Nine: Take Me For Longing

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

For Sempra and Mimi

Don't choose me because I am faithful. Don't choose me because I am kind. If your heart settles on me, I'm for the taking. Take me for longing or leave me behind.

I'm not asking your heart to believe me, I'm not asking for promise or pledge; whenever the answer is 'yes', that's the question; I am the fool dancing over the edge.

The winter gradually gave way to the beginnings of a rather grudging Scottish spring, and Severus and Hermione spent their precious, stolen hours practicing Occlumency and cautiously learning each other. With each passing day, Severus found himself admiring Hermione's developing maturity as a scholar. She had gradually emerged from the book-spouting little know-it-all, into an intelligent, clever young woman of depth and humour, capable of making impressive leaps of deductive reasoning, all the while making him want to laugh. He didn't, very much; he wanted to, very much.

She was diligent, and he admired that; she fretted about her O.W.L.s, but Severus knew the examinations well enough by now to know she would sail through them, even this early in the year. Her own hard-won self-confidence gave him the beginnings of understanding how to accept himself, not as a flawed, hopeless individual beyond redemption, but as a man with flaws, trying to do the right things. He had second-guessed his every move his whole life; Hermione was teaching him to trust himself.

Severus had little enough time to ponder this odd little relationship, but when he did, it comforted him as few things had done his entire life. Now that Dumbledore had backed off, and given them some breathing room, Severus could afford to enjoy his little Gryffindor lioness. He realised he liked her, though he felt he should be above such childish, mundane thoughts; he was a grown wizard, not a third-year passing love notes in class. (Do you like me? Check Yes or No) He had intercepted so many of those in his teaching career, he probably could have written one, had he chosen, to Hermione. Sometimes, after a few glasses of wine, he found himself sorely tempted to put quill to parchment.

It was the first time in his adulthood that Severus could actually remember not feeling like he was simply marking time until the Dark Lord decided he was too expendable to leave alive. That had been surprisingly hard to accept. It was all so easy to give in to the ease of fatalism, he admitted. Living was tougher. It was the startling, terrifying, hopeful realisation that he wanted to live past the war, to see what a future might hold. He'd botched up so many aspects of his life, but he rather thought with Hermione around, that might not happen so much. She wasn't the type to sit around and let those she cared about bollocks things up.

Severus had never known what it felt like to be truly part of a couple, albeit a clandestine one. His time with Lily was, as he now realised, much more about giving than taking. He was forced to admit that Lily had never really given herself totally to him, not like a true lover should. He found his self-directed loathing and anger losing ground over the reluctant, fearful desire to start over. Seeing all of his dark confessions behind him, Hermione had never, nor would ever have turned her back on him as Lily had. He was sometimes awed, sometimes dismayed, at Hermione's capacity for forgiveness, caring and acceptance.

Lily had been an ideal; the ultimate perfect woman, forever denied him. She blazed a trail through Hogwarts, all flash and vivaciousness, and he was the drab chimney sweep skulking behind her, always bringing up the rear. When he tried to picture the two of them together now, at his present age, he simply couldn't do it, yet he had measured every woman since her death against such an impossible yardstick.

When he had tried to do the same with Hermione, she cut the yardstick down to size so quickly it had left him dazed. One thing was certain – Hermione was never going to compete with a ghost, and told him so. She had, at first, shocked him into silent resentment, then proceeded to make him create a new yardstick.

He knew Lily would always be part of him, but he was beginning to understand that maybe he didn't have to self-flagellate daily to prove to himself and the world that he had made a mistake, and felt remorse for it. For all of Lily's vanity and pride; in spite of her ultimate rejection of him, Severus believed that she would truly be happy for him to find some love amongst the living. The fact that he'd found it with a student shocked and worried and frightened him, but not enough to end it. He was no longer capable of walking away, even for Lily's son.

His little witch was every bit as voracious as him in the pursuit and discussion of knowledge; he enjoyed the cut and thrust of conversing with someone who gave him a run for his money. Even as young as she was, Hermione could hold her own, and his challenges, opinions and intellectual arguments only served to increase her understanding and confidence. It was the only thing about his life that he could remotely call pleasant, and he clung to it with an ever increasing dependence that concerned him more with every passing day.

He had come to understand a lot more about the Muggle-born witch who had taken him into her heart so completely; just as he had told her his life story in that mind-bending afternoon, she had chosen to return the favour over the days and weeks to follow. He had listened, stunned, at the revelations of her part in all of the exploits of the so-called 'Golden Trio', with a growing respect and horror for her cleverness and outright audacity. He kept most of his emotions concealed. He was, after all, still Severus Snape. He had not become a bloody Gryffindor overnight.

"So Minerva's Time-Turner trick was how you managed to get so many classes completed?" He frowned. "The implications of that are potentially devastating. I cannot believe she was so careless as to give a third-year student such responsibility for something with the potential for such dire consequences." In reality, he was jealous. How many times had he yearned to be able to turn back time? He knew it was an empty fantasy. That was not how Time-Turners worked. If he had the chance to change what happened, would he have done something different? Was destiny subject to change?

Hermione was nodding. "Looking back, even this short amount of time, I can't believe I did it, either." She gave him a little sheepish sideways glance. "I have to confess, I wasn't exactly honest with her. I abused it shamelessly."

Severus looked down his large nose at his witch, narrowing his eyes. "Indeed, Miss Granger. And what form, pray tell, did this abuse take?" He was truly intrigued how Hermione Granger, heretofore thought of as goody-goody extraordinaire, felt she had abused the use of her third-year secret.

Hermione had the grace to blush. "Well, I didn't use it to cheat, if that's what you're implying!"

He sniffed. "Merlin forbid, Miss Granger. I would never imply something so sordid. It would be very – " He smirked. "Un-Gryffindor of you."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dunked one of Severus' favourite chocolate biscuits into her tea, and chased the dripping cookie to her mouth. Chewing, she said, "It's just that, sometimes, if I really enjoyed a particular class, or wanted to remember something, I'd go back three or four times and repeat it."

Severus frowned. "How can that be? There would be three or four of you in class at once."

Hermione blushed. Whoops. She grinned sheepishly. "Well, I borrowed an invisibility cloak and just sort of... snuck in."

Severus was gobsmacked. "But who – " He huffed. "Of course. Potter."

"I didn't tell you that!"

Severus mentally rolled his eyes. "Really, Hermione. Students think we professors are so blind. We do know things." He smirked. "Go on."

She sighed wistfully, as if remembering something pleasant. "I went back and slept for days at a time! And if there was a particularly good meal, I'd eat a bit, leave, then go back and eat more of it, because I knew I'd enjoy it over again, and then I'd have to return to exercise so I wouldn't gain too much weight..."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Don't worry – I didn't change time or cause a paradox! You'd be surprised, though, how basically little would change during the repeats. But it just sort of added up after awhile."

Unable to stop himself, Severus blurted, "Did you ever repeat any time... in this class?" The moment the words left his mouth, he chastised himself for sounding like the love-sick fool he was. He would be sending the Dark Lord roses at this rate.

Hermione smirked. "Why, Professor Snape! Are you hinting to see if I used my Time-Turner in order to spend more time with you?"

Feeling a bit of an arse, Severus gave her a stony stare. Unfazed, Hermione leaned over and kissed the tip of his sizable nose. "All the time, sir. Especially when you gave the lecture on Healing Potions. I snuck in using Harry's cloak."

"Why Healing Potions? Do you have plans to become a Healer?"

Hermione pondered the question while munching on another stolen biscuit. "I have considered it. But that's not why I repeated the lectures." When he steadfastly refused to ask why, she caved in. "You know you have the most beautiful voice when you lecture about something you care about." He could feel her smile slip under the waistband of his trousers and give him a little teasing caress. "Your voice has always given me a little shiver."

Slightly mollified, he accepted the compliment, appalled that he could feel his face growing warm, along with his crotch. After writhing a bit through this blush, Severus looked at her suddenly. "Just how much time did you add to your life with this Time-Turner experiment?"

She frowned in thought, reaching for the chocolate biscuits again, only to have her hand slapped by her professor.

"Oy, you!" She squeaked, rubbing her offended hand.

He grumbled, "Stop eating my biscuits."

"I brought them!" Hermione was laughing in spite of herself. He really was adorable when he was being truculent.

He looked at her imperiously. "As a present to me. Bring your own, tomorrow. Answer the question, Hermione."

She picked up her teacup, and beamed at him as he rolled his eyes and placed the chocolate biscuit on her plate. "Thank you, Professor." She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Well, by my calculations, I gained about a year and a bit."

At his stunned expression, she laughed. "I became obsessed with it. Professor McGonagall warned me about it – the urge to go back, to return to certain moments. It gets addictive.

"I spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement with a Pensieve, reliving a lot of moments. I probably spent as much time skulking around under the invisibility cloak. It was such a feeling of, I don't know." She frowned. "It was a real feeling of power, to be able to turn back time. There were several moments I returned to, just to relive over and over again."

She nodded. "How many times do we get the chance to repeat a moment, to make it better? I had to know. Sometimes I could improve things. Sometimes, I didn't." She looked at him, and they both knew what she was thinking about - the night she and Harry saved Sirius Black from the Dementors.

"Severus," she began shyly. She gave him a little, bashful smile, and he watched her carefully. "I wanted to tell you this because – well, because I – you see..." She suddenly blushed.

Puzzled, he replied, rather sternly, "Out with it, Hermione! Our time together is quite limited enough without you resorting to stuttering." He quirked an eyebrow, and added dryly, "Unless you still have your Time-Turner and plan on repeating it."

"Oh, you could at least make it easy for me," she grumbled, colouring even more. "I'm trying to tell you that I turn eighteen soon, that's all." She watched him carefully. When he didn't reply, she pressed on. "I started school at nearly twelve anyway, and by my calculations, technically, I'll turn eighteen in a couple of months."

Severus, his expression unchanging, was suddenly aware of her stammering, her insinuations. She would be of age. She was telling him, in a rather uncharacteristically clumsy fashion, that she wanted them to be lovers. He watched her carefully.

He wanted her. It would be ludicrous to say or think otherwise. The evenings they spent together were wonderful, and excruciating in equal measures. To have her lying in his arms, breathless with his kisses, to feel the satiny, cool skin of her neck beneath his lips, to venture a warm palm over a pert breast, even through her clothing, was blissful, and a nightly exercise that bordered on mutual masochism. Each night, they would part, both hurrying to their respective bedrooms to seek some relief by their own hand. It was at times like this that Severus knew for a fact that self-denial and discipline were fucking overrated.

And yet, there was the sweetness of her innocence that brought a measure of calm to his heart, that made him feel outside of himself and the scope of his experience. To be wanted so, to hear her cry out beneath his moving hands ('I don't care, Severus! Please don't stop!'), and to be strong enough to wait, to savour, to shiver in that much anticipation, knowing that one day, they would no longer feel the need to wait, was heady to him.

He would be her first. The first to touch her intimately; the first to taste her, the first to penetrate her, the first to thrust into her silken body. There were nights, lying in his bed, he would think these thoughts, and feel like a god. Her first. It was a privilege he would only experience with her once. No one else would have that honour, that gift. When the first of the firsts had been sampled, there would be no returning, even with Minerva's Time-Turner. The body would know, and remember.

Severus wanted to relish each first as it came to him. On those long, sleepless nights, he found himself planning each detail. He would start with her lovely breasts, then cover every inch of her nubile body with his mouth, his lips, his tongue, until he reached the core, the centre of her, of birth, of life. He would be creator, Adam and the serpent, to her Eve; giving her first knowledge of a man, how to please him, as well. Yes, it was heady stuff that made his increasingly harsh life bearable.

And yet, he wanted her to be completely sure. "Hermione, this is possibly the worst timing any lovers have shared since Romeo and Juliet."

"I know, but – "

"Hear me out, please." He held up his hand. He looked at the young witch. She looked so confident and sure, and he thought he should harden his heart. He still thought the best, most noble act would be to tell her to stop thinking of him in a romantic fashion, that he wasn't destined for happiness or love. He waited, until he could do that, could say that.

He sighed. He couldn't. Fuck nobility, he thought. I want this too much. He slumped slightly. "Be sure, Hermione. I can only be so strong for so many causes. I want you, and I will not be able to stop myself. And once I've bedded you, witch, you'll belong to me, and I to you. I'm not afraid of physically hurting you, but I'm afraid you'll be caught in the crossfire of this madness that we live in."

Her reply was to walk around until she was standing behind his chair. Gentle, soft hands slid into his hair and began to massage his scalp, the same way she had the night in Grimmauld Place. He gradually relaxed, the feeling of being petted like a large cat too seductive to resist. After a few moments, he made a deep purring sound of contentment, and Hermione smiled.

As she moved her fingers through his silky, slightly oily hair, she said, "Oh, Severus, I know. I do know. Right now, I'm so frightened all the time. I'm terrified for you, every time you're summoned to... to him. I'm frightened for Harry, but most of all, I'm frightened that when the worst happens, and it will, that I won't be brave enough to do the right thing."

She walked around and sat in his lap, laying her head against his shoulder; a wonderful, welcomed weight against him, and without thinking, his arms were around her, pulling her close, sharing her warmth. "The only thing I'm not afraid of is how I feel about you. I just believe – " Her voice changed, thickened, and Severus looked at her. To his surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

"I just believe that love is the only thing that is going to save us, like Lily saved Harry." She buried her head against his shoulder.

He grew very still. Delicately clearing his throat, he said, "Lass, are you telling me you love me?" He shook his head. "I'm not worth it, Hermione. I want to be, but I can't make myself believe I'm worthy of love."

Hermione sat up, her breathing harsh from her crying. "Severus Snape, you will NEVER say that again. I will not accept that. Of all the wizards I have ever met, you are more worthy of love than the lot! And don't bring up your past, don't bring up things that happened before I was born – "

He groaned, feeling his heart splitting open. "Another reason not to continue this infatuation with me, Hermione! I'm so much older – "

"Stop it! Stop trying to bring up excuses that even YOU don't want to hear!" she said, her amber-coloured eyes snapping fire. She poked him in the chest. "Don't forget, I know you. I know you're trying to push me away because you think that's what you are supposed to do! It's not going to work with me."

She put her arms around his neck and shifted her position, until she was straddling him. He moaned. "Hermione, please!"

She took his head in her hands. "Tell me to leave, Severus Snape, because you don't want this. Tell me you love someone else and could never love me. Look me in the eye, let me look into your mind and see these things, and I'll never pester you again."

Severus realised he was breathing hard, as if he'd been running. To his horror, he felt near tears, as well. He grew angry with himself for being so damnably weak. But he still held onto her. He still had an erection. "You unman me, witch," he whispered, not daring to look into her eyes. His hands, unbidden, slid up her thighs, to rest at her waist.

"No, Severus. I'm giving you the chance to be a man." He looked up then, and Hermione suddenly blushed again. "I'm giving you the chance to make me a woman. To say you are unworthy of love is to tell me I'm not worthy to know the difference."

For a moment, neither spoke. She bit her bottom lip, then slowly stood. His lap felt horribly light, relieved of its welcomed burden. She knelt beside his chair. "We're linked now. Sometimes, I feel we were linked at the beginning of time, and we were destined for this moment." She looked up at him with complete conviction. "I will never forsake you, Severus. No matter what happens, we will survive this, and we'll fight until we win. But you have to fight with me. You have to love me in return."

Severus looked down at the little witch, the confidence of youth bright and shining in her clean, lovely eyes, and for a moment, he wanted to run. Just take her hand and run away from Hogwarts, from England, from Europe, even. The thought was so sweet and perfect, for a moment he almost stood and asked her to leave with him. The real world pressed down on him, and he knew she would no more allow him to abandon his duty than demand him to run away with her.

Instead, he stroked her hair, and she laid her head against his knee. Severus saw the two of them together, man and woman, wizard and witch, Slytherin and Gryffindor, jaded and innocent. He saw their similarities, their single-minded concentration, their cleverness, their fear, their power. He slid his fingers through her hair, and felt an irrational sense of ownership, of responsibility.

She was his; she belonged to him. "Hermione," he said, his voice rich, full of power, of beauty. She looked up at him expectantly.

"Come here."

She dutifully crawled back into his arms, and he held her. There was nothing awkward, or uncomfortable, about holding her. With Lily, it had been all elbows and angles; bumping noses and self-conscious blushes. Age had covered a multitude of sins, but the simple fact was that he fit against Hermione. No matter how he held her, no matter how she nestled against him, the pieces fit, both mentally and physically.

He sighed, casting his fate to the gods. "I am yours, witch. You'll eventually realise you've inherited a shoddy bale of goods, but I'm yours." He held her in a painful embrace, but she didn't protest. "I will be your love." He sighed, as he planted a kiss on her outrageous hair. "A time will come when possibly that will be all I have left to give."

Her reply was to take his hand in hers, and press her lips to his palm. He gasped, as her pink tongue darted out and delicately licked the centre, causing his hand to twitch.

She looked at him fondly. "I can't wait."

Outwardly, no one could tell any difference in Professor Snape or Hermione. He was still angry, biased, unfair, belligerent and prejudiced. He was snarky, bullying, partial and unreasonable.

Inwardly, he was deeply afraid, more afraid than he'd been since the Dark Lord returned. He was in love, and it was taking every ounce of his rock hard self-control not to show it. No one knew that the Potions master was happy. That wouldn't do at all. He was still, to every faculty member and student but one, the Bat of the Dungeons, the petty arse and greasy git. He drilled Hermione constantly on Occlumency, as much to strengthen his own skills as to develop hers.

Hermione was a little quieter, a little more cautious than before, and a bit removed from Harry and Ron. Harry still struggled with his own anger and self-doubts, and Ron, caught in between the two of them, had decided to form other attachments, namely with one of Hermione's roommates, Lavender Brown. Hermione barely noticed. She was too busy preparing for her O.W.L. exams, and hid behind this excuse.

School itself had taken on the quality of a nightmare; the Ministry had finally attempted to depose Dumbledore, causing him to leave the school in rather typically flashy Dumbledore fashion. Severus confided to Hermione not to be unduly worried; the Headmaster was in constant contact with the Order, and the new Headmistress Umbridge had her hands full just trying to keep control. Between the Weasley twins and the mutinous staff, the Headmistress was growing increasingly unstable.

Determined that she would be able to find out Dumbledore's whereabouts through the student body, Umbridge was driving everyone, staff and students included, mad with her 'Inquisition' Squad; it was only because of Professor Snape's respectful relationship with Mr. Filch, that Hermione was able to meet with him for her extra 'lessons'.

Harry still acted uncomfortable about Sirius, and the thin veneer of respect he gave Severus grew more brittle every day. It disturbed Severus not a jot, but it bothered Hermione that, even after the Easter holidays, Harry was still suspicious of Severus.

Hermione decided to spend the Easter holidays with her parents, much to her professor's displeasure. Severus was loath to admit it, but he missed the little swot. She was good company, when she didn't prattle inanely about subjects which held no interest for him. She could be very considerate, like making sure his tea was accompanied by the particular type of honey he fancied. She loved dark, dark chocolate, and would share generously her Honeydukes' purchases with him, and she never complained that he ate all the chocolate biscuits with his tea, leaving her the Rich Tea biscuits, which, in Severus' opinion, were shit for dipping in his brew.

She helped with grading the first-years' essays, and she did other little things, like mending the holes in his old scarf, so that he would be warmer outside on those cold nights on patrol. And when their lessons were over, they kissed like, well, like fifth-years. Severus had promised himself he would not touch her until she was eighteen, and he did not. He was content to feel her snuggle against him, to hear her soft little sighs of delight, to taste her sweet little heart-shaped mouth as it suckled against his. It was true that he had never wanked so much in his life, but he could live with that. It no longer seemed like such a pointless exercise.

When Hermione told him she wanted to spend some time with her parents, he gave no indication of his jealousy-rooted resentment. After all, it would mean she had an excuse not to attend the Order meeting, and thus would not be exposed to the mutt, Black. Severus had not told Hermione of the Dark Lord's command to take her with him to the next Order meeting, and Severus knew he'd have to come up with a plausible reason why he had defied the Dark Lord's wishes. He knew he would be punished, but his Hermione would be safe.

It was not as if she would not be returning after the break, and they had already planned to spend several weeks together during the summer. But he knew that while she was gone, he would be alone again, and while he had long become accustomed to eating, sleeping and living alone over the long, lonely years, it had been very easy to learn how to share his time with her. Her leaving him during the Easter break made him too aware of the loneliness that was once an all-encompassing part of his life. It reminded him too much of the man he'd been, the man he would still be, if not for her intervention.

In truth, as much as Hermione would have loved to spend more private time with Severus, she desperately wanted to speak with her mother. As confident as she was about their relationship, she was worried about disappointing Severus with her lack of experience. When she told him of her misgivings, he rolled his eyes. "And how many lovers do I look like I've enjoyed, Hermione? I'm not exactly a Malfoy, my girl."

Still, Hermione got the feeling he knew exactly what he was doing. His kisses were too perfect, too accomplished. This was no green boy; Severus was a man. Hermione did not permit herself to think of him during the day, during school; the distraction was incredible. Looking into his ebony eyes, feeling his large, warm hands enclosing her, his mouth knowing and insistent, Hermione could feel her body aching in unrelieved desire. Thinking about him, craving him in the middle of History of Magic class, had caused her to miss entire lectures on the Goblin Wars.

She longed for something she'd never experienced, and she could not fathom anyone else as a lover, especially her first lover. She wanted her first time to be the stuff she'd always read about, all trumpets and fireworks; but more than that, she wanted it to be the same for him. She wouldn't be his first, but she wanted it to be so good it would feel like his first.

She and her mother had always shared thoughts about anything under the sun, and predictably, Jean Granger approached her daughter's decision to take a lover with typical aplomb. She offered to share her Joy of Sex book, and Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her mum she'd already read it from cover to cover. Several times.

While her mother had not asked her outright who the lucky man was, and Hermione did not dare tell her, she did hint that he was older, with experience, and that they had very strong feelings for each other. Jean appraised her daughter carefully. "Do you love him, Hermione?"

Hermione thought carefully. "There is a lot about him to love. He's not classically handsome, Mum, but he is to me. He doesn't think he's worthy, but he is."

"Well, you'll no doubt set him straight, knowing you, dear," her mother laughed. She grew serious. "I know you well enough. If you think he's a worthy man, then he is. Just be careful, Hermione. Love and sex aren't the same thing."

"Oh, Mother, I know that!" Hermione said, rather indignantly. "It's a little complicated right now, but I believe in him. He's a good man." She looked at her mother carefully. "I can't think of another person on earth better suited for me."

She spent the rest of the day perusing her mother's shockingly large collection of books on the subject of sex and sexual techniques. "Why do you think your father always looks so pleased with himself?" her mother had quipped, when Hermione beheld the vast array of literature dedicated to the sexual experience. Blushing and laughing, Hermione took the proffered lunch from her mother's hands, and resumed her perusal of the Kama Sutra.

When the Order met during the Easter holidays, Severus arrived deliberately late, and sat in the back. He noticed that Black, too, was seated back from the group on the opposite side of the room, glaring at him. The meeting was dull and pointless; everyone was congratulating Potter on discovering his ability to sense the Dark Lord's thoughts and thus find a way to thwart him in discovering the prophecy. The less Severus heard of the damned thing, the better. The Dark Lord was starting to obsess about it, and his desire to find it had caused him to send Nagini to the Department of Mysteries to locate it. Potter, once again the boy-hero, had saved the day by envisioning Nagini's attack on Arthur Weasley.

Severus had nothing against Arthur Weasley; in fact, he liked the man rather well. It was just the fawning, sycophantic worship of Potter that raked his nerves. The boy was treated like the saviour of the world, but all Severus could see was the boy's arrogant resemblance to his bell-end of a father. Black was being exceedingly obsequious, and his fawning praise of Potter's potential greatness made Severus want to puke.

As the meeting petered out to little more than socialising, Severus stood to make his leave, and found his way blocked by the Mongrel. "And how is Miss Granger, Snivellus?" Black sneered at him, and Severus realised the man was swaying slightly.

Severus drew himself back, wrinkling his large nose at the stink of booze on the man. He purred, "Very lovely, Black. Very appreciative of my attentions." He risked a grim smile, and said so low that Black had to lean in to hear, "My thanks for all but pushing her into my arms. After that little stunt in the Shrieking Shack, she practically ravished me in my study." The look of hatred on Black's face was almost worth the aggro he would get when he told Hermione of this conversation. He gave Black a smile of pure lechery. "Detention fantasies, you see. She loves 'em, and who am I to argue?"

Black pushed at him, "You really are a pig, Snape! Do you honestly expect me to believe Hermione willingly fucks you every night under Dumbledore's nose?"

"I don't have to force her, Black." Severus purred. "I don't need to back her in a corner to get her to do what I want."

Sirius stepped up to Severus, looking less drunk by the second. "Don't let's talk about cornering people to get them to do what you want, Snape. You're very good at it. I still haven't forgotten what you did – "

"Gentlemen, please - " Severus whirled to face Remus Lupin, who was watching both men with a troubled expression on his face. "I'm really growing tired of watching the two of your posturing like this. And, your voices are starting to carry."

Severus snarled, "As if this truly concerns you, Lupin!" He turned to Black. "That little stunt with Potter only served to drive a wedge between Hermione and him, not me. While you're sitting around here getting pissed and stirring up shit, Hermione and I are working on how to keep Potter safe, not alienating his friends from him." His eyes swept over the two wizards with open contempt. "You make me sick, both of you." He turned to go, as Black called out to him.

"We're not the ones pretending to fuck her for bragging rights amongst the Death Eaters, Snivellus." Without dignifying Black's words with a reply, Severus stormed out the door.

The inevitable summoning took place shortly after the Order meeting. Since Severus had promised Hermione she would not be required to attend, he struggled to convince the Dark Lord that Hermione had not attended because of her family's insistence that she go abroad with them for the holiday. Citing that it would have been almost impossible to circumvent her family's wishes, Severus endured the usual catcalling of Going Muggle, being pussy-whipped. Severus ignored them, focusing all of his attention on the Dark Lord, who studied him thoughtfully.

Voldemort was testy, still unhappy with the information Severus was bringing him, especially regarding Dumbledore and his whereabouts. He was angry that Nagini had been thwarted, although Severus was careful not to tell him that Potter had seen it in a vision. The only redeeming information he could impart was convincing the Dark Lord that his dalliance with Hermione was reaping results.

He had only to show his Master the fierce argument between Potter and Hermione, to illustrate Potter's supposed-growing instability, his isolation from Dumbledore, from those who did not wish to believe the Dark Lord had actually returned. Severus thought he might leave the meeting relatively unscathed, until the Dark Lord turned to him.

"Severus? No word of thanks for my... little gift to your pet? Am I to take this as a sign that it was unwanted and unwelcomed?"

Severus' heart sank. He bowed and gave his Lord a knowing, sensual smile. "My Lord, I haven't been so hard in years! I all but impaled the saucy little puss, and still she almost did me in." He dialed in a sensuous, languid tone to his voice. "Oh, to have the stamina of youth." There were several murmurs of approval, but Voldemort merely watched him.

"I would very much like to see that, my friend." His eyes glowed unnaturally, with a frisson of depraved, vicarious lust.

Severus bowed. "It would be my pleasure, my Lord," and filled Voldemort's very vision with his large, liquid eyes. He brought to bear Hermione's first kiss, and her breathless, moaning response, hiding well the revulsion he felt for being forced to share this most intimate of moments with this monster.

He recalled his encounter with the whore who resembled Hermione, hastily changed her voice, altered his surroundings, and soon his Master was sloe-eyed, watching his Potions master fucking his Mudblood concubine against the wall, like the dirty little receptacle she was. And through it all, as the Dark Lord pawed and slithered through his thoughts, Severus blessed the fact that he'd taken the precaution to hone his Occlumency skills, as well as Hermione's.

With an almost sucking pull, Voldemort left his mind, relishing the exhibitionistic image of the lovers. "So, your little pet enjoyed her Dark Caress as well?"

Severus widened his black, luminous eyes, knowing full well the effect they had on his reptilian Master. "She was transported, My Lord. It is something she eagerly hopes to experience again."

"Perhaps when the holidays are over, she can come and thank me in person."

"It would be an honour for us both, My Lord," he said, bowing, praying to himself, Merlin, please don't make me bring her here! Please let this farce be over!

The Dark Lord watched Severus carefully for his reaction, but all he saw was Severus' joy at the idea. "Hmm. Perhaps her family is too much of a distraction. I would hate to know your wellbeing is being neglected for a pair of Mudbloods."

He grew quietly intense, and Severus felt his testicles shrivel in dread. "I like my gifts to be enjoyed, Severus. And I like being told they are enjoyed without having to ask. Perhaps this little gift will remind you in future, to show gratitude to your Master. Crucio!"

In her childhood home in Surrey, Hermione's palm burned for several minutes, and as she sat, the pain intensified to a throbbing, aching blaze, until it felt as if she were holding her hand in a fire. She felt sick with worry, knowing she was too far away to help Severus. She had known he would be summoned, and she knew exactly what this pain meant.

Without knowing if it would work or not, Hermione conjured the memory of her professor's kiss, and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Hagrid found Severus an hour later at the Apparation point. He was on his hands and knees, vomiting, gasping in pain, but not nearly so much as on the night he'd made it only as far as Grimmauld Place. Hagrid helped the injured wizard to the Infirmary, telling Severus that, "A lovely great otter Patronus come an' tol' me ta be on the lookout fer ya, Perfesser. I don' know who sent it, ba they were determined that someone come an' find ya."

Severus, sick to his stomach and too weak to walk unassisted, recalled the night Hermione had run from him, raising her wand to conjure the cheeky little otter Patronus. And, she'd even been able to send it forth as a messenger. In spite of his pain, he felt his heart swell. Good, good, girl.

When she returned to school at the end of their two week holiday, Hermione entered her Potions classroom with her classmates, and prepared her potion according to her professor's instructions. When he asked a question, and no one but she and Draco Malfoy raised their hands to answer it, he chose Malfoy, who gave an incorrect answer. When Hermione raised her hand again, her professor rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, Miss Granger? Does our resident know-it-all showoff think she might have the correct answer?"

"Wormwood and Asafetida, sir, not Wormwood and Asphodel."

Severus gave her a look of barely concealed condescension. He crossed his arms imperiously, and drawled in a bored voice, "The emphasis is on the fourth syllable, Miss Granger. 'As – a – fa – TEE – da'." In his rumbling, decadent purr, he added with a smirk, "Not so know-it-all now, are we?" The Slytherins laughed, and Hermione reacted as she always did, by lowering her head to her parchment and writing out her corrections. Severus continued his lecture, giving no indication whether she had given him the correct answer or not.

When class was dismissed, and everyone left, Hermione asked her professor for clarification on the potion in tomorrow's assignment, and he had sighed, and rather irritably agreed to discuss it. Once the final student had left, Hermione locked the door, warded it, and came to stand by her professor. She looked up at him, and before she could react, he flung his arms around her, his knees sagging, until she was falling to the floor with him. He trembled, and clung to her, and she to him, telling him it was alright, she was there now, and that, whatever it was, she would make things better.

Severus held on to the girl, cursing himself for his weakness and folly, chastising himself for being the coward he was, and begging her not to forsake him. In truth, he was so happy to see her walk into the classroom, he almost wept, blessing the gods for the one person on earth happy to see him.

Looking down at his little witch, Severus devoured her mouth with his, moaning at the sheer delight of taking her soft mouth, snaking his tongue past her teeth. He ached for her, and whispered every ounce of his desire into her mouth. He watched her eyes sliding closed in pleasure he'd given her, and the pain of his punishment, the horrors of his life, all seemed to fade. He pulled her against him until she was almost lying on top of him, and his mouth trailed hot kisses down her tender throat. She whimpered with desire, and it was like music to him, to know his mouth could give her what his body would not yet allow.

"Hermione, lass," he said, helplessly, his eyes closed. "Run to your Common Room. Leave me now, while I've got some self-control left." She laughed, a soft, sweet sound that made his erection painful in his trousers. "You're a horrid child! Go now, or I'll not be fit for anything later."

She rewarded him with a kiss on his large, aquiline nose. "Yes, you will. I've missed my share of you as well, Severus Snape." She was slightly breathless, and her mouth was wet. "You're not the only one who's been missing your mate."

Chapter title and opening words from AKUS: Take Me For Longing