Fourteen: Love is Not a Victory March

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.

And even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before the Lord of song, with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah...

Severus closed his eyes, and opened them slowly, his penetrating eyes pinning Hermione with dark intensity. His grip around her waist became at once looser, and more possessive.

"What do you want, Hermione? What do you crave, what do you... desire?"

Hermione closed her eyes. How could one word, spoken from his sinful, wicked lips, have so many colours, meanings and shapes? How could each colour and shape make her skin feel as if it were on fire?

He looked at her reflection in the mirror, and Hermione could actually feel herself burning under his gaze. He was like a blazing, spellbinding flame that she knew would scorch her to cinders. Deep within her there was a indefinable longing for the possession his fathomless eyes promised.

His hands stroked her gently, teasingly. His lips were soft against her ear; his voice softer, more magical still. "You don't have to answer, Lass - I know. I know what you want. You want the same things I want.

"You want me to undress you, slowly. You're in no hurry, you tell yourself. We've waited for a long time now, and the few minutes spent teasing you will be part of the enjoyment." His purring, mesmeric voice was sensuous and irresistible. "You can be patient. You tell yourself you can be patient, Hermione, because you've never lain with a man.

"You've only just discovered what it's like to ache for a lover's touch, and so you think patience is a virtue. You've never felt the hunger of wanting to tear a man's clothes from his body, just to touch him, to taste his skin."

Hermione was shaking her head. "That's not true," she whispered, "I want that now." She whimpered as his grip tightened, and he growled softly in her ear.

"My rules, pet. I'm here for you now, but once you do what you wish with me, you'll never be patient again. Oh, you may take your time, to prolong the act, to torture me, but you won't be patient, witch."

Hermione tried to turn in his arms, but he held her fast. "Patience, Lass. Patience. You've never known how many nights I've said goodnight to you, and had to take my relief at my own hand, all the while calling your name. I have never been a patient man, but I will happily be patient for you."

Hermione closed her eyes, almost feeling her robe being opened by the sheer will of his words alone. His silken, sinful voice teased, "You want me to peel your clothing from you, and you want to be admired; your lovely skin, the curves of your body, the soft, ripe firmness of your flesh, all waiting beneath my fingers.

"And you want me to touch you, don't you, Lass? You want – you ache to be touched. It's a feeling, deep between your thighs, and it hurts and it feels wonderful, and you know you only need the slightest touch, to make you moan and cry." His voice, dark and rich and bitter like the finest chocolate, flowed over her, as if he planned to lick it from her body afterward.

"Your breasts are so firm, and you want me to cup them in my hands, to feel their weight, to cradle them, like a gift. You want to feel my fingers on your nipples, plucking and fondling them, twisting them until they pucker and harden. It is such an exquisite pain, isn't it, Lass? You tell yourself that it's a pain that only I know how to heal."

His warm breath tickled the soft skin of her neck. His voice was velvet and wine, and so luscious she could taste it. She felt as if she would faint if he continued. She thought she would die if he stopped.

He closed his eyes, and they swayed a little together, both caught up in the beauty of his seduction. "And you want me to teach you. To instruct you. You've obeyed my voice for so long, and you want me to command you now. You want me to show you how to please me, how to make me beg for your touch, how I will make you beg for mine. You want me to speak to you, to make you feel wanton and desirable, even though you need no instruction in those things."

Hermione was standing on the precipice of desire, and she knew a few more words spoken in this softly sinister tone would take her over the edge. He smiled at the complete power he had over her at that moment; a stronger man would have stopped. A better wizard would not say these things to a virgin witch.

Unable to stop himself, Severus trembled. "And you want me to say filthy things in your ear while we make love. You want me to talk dirty. You want me to lick and nip and bite. You want me to suck your tits, and lick your pretty little cunt until you come. And you want me to fuck you until the demons blush." Hermione moaned shamelessly, and pressed back against him like an animal. Severus could feel his balls beginning to ache; his cock throbbed painfully in his trousers. He briefly wondered what he was doing, but his mouth was running away, and he was powerless to stop it.

"You want to say those things to me in return, don't you? I am correct, am I not, Hermione? I would hate to be mistaken." Hermione, panting with desire, felt almost ready to climax. She nodded, whimpering with sheer lust. He uttered a soft, deeply sensuous chuckle, and she shivered.

"For the time being, I only want a little lick. Just a little flicker," he said, and his wicked tongue snaked out and flicked against her neck, causing her to cry out and press against him harder. He, too, was shivering; he would stop if she asked him, but he was praying she wouldn't. He understood her conflicting feelings, and he understood that perhaps he was rushing things, but he couldn't make himself stop unless she commanded it. He wanted her too much.

His voice grew softer, and took on a sweet, curling edge that slithered over her skin. "And one night, when you are ready, when you ask for it, I will take you on your hands and knees, and erase the memory of Sirius Black from your body forever."

Hermione, almost outside herself with desire, made a soft, growling sound. "Yes, yes, please, Severus!" Oh gods, please touch me!

His answering chuckle told Hermione that he had sensed her thoughts. "With pleasure, my darling girl."

His left arm wrapped around her firmly, possessively, and his right hand rose slowly to her chest. Hermione gasped as the tip of his middle finger touched the scar between her breasts. "This is beautiful to me. You are exquisitely beautiful."

His long, calloused finger slid down her body, as if unzipping her skin, and she moaned deliriously at the sensuousness of his first truly intimate touch. When his hand reached the top of her knickers, it continued to slide down between the cloth and her skin, and he hesitated, his hand warm and large against her soft belly. His fingertips ghosted over her abdomen, causing the skin to pebble with gooseflesh.

"Tell me to stop and I will, my pet. I promise you that." His voice was dark and soft, and she gave her head a little sharp shake, and his questing hand slid lower....lower...

Hermione felt his large, warm hand cup her pubic mound, and whimpered, "Please..."

"What are you begging me for?" he whispered, teasingly, and she could feel his own lust, could taste it on her tongue. "Tell me, lass. Do you want this? I'll do whatever you ask." He was shaking, praying that she would let him...

"Yes, I want this," she cried out, her eyes fixated on his in the mirror. "I've wanted this since the first time you touched me. Please, Severus, don't stop," she moaned, leaning against him, and she cried out as his middle finger slipped effortlessly into the hot, moist, tightness of her. He gasped, a ragged sound of lust and desire, and his grip around her waist tightened almost painfully, as he felt the evidence of her consent slickly coating his fingers.

"So wet," he marvelled, breathing hard. Gods, had he ever wanted a woman this much? Had a woman ever felt this much desire for him alone, for his own sake? "Are you wet for me, Hermione?"

"Yes, Severus. Only for you! Oh, god," she moaned, as his finger found the hard, little nub he sought, and began to stroke her gently, his finger moving in slow, languid circles over and around her clitoris.

"Do you want me to make you come?" he crooned, his voice so full of silken promise, Hermione would have fallen to her knees at the mere soundsex of it, were it not for his strong arm about her waist.

"Please...." she begged, beginning to shudder. "Severus, yesss..."

She could feel his erection pressing between the cheeks of her bottom, and the sheer want for the man was making her moan and pant and shiver against his torturing finger. His movements were unhurried and sure, and no matter what she did, he never hurried his deliberate, sweet torment.

Hermione could feel her body gathering, the feeling of trembling on the edge, waiting for pleasure like she'd never experienced before. She knew it would be so good she would seek him out, just to make her feel this way again and again.

In this moment, he became more than just a companion and a lover – he had become an addiction; she was his slave, his wanton, his witch. She was not afraid; she was a goddess being adored. She could do anything. She was keening now - a soft, mewling sound of helpless pleasure.

Severus moaned in his throat. His lips were feather-light against her ear, and his voice was like a silken lash across her consciousness. "Oh, my sweet girl, come... Oh, such a good girl, you're so close, aren't you?" He moaned, pressing his hips to hers, rubbing his cock against her, trying to control his own passions. She was untouched, oh gods, she was so ripe...

Suddenly, his finger ceased its slow, maddening circles, and he flicked hard against the swollen nub. She all but wailed his name, and he purred, "Come for me, Lass... that's it, let's see you come... Yesssss, good girl..."

Hermione's face was taut with passion; her eyes dark, her lovely mouth soft and slack with desire. Watching her, feeling her body preparing to climax, was the most erotic sight Severus had ever witnessed. His own body was betraying him, and he tried to hold on, but he knew he was almost as far gone as her. He could stop now; but it was so good, touching her, feeling her slick heat between his unrelenting fingers. He could stop, couldn't he?

Unbidden, the thought flashed through his endorphin-addled mind: I'm the first man to touch this scrumptious little clit, and the thought itself tightened his balls, and he clenched his teeth, as his cock swelled and pulsed. Then the unbearably sweet scent of her sex reached his sensitive nostrils, and he felt crippling, aching pleasure push through his cock, until it felt as if it would burst out of his skin. His impending orgasm stole his breath and threatened to do the same with his sanity.

Hermione opened her eyes as Severus threw his head back, his face a mask of intense, painful bliss. He was so beautiful, so abandoned, so completely undone, and Hermione realised it was because of her. His lust-saturated thoughts Legilimised into hers, and she gave into his teasing, insistent fingers, his command to do his bidding.

Her orgasm crashed down within her, splitting her into pieces, and Hermione cried out, "Severus! Gods, Severus!" She flew apart, helpless, her body pulsing, shuddering, her voice a keening wail of ecstasy, and every wondrous cry was his name.

Severus felt her shatter in his arms, and his own body surged. Before he could stop himself, he was coming; coming in his pants like a fourth-year adolescent, and gods, it felt so good he thought he would lose consciousness. He shouted out his orgasm as he held her in a crushing grip; his hands spasmed against her body, as his cock leapt and twitched and sprayed his semen inside his underclothes. It was the type of orgasm that he'd not had for years; the kind that had once awoken him from deep, adolescent sleep, trembling, on the verge of exploding. In time, he'd learned to stop them. Not this one. Nothing could have stopped this. Nothing would ever stop him again, with this witch.

The two of them held onto one another, both gasping, whimpering, as the intensity of their orgasms thrummed and pulsed through their bodies. As her mind cleared, Hermione turned slowly in his arms, until she could lay her head against his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat against her lips. They clutched at one another fiercely, and their kisses were slow and languorous, breathless and satiating.

"Gods, witch," he growled, his lips never far from hers, "You may be a virgin, but you are a temptress." He put his arms around her, and her dressing gown fell open, and they both moaned as her hard little nipples dug into his chest. He held her close, his brain overloaded with the twin sensations of the touch of her skin against his, and the mortifying realisation that he'd just ejaculated in his pants.

Hermione's entire body was tingling, like a live wire. She was amazed her hair wasn't standing on end. Her legs were shaking, and she leaned against him as much for support as for intimacy.

Severus, slowly coming back to his senses, shook his head. "I cannot believe I have just come in my trousers like a thirteen-year-old." His face was flushed, and he looked profoundly embarrassed. "I'm afraid, Lass, when it comes to you, I have all the savoir faire of a garden gnome."

Hermione, breathless and giddy with her climax-induced euphoria, laughed, "I had no idea garden gnomes were so sexy." She pulled him toward the sofa. "Let's sit down before we fall down."

Together they collapsed on the aging sofa, and Severus muttered a hasty cleansing charm. Now that the feverish frenzy of their coupling had passed, they looked at one another, incredulous of the passion that had transpired between them.

"Have you ever –" Hermione said, not even sure how to end the sentence.

"Made a beautiful young virgin orgasm while watching her in a mirror? Engaged in more or less mutual masturbation? I'm afraid not." He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. His arm slid around her shoulders almost absently. "It seems we are destined to share many firsts, my love."

"Do you regret it?" Hermione said, misreading the expression on his face.

He shook his head. "Regret my complete lack of discipline? I should, but I cannot. I wanted it too much," he confessed, shaking his head. "You have bewitched me." Her answer was a feather-light kiss, full of tenderness, acceptance, apology.

Together, they lay on the sofa, talking late into the night, and when Severus asked Hermione a question and she didn't answer, he looked down and saw that she was fast asleep, nestled into the crook of his arm.

Quietly, he picked her up, and carried her into her bedroom. Muttering a floating charm while he turned down the bedclothes, he recalled the night he had stumbled, battered and half-dead, into Grimmauld Place, where Hermione found him, and cared for him.

He remembered so vividly waking up in the early hours, warm and cosseted in a small but comfortable bed, and even though pulling himself to his feet had been hideously painful, he had known he needed to return to Hogwarts. He had turned and found her, fast asleep, sitting uncomfortably upright in one of the least accommodating chairs in the room. She had been drawn up tight on herself against the cooling air. The memory of what she'd done for him had degraded and angered him at the time, but something about her trusting, deep sleep had reluctantly stirred his jaded soul.

He had managed to stand, and as quietly as he'd been able to, he had tucked the blanket around her shoulders and beneath her feet. The simplest of movements had hurt like fuck, and he'd been in agony by the time he had finished, but she'd taken such tender care of him that he had felt he had to reciprocate. He had returned to Hogwarts, damaged but alive, and strangely comforted that someone had given enough of a shit about him to make sure he'd been clean, safe and warm.

Now, in her new living quarters in Hogwarts, Severus lowered her to the bed and slipped between the covers with her, tucking her in with him. Seeking his warmth, she curled up against him in her sleep, and made a sweet little purring sound of contentment.

Severus had never literally slept with a woman before; with most of his infrequent encounters usually being of a somewhat more transient nature, either his partner or he usually left before sleep could descend. Sleeping with Hermione was pleasantly easy to get used to, and he softly kissed her forehead as she nuzzled against his chest.

Sometime in the night, Hermione rolled over and Severus spooned against her, and they both slept deeply and dreamlessly, their quiet slumber blameless and innocent.

Hermione found life at the castle during the summer holidays quiet and amazingly full. She spent time with Madam Pomfrey during the day, learning the basics of formal magical healing. Because she was at Hogwarts when the O.W.L. results arrived, Hermione was given special permission by Professor Dumbledore to receive hers before the results were owled to the returning sixth-years. Being the overachieving swot she was, Hermione was so nervous, she made Severus read them to her.

"I fail to see why you are so anxious, Hermione. You know perfectly well you are one of this school's brightest students. I know of only one other student who had grades comparable to yours."

"Really?" Hermione, basking in his praise, was nevertheless intrigued. "Who was that?"

"Your lover," he purred, smugly, and she rewarded him by stealing his last chocolate biscuit. He gave her a thunderous look. "Another misstep and I will throw these results into the fire." The threat, both of them knew, was as empty as the biscuit tin. He was as anxious to see her results as she. Giving her a smirk, he broke the wax seal and opened the document, scanning it with his dark eyes.

"Hmm." He frowned, and regarded her expectant, fearful expression with disdain. In a rather disappointed voice he said, "Well, it seems that the past year has affected your grades, Miss Granger. You only received ten Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations."

Hermione's shocked face almost made Severus laugh. Finally, she spluttered, "I – I received –" Her brows came together angrily. "What did I receive the Exceeds Expectations in?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione was livid. "Ohh, that gruesome Umbridge woman! I could throw her to the centaurs all over again!" She huffed.

Bemused, Severus drawled, "May I remind you that you and your classmates earned that grade by virtually teaching yourselves?" He quirked his eyebrow maddeningly at her. "Think what you might have done had you had an actual teacher?"

It was almost easy to believe that they led normal lives, as June waned into July, and there were moments when they almost had the castle to themselves. On the morning Hermione was scheduled to visit Madam Pomfrey for her check-up, she all but skipped to the infirmary, hopeful that this was the last time she'd have to be examined. Her scar had not hurt for almost two weeks, and while it still looked less than wholesome, it no longer bothered her.

Severus had given her a special salve to keep the scar tissue supple, and in the evenings he very gently applied it to her skin, his sensitive fingertips moving over the scar tissue with sensuous deliberation that left her breathless and wanting. He still had not initiated sex, and during their heated kissing, he would deny her, telling her he could not, would not, until she was given the all clear.

"It would be more than my job's worth, to face Poppy and tell her I injured you because I could not keep my base desires to myself," he drawled, fending off his randy little witch. "And stop pouting, you wicked creature! You were sent by the gods to drive me to madness." She would reward him with a knowing little smile, full of feminine power. She might have been young, but she was woman enough to know how to all but bring him to his knees before her.

In truth, he wanted her so badly that it was hard to concentrate when she was in the room. After that first, intense night in her chambers, they had continued to learn more about one another's bodies, and Severus would sometimes think of himself as the most perverted masochist in the Wizarding world, especially when Hermione straddled him, begging him to make love to her, pleading for him to touch her. She could be the most maddening witch at times.

There were moments when he would indulge her begging, sliding his fingers inside her lacy knickers. He would caress her, until he felt her shudder and rasp and moan, as he played her with his clever fingers, their mouths fused together. He chastised himself, even as he made her come, over and over. Her body was so deliciously responsive to his touch, and he was unable to stop himself from mapping the erotic signs of her impending climax.

Why was he so impatient? Hadn't he promised himself that, when they were ready, it would be a heady night of firsts for her? Why was he whittling those 'firsts' away? Why had he said yes, when she asked to watch him masturbate? Why had he said yes, when she asked to touch him? In spite of what he had told Hermione, he had always had patience to spare. Why not now? Why was she tormenting him so, and why was he letting her with a secret smile on his lips?

They were on borrowed time, and they knew it. They expected Severus to be summoned any day, and each evening they lay tangled in a fierce embrace, as if to hide one another, where no one could find them.

Hermione arrived in the infirmary optimistic that she'd be given a clean bill of health. If Madam Pomfrey didn't, Hermione was considering lying about it. Severus was driving her mad. In those few days they'd been left alone, Hermione had been given a taste of what life would be like for them, and it made her happy.

She refused to think about the reaction of her friends. While her relationship with Severus had to remain a secret, Hermione knew that eventually Harry, Ron and the others would have to understand that Severus was not the enemy. She would make them understand. The idea that this man had been so vilified by her and her friends in the past still made Hermione feel sick with shame, and she spent every possible moment trying to show her appreciation of his love and devotion.

She found that quite easy to do, especially in light of the fact that he excited her so much. Sometimes, he had only to look at her and she would feel her body surge with longing and lust. A whispered word could make her so wet she had to change her knickers. An endearing touch could reduce her to a needful mess in his arms. And still he would stand there, arms crossed, smirking at her, smug, pleased with himself that he could and did reduce her to this quivering mass of longing so easily. He could be the most maddening wizard at times.

She did not mind. She told herself this was one way she could distract him; make him temporarily forget the dangerous chess game they played with the darkness. By unspoken agreement, they did not discuss Harry, or the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore. They spoke of the future together. It all appeared possible; it all seemed within their grasp.

Hermione greeted her mentor as she entered the infirmary. During the summer, Madam Pomfrey was quite informal, even so much as wearing everyday robes instead of her Healer uniform. She was always brisk and no-nonsense, she brewed a mean cuppa, and just as often as not, they found their subjects of discussion to be far beyond the realms of healing. Hermione found the mediwitch to be warm and inviting, and, in time, almost motherly, whether by accident or design.

"Well, Miss Granger, let's have a look, shall we?" Madam Pomfrey said in her usual, efficient manner. She ran several quick scans, and gave Hermione a smile. "Well, Hermione dear, I think we can safely say your injury has fully healed."

"Wonderful," Hermione breathed, relief flooding her. "I'm so glad, really, to be done with it. It sort of gives me a sense of closure, pardon the pun." She smiled sadly. "Of course, there are some things that it can't heal." Poppy, as Hermione had come to think of her, gave her a gentle hug.

"Just remember, dear, I'm here, should you need a shoulder." She gave Hermione a look that was almost teasing. "Although I rather think you already have a convenient shoulder." Hermione found herself smiling back without the first hint of a blush. Severus was definitely rubbing off on her.

As she pulled on her robes, Madam Pomfrey gave her a searching look. "Hermione, dear, has Severus brewed a contraceptive potion for you yet?"

Shocked at the frankness of the question, Hermione stammered, "N-No, Madam Pomfrey! I mean," she said, stammering, "I mean, I'm not, well, sexually active."

Madam Pomfrey's face showed her surprise. "Do you plan to be?"

Before she could stop herself, Hermione blurted, "Merlin, I hope so."

Poppy laughed outright. Now, there was the blush! Laughing, she said, "Perhaps you may wish to start your first course. One never knows."

Hermione rolled her eyes and willed her face to stop burning. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

The mediwitch waved her hand dismissively. "I think we're past that stage now, Hermione. Please call me Poppy. Only during the summer, of course." She fixed a mock stern eye at the young woman, who laughed.

"This is an immediately acting potion, so you can take it now or even afterward and it will be effective. Just be sure to take it." Her face softened, and she put a motherly hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I will tell you because I know you will keep it to yourself, but that boy has been through hell. Somehow, I think you and he are almost two sides of the same coin. Take good care of him, Hermione. He deserves it. Most people would disagree, but..." she nodded, as though overcome with emotion.

Hermione, on impulse, gave the older woman a hug. "Not me. He's my family now, Poppy. We're going to get through this, and when it's all over," Hermione gave her a determined look, "I'm going to make sure that wizard is never unhappy again."

Poppy looked at her carefully. Her eyes narrowed, as if truly seeing the girl for the first time. "Yes. Yes, Hermione - I believe you will." She rose to fetch a vial of contraceptive potion.

Hermione beamed, and was about to thank her mentor, when a searing, tearing, burning pain slashed across her palm so viciously, she bit back a cry of pain, and clutched her hand to her chest, gasping.

In retrospect, she was merely happy that Poppy hadn't seen her react to her Blood Oath.

Severus had been in his lab working on the inevitable mountain of potions requests Poppy had given him at the beginning of the summer. It was not in his nature to be stingy about supplying her with her requests; she had been too good to him to even contemplate cutting corners. If anything, he tended to overfill her requests anyway.

A chime rang, signaling a message from Albus. Severus walked over to the Floo connection, and saw Dumbledore's face reflected in the fire. "Yes, Headmaster? May I help you?"

"Severus, come at once!" His voice was weak and querulous, "I've been cursed!"

Severus flew up the stairs and ran to the headmaster's office. He shouted the password on the run, and dashed up the stone steps.

As he entered the room, breathless, wand out, he looked around until he saw Albus slumped weakly in his chair. The headmaster was wheezing, his breathing harsh and laboured, and as Severus knelt by his side, he saw Dumbledore's hand, blackened, withering, the curse creeping up his wrist under the skin like black ink stealing into his veins, even as Severus gasped in horror.

A ring with a cracked, black stone lay on the table. It was heavy and elegant, and strangely compelling. A skeletal hand reached out and snatched it away so quickly Severus could be forgiven for believing he'd dreamed it. Dumbledore clasped it to his bosom, and Severus turned back to him.

"Gods, Albus!" He looked at the headmaster, and to his shock, tears were flowing down the man's weathered cheeks. "In Merlin's name, what have you done?" When the older man didn't immediately answer, Severus caught the wizard's face in his hands. "What have you done, old man?" he roared.

Dumbledore looked up at him, a mixture of pain, humiliation and remorse written clearly on his tear-stained face. "Don't chide me, dear boy. I couldn't stop myself. Please, don't chide me."

Title and opening lines from Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah".