best she could manage was to reach his head, his shoulders, and upper chest.  It pleased him to control her with kisses and caresses, his object to bring her again to the state of readiness to receive his cock into the heat of her body...he needed no such readying, was almost beyond himself with readiness now.

Stroking down her torso, he was unsurprised to have her lift her hips in invitation.  She wanted his touch in her quim, was aching for him, whimpers of urgency beginning to fill his mouth from deep in her throat.  He probed her folds with an exploratory finger, finding her warm and slick again from his ministrations.  He felt a flare of self-satisfaction to be managing this wedding night seduction so well...but truly, had there ever been a witch more ready to meet her wizard's every advance?

But she was not content to let him congratulate himself on her handling...no, his tempest broke their kiss, allowing his suckling, bruising kisses down her throat as she pulled ineffectually at his arms and shoulders.

'Severus!'  She was breathless, but a note of hysteria tinged her voice.  'Severus, please.'

Her request was too much in concert with his own desires for him to quibble with her.  He half-rose from her, and she needed no command to part her legs for him; she was wanton in her need of him, and she spread her thighs readily, the picture of primal femininity.  He knelt between her thighs, a non-verbal charm adding to the birth control potion she'd already ingested.  Meeting her feverish eyes from this vantage point, at the apex of her body, he placed the ball of his thumb between his lips, coating it liberally with saliva, and then placed the slick digit on the swollen nub of her clitoris, stroking in a circle, gauging the state of her readiness, both physical and mental.

Her hips rose from the bed, her mouth opened for a raggedly gasped, 'Do it!', but the crowning response was her arms, reaching for him in welcome.  The man had not been born who could decline such a summons.  Positioning himself at the slick lips of her quim, he thrust forward with what restraint he could manage into the fitted glove of her cunt, his body following to cover hers as he came to rest on his upraised arms, his cock enclosed in her welcoming heat.  She pulled him closer, heels hooking about his upper thighs, hands scrabbling over his back, seeking purchase.

He withdrew and plunged again, his eyes never leaving her face, the raw ecstasy of being where he belonged only enhanced by the frantic burning in her dark eyes and the gasps of her open mouth, seemingly as needful of filling as her quim...sweet Circe, a thought for another time. 

He moved within her fluidly, hips pumping between her accommodating thighs, she trying to move to meet him, her movements at times out of rhythm with his, but it was of no matter; nothing would derail this engine of need pounding within him, driving his body to couple with hers, the blinding pleasure of it running through him like thunder, any attempts at control like struggling to contain a waterfall with a tea strainer.  The sight of her beneath him, hips rising, bountiful breasts bouncing, eyes wide and staring into his, was the most beautiful vision of his life, the loveliest he was ever likely to see, but in the end, he did not possess the ability to make it last any longer than it did, this fucking of his bride on their wedding night.

As should be no surprise when dealing with his rampaging tempest, she pulled it all down around them, her hand slipping from his back, now slick with sweat, and snaking between them to that spot where their bodies were joined.  He could not see precisely what her fingers did, but the result was a happy one.  Her body bent beneath him, arching spectacularly upwards, and the onset of her cataclysm brought about his own.  She screamed, a fierce, unearthly cry of completion that triggered the sudden release of the unbearable tightness in his bollocks.   All that mattered was the slick friction of his sex in hers, and the first jet of hot seed burst forth, seeking its ultimate destination.

When he had caught his breath a bit, his head was sagging, his chin almost touching her forehead.  Her legs were locked about the small of his back as his erection softened, and his arms trembled in protest at the continued support of his weight.  He slid to one side and collapsed beside her, hearing her sigh of protest as their bodies uncoupled and smiling to himself with smug self-satisfaction.  She had liked it, by Merlin...he was a cocksman of no mean accomplishment.

She rolled immediately against him, and though he was hot and sweaty, he made no objection.  She pressed an open-mouthed kiss upon his lips, and he responded languidly, reflecting that this must be the post-coital afterglow of which he'd read but never personally experienced.  His unwanted bride had been transformed in the last hour to an exquisite treasure, and her doubtful acquiescence to their marriage had been vindicated by an hour of first-class passion...success by any standard.

He cupped his hand about the back of her neck and enjoyed their kiss, overcome with an almost narcotic sense of well-being, revelling in the taste of her mouth, the softness of her nape, and the way her smooth legs tangled with his.  He could imagine nothing that would dispel this enchantment.

Hermione broke their kiss, rising up on an elbow, her crazy hair beginning to escape the confines of her ravaged wedding up-do, now falling about her face in untidy curls.  Her brown eyes glowed, her face almost pretty...certainly beguiling...with an expression of wondering awe.

'My husband,' she murmured sweetly, touching his face.

Severus felt his lips curve in a real smile.  'Wife,' he drawled lazily, lolling beneath her caresses.

She smiled in answer.  'I never thought ... but how could I?  Did you?'

He took a chance and shook his head in the negative, unsure what she was going on about; he desperately needed a bit of a rest, and his thinking processes were not at their best, by any means ...

'If I'd had any clue, I never would have swallowed that silly potion,' she said, tracing the angle of his jaw as if it were a sculpture she wished to learn by touch.

But wait...what the fuck was she saying?

She pressed a kiss to his jaw, just beneath his ear, then gently bit his earlobe before whispering, 'Shall we go now to the castle to brew the antidote, before I sleep?  I don't want to forget a thing about tonight.'

Severus' mind swung wildly into top gear, his languorous afterglow dissipating like fog before a breeze.  Brew an antidote?  WHAT antidote?  Merlin's beard, what was she going to say when he told her there was none?

Taking charge of the moment in the only way to suggest itself to him, he flipped her neatly onto her back and caught her hands in his, lacing their fingers together as he looked down into her questioning face.

'You talk too much, little tempest,' he informed her before silencing her with kisses.

6 July, 1998

Hermione woke up, thinking that she had knocked her pillow on the floor and was sleeping on the hard mattress...but when she opened her eyes, she found herself with her cheek nestled on her husband's rather bony upper leg, her nose nearly touching the crotch of his trousers.  Good grief, had she been nuzzling his ... privates in her sleep?

She shot upright and found herself looking into his dark, half-lidded eyes, an expression she seemed to remember from last night, just before he...

Before she could form a coherent thought, he dragged her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, almost as if to prevent her from speaking a word aloud.

A/N: Today's song is one that had lots of radio play when SubHub and I were engaged, so it carries happy memories for us. I give you Somewhere in the Night by Barry Manilow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y15vjqyx_F0