Chapter 11: Time Moves and She Don't Fade

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Chapter 11: Time Moves and She Don't Fade

Saturday, 1 May 1999 – early morning – Hogsmeade Arms Apartments, Building One, Flat One.

Dawn had barely broken in the sleepy wizarding village, and the lazy day already irked Snape. The freshly risen sun, shining through the creme-colored aluminum mini-blinds, burned his eyes. The bright sparrow chatter, filtered through double-paned glass, rang harsh in his ears. The dull pounding in his skull, courtesy of copious amounts of post-ritual brandy, echoed without end. Thud, thud, thud.

Worst of all was the incessant, wooden tapping noise. Tap, tap, tap. Either Great Spotted Woodpeckers had overrun Hogsmeade, or someone was at the door. After a minute, the light, airy annoyance turned to a loud, headache-exacerbating bang. Thump, thump, thump.

"Miss Granger, are you there?" the squeaky male voice asked. After a few moments of silence, the door-shaking discord continued. Thump, thump, thump "Please, Hermione, if you're there, let me in," he pleaded to the locked door.

The aforementioned witch woke with a start, bolting upright with a gasp. "Filius!" she whispered, alarmed. "Severus, you need to hide. Filius is here right now!"

"Ooooh," he groaned, holding his head in his hands. "That's good news. I guess we won't be needing that anti-woodpecker charm after all."

"What are you going on about?" she hissed. "Get in the shadows, you miserable ghost!"

"Are you alright, dear?" Filius asked. "I thought I heard moaning."

Hermione scrabbled off the sofa and headed to the foyer. "I'm fine. I'll be right there," she shouted at the door.

"Ooooh," Snape groaned again. "Would you keep it down to a dull roar? My head is pounding out the Anvil Chorus."

"Shhhh," she shushed him harshly, her face scrunched, either from annoyance or a wicked headache. "Go and hide. Now!" The hungover ghost begrudgingly glided to the kitchen, blending into the shadows.

She turned toward the staircase, pointed her wand and whispered, "Accio dressing gown." Hermione grabbed the silken, floral robe from mid-air and donned it as she strode to the door, inhaled deeply and ran her hands through her hair, a futile attempt to neaten her sleep-flattened curls.

Flinging the door open, she greeted the Charms master with a plaque-coated, toothy grin. "Good morning, Filius. Come in please." She stood aside to allow the tiny wizard entrance into the flat. "Would you like some tea? I could use a cuppa myself. Have a seat," she gestured at the sofa, "I'll get the tea started. Won't be but a moment." She started toward the kitchen.

"None for me, thanks. I've already had breakfast and enough tea to drown a dormouse. I'll join you in the kitchen, though." He began to follow her down the hallway.

"No!" she cried sharply and stopped in her tracks, colliding with Flitwick and almost knocking him to the floor. "So sorry, Filius. I'm afraid the kitchen is a dreadful sight. Make yourself comfortable in the lounge. I'll be right back." She made certain he was settled on the sofa before she walked away this time.

The affronted ghost in the kitchen lit into her. "Dreadful sight?" he huffed.

"Keep quiet," she murmured and went about making a single cup of tea. She filled the electric kettle, then turned it on. Next she grabbed a chipped, faded Holyhead Harpies mug from the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" he hissed critically.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm making a cup of tea." She opened the door to the pantry and took a box of PG tips from the uppermost shelf.

"Your process is an abomination, not a proper brew. You take care of Filius, and I'll take care of the tea." He quietly transferred the water from the Russell Hobbs to the old whistling monstrosity on the burner. As silent as the grave, he took out the creamware tea service, tea ball, and tin of English breakfast tea, his movements precise and economic like an automaton.

"Are you expecting the queen to drop in as well?" she scoffed.

Snape shooed her from the kitchen with a swish of his hand and continued his task.

Hermione joined Flitwick on the sofa and got down to business without much ado. "What brings you here?"

He responded in kind without any fuss whatsoever. "Where is he, Hermione?"

The reactionary Gryffindor took a page from the Slytherin playbook and maintained an even, unemotional tone. "Where is who? Ron? I have no idea. We haven't seen each other in months. We broke up ages ago, you know."

The sharp-witted Ravenclaw sighed. He likely assumed his apprentice would be more forthcoming; instead, getting straight answers from the dentists' daughter was like pulling teeth. "Well, that's unfortunate, but in my opinion, I never thought the two of you were suited. And back to topic, I'm inquiring as to the whereabouts of Severus Snape. Have you seen him recently?"

"Severus Snape is dead, Filius." And timing is everything, as the saying goes, for at that moment, a high-pitched whistle interrupted the awkward conversation. The reticent witch flicked her wand over her shoulder, and the tea kettle grew silent. Magic! Or perhaps the ghost in the kitchen had something to do with that.

Flitwick sighed again, doubly loud and long. "Is he? Really?" He raised a dubious eyebrow to emphasize his response.

"Of course he's dead. He died before my very eyes right here," she flapped her hand about her modern flat, "in the Shrieking Shack... erm, the former Shrieking Shack, that is. Unless, he orchestrated some grand hoax upon the wizarding world à la Barty Crouch Jr."

"Oh, I agree. He's dead. Toward the end of his life, Severus had too much going to arrange faking his own death. Merlin's balls, overseeing the Carrows was a full-time job in itself, but he did it without them even knowing." His laugh was airy and bittersweet. "Severus Snape didn't deserve to die, but alas, he did. And he should be resting in peace, but I think his spirit remains unsettled. You haven't seen his ghost flitting about here?"

Flitting about? I have never flitted about in death, or when I was alive, for that matter. I'll show him flitting about.

"His spirit? Hmmm..." She stalled, focusing on the dust motes swirling in the bright morning light and twirling her wand round and round. A modest, yet elegant tea set on an ornate silver platter floated into the room... carried by the resident ghost.

Hermione glared at him with the intensity of a thousand suns; he was certain to suffer literal third-degree burns if her gaze lingered any longer. Flitwick applauded with annoying exuberance.

"Severus, what a pleasure to see you again!" he exclaimed. "I had a feeling you were still lingering on this astral plane... and somewhere nearby Miss Granger."

"What led you to that theory?" Snape asked in his most disinterested tone. He placed the tray upon the coffee table, then proceeded to prepare Hermione's tea just the way she liked it, one lump of sugar and a generous splash of milk.

"Hermione asked me some really odd questions regarding you. 'Where is Professor Snape buried? Are any of his personal belongs still at Hogwarts?' Oooh," he squeaked, pausing in exposition, "a spot of tea would be lovely, after all. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he replied with faux sincerity as he handed the cup to Hermione. "I've become quite adept at the domestic arts." Snape poured the tea, then looked to Flitwick with flat expectation.

"Two sugars and a drop of milk please. Thank you, Severus."

Snape tossed the cubes carelessly into the tea and poured a generous dollop of milk, spilling more on the saucer than in the cup. He proffered the messy china to Flitwick, who accepted with a guileless smile, and then the inhospitable spirit settled into the armchair by the hearth.

Flitwick blew into the hot beverage before taking a dainty sip, and then he continued speaking. "Besides the strange questions, there was Hermione's weird behavior: she disappeared every weekend and returned to Hogwarts on Mondays utterly useless, exhausted and absentminded. Not the Hermione we've all come to expect. Then there was her special research..."

"You knew about that?" she finally spoke up, alarmed, jostling her tea cup in the process.

"Not the specific subject, dear. I knew only what Madam Pince told me: you had consulted numerous Dark Arts books. She said nothing more. And I brushed it all aside, the crazy conspiratorial thoughts of a romantic, old fool. But last night..." He paused in dramatic fashion, slurped the rapidly cooling tea and then swallowed, slurping and swallowing and slurping and swallowing until he emptied the delicate china cup.

"Last night...?" Hermione repeated like an overeager budgie.

"An enormous mushroom cloud of smoke and fire appeared in the sky above Hogsmeade last night, almost a year to the day Severus Snape had perished, and then my assumptions were all but confirmed."

She placed her untouched tea on the table and turned to face the little Charms master. "I attempted to resurrect Severus Snape last night, and I failed," she admitted without a hint of remorse.

Flitwick put his empty cup beside hers and took Hermione's hands into his own. Snape frowned for a millisecond, just enough time for the Ravenclaw wizard to witness the jealous ghost's reaction. "I'm sorry, my dear. The majority of such spells are doomed to fail. It's a rare one that meets every condition for success. Care to show me your research?"

Without missing a beat, Hermione summoned her immense notes for Flitwick's perusal. The coffee table, not to mention the tiny wizard, were dwarfed by the size of the overstuffed notebook. He leafed through the tome at breakneck speed, page after rustling page, punctuating the tense, expectant atmosphere with an occasional hum or murmur. "You were extremely thorough in your research, Hermione. That Black Death spell is a real snorter. The Catagonian one is a very rare find, indeed. Tell me about your spell now."

Hermione recounted the entire resurrection ritual for her teacher, adding every single minute detail about the potion and its ingredients, the brewing process, the spell's incantation and wand movements, and the reactions of the surrounding environment. The wizened old wizard nodded thoughtfully as she retold her long tale. He remained silent for several moments after she finished, staring at her research notes and tapping his stubby index finger upon his lips. Finally, he spoke, directing his question to Snape, who was still brooding, arms crossed and perma-scowl etched on his face. "Severus, did you feel anything at all during the ritual?"

"I could feel myself solidifying, becoming corporeal. Cells rejuvenating, tissues swelling, blood pumping, heart beating. I felt energized and... emotional."

"Emotional?" Flitwick repeated squeakily. "Care to expand?"

"Nooo," Snape answered flatly and returned to his previous sullen state. Broody, brood, brood.

"Hermione, did you feel anything?"

She spent a few moments in silent reflection. "I felt an incredible surge of energy flowing through me, as though I had a constant infusion of Invigoration Draught."

"What about your emotions? Surely, you will be more open than our taciturn friend here," Flitwick said, pointing to Snape.

"Honestly, I was so overwhelmed with power and strength that I was unaware of any feelings or sensation."

"Hmmm, just as I suspected," Flitwick announced triumphantly. "As thorough as you were, it seems you've overlooked a crucial element common to all successful resurrection rituals, potions, and spells. Why I daresay that even Voldemort's Regeneration Potion contained this ingredient." Snape and Hermione stared at him, gaping even, waiting for him to reveal the secret life-giving ingredient.

Flitwick had them on tenterhooks, teasing them with his enigmatic grin. "Well, my work here is done." He then rose and made to leave.

"Wait!" Hermione shouted as she fell to her knees and grabbed his tiny lapels, effectively blocking his escape. "What is it? What are we missing? You have to tell us," she pleaded.

Flitwick gently disengaged from her death grip, then smoothed the wrinkles from his fine gabardine garment. "You don't need me to figure it out. Severus has one of the sharpest, most brilliant minds in wizarding Britain, perhaps the whole planet. And Hermione, you are the brightest witch blah, blah, blah. Put your prodigious brains together and puzzle it out." He held her hands again and gazed into her eyes, conveying silent encouragement. "I expect you'll be on time Monday, bright eyed and bushy tailed, figuratively speaking of course. Save the kinky Transfigurations for the weekend, eh?"

Those cheeky parting remarks left Snape and Hermione temporarily speechless, and that allowed for Flitwick's unhindered exit, leaving the flatmates alone again. When they heard the door close, their mouths snapped shut, and they stared at each other, still dumbfounded.

Hermione broke the silence as she climbed back onto the sofa. "What was he playing at?"

"Secret ingredient, my arse," he scoffed.

"Well, he is the Charms expert. Who better to interpret resurrection magic? I must have grossly underestimated the importance of authentic genetic material. Where are you buried, Severus?"

He let loose a protracted groan and sunk further into the overstuffed chair. Slouchy, slouch, slouch. "How the fuck should I know? It's not as though I attended my own funeral, if such a formal ceremony even took place." He exhaled a heavy, sullen sigh, adding yet another layer to his peevish mood. "Just give it up, Hermione. What we did last night was ludicrous. It put you in danger and..." He bolted upright mid-sentence. "Sweet Circe's tits! I know what he was going on about! I know what the missing ingredient is!"

She rushed across the room and hovered over him, her nose mere millimeters from his. "Don't leave me in the dark, Severus. Tell me!"

The surly spirit should have protested the invasion of his personal space – glaring, scowling, intimidating the impertinent witch. Instead, he smiled, a warm, easy grin, perhaps the first ever in his life. "The answer is right in front of you, Hermione. Think outside the box, clever girl. And if you don't see it there, look within your..."

"Oh. My. God." Realization hit her moments later, like a well-aimed stunner. She braced her hands on the armrests, lest her shaky legs threaten to give out. A warm, easy grin spread across her face too. "It's..."

"Yes," he said, his smile growing wider by the second.

"Severus, there's a full moon tonight. We should perform the ritual again."

"Absolutely. Once more... with feeling."

When the smoke cleared on the second night of the full moon, Severus Snape lived again. Flesh and bone, blood and sinew, heart and soul, body and mind, sweat and tears.

Shaky hands performed a cursory self-assessment. Two arms. Two legs. One torso. One head. One set of naughty bits. One neck... yes, one neck. One dry, intact, and warm neck.

Hermione launched herself at the successfully resurrected Snape, squeezing so fiercely she almost knocked the air out of him. "We did it! You're alive again, really alive!" Only after several seconds of his labored, wheezy breathing did she release him.

Snape cleared his throat, brushed the ash from his clothes, ran a hand through his hair and wiped his glistening face.

"Severus, are you crying?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"I-I've got smoke in my eyes. That's all it is."

"Of course." She smiled knowingly. "Would you like me to conjure you a handkerchief?"

"I'm quite capable of rousing a simple piece of fabric." He patted the pockets of his frock coat and trousers until he found his wand. Hello, my old friend.

"Right, there are rumors you're a great wizard. Quite handy with the foolish wand-waving, or so I've heard."

Wand, don't fail me now. He closed his eyes and brandished his wand with smooth, effortless ease, as though it were only yesterday – not an entire year – since last he had performed magic. When he opened his eyes, a perfect white... dove sat in the palm of his hand. If looks could kill, Snape's gimlet-eyed glare would have cooked that bird's goose; the dove had the good sense to fly away, cooing regrets as it soared into the night sky. "Obviously, I'm a bit out of practice."

Hermione had the good sense to stifle her snickering. "I've got it." With confidence and finesse, she pulled a handkerchief from mid-air and handed it to him.

He expressed his gratitude with a nod and dabbed his face dry; he planned to take better care of his skin this time around. "Now what?"

"That's your decision, Severus. You've been given a second chance at life, a reboot. You can do anything you want: slip silently into the Muggle world, return triumphant to the wizarding community, go back to teaching or become..."

"Hermione, there will be ample time for career counseling and planning tomorrow or even later." He looked to the open sky above, its vast darkness offering freedom and anonymity, the bright moon and stars shedding light and truth. "Care to take a stroll around the lake now?"

"Of course," she answered brightly, bending to retrieve her all-purpose beaded bag. "Let me clean up here first." Snape accompanied her as she put Flat Four to rights, replacing the severed roof and sink and doing a bit of light housekeeping. They slipped out through the back door and locked it behind them.

Snape took his first tentative steps outside the Shrieking Shack in nearly a year, half-expecting some dangerous and out-of-place temporal anomaly – a sand worm or a Yeti, for instance – to rise up and kick his arse into the next century. He felt relieved and perplexed when confronted by nothing outlandish nor extraordinary. This is too good to be true.

One pointed index finger to his soft underbelly shocked him into the here and now. "Nothing strange is happening here, magically or otherwise, Severus. Shall we move on, then?"

In comfortable silence, they traveled the carriage road just outside the high wall protecting Hogwarts and headed toward the Black Lake. For the second time in as many days, Snape found the pastoral surroundings exhilarating. Chatty owls hooted, young leaves rustled in the wind, and gravel crunched beneath their feet; nature's noises, often ignored by him in the past, sounded sweet and musical to Snape. The fragrant scents of spring – earthy, musty, flowery – charmingly tickled his nose. Shimmering stars filled his eyes with astral beauty; never before had twinkling been so enchanting. A soft breeze caressed his face.

True temperate weather in Hogsmeade was weeks away, however, and Snape noticed Hermione shivering in the cool night air. "I'd give you my coat, but you're already wearing it," he said, fingering the tiny buttons edging the sleeve of her transfigured May Queen frock. "The best I can offer is a Warming Charm, but given my skills are currently on a par with a kiddie party magician, I might mistakenly turn you into a rabbit."

She laughed as she rubbed her gooseflesh-covered arms. "Well, you trusted me to bring you back to life. The least I can do is extend the same courtesy to you."

He trained a keen eye on his target and concentrated on the spell. With a determined swish and flick, he executed a flawless charm, leaving Hermione cloaked in layers of warmth, not soft white bunny fur.

She released her clenched teeth and a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you. Shall we keep going?" The long trek to the Black Lake continued in silence. She took a chance, making a bold, perhaps foolhardy move, and reached for his hand. Wisely and against his better judgment, Snape didn't pull away. "Mmmm. You're warm."

"Assuredly, but perhaps you are feeling the effects of the charm?" he replied in a silky voice. The night could not have been more black, but the light of the full moon allowed Snape to see her becoming blush and toothsome grin.

They finally arrived at their destination and continued strolling the sandy shore hand in hand. A giant tentacle broke the smooth surface of the dark waters and gave an enthusiastic salute to the long-absent wizard; Snape and Hermione returned the greeting. The subdued roar of tiny waves crashing on the beach filled their ears. Hermione's voice broke the near-quiet darkness. "At the risk of sounding cliché, how are you feeling, Severus? What are you thinking?"

He caressed her hand with his thumb, rubbing rhythmic circles in time with his steps. "Ah, how am I feeling? Vital and vigorous and... to go into any more detail would require further analysis to which I cannot devote the time at this very moment. As for my thoughts," he stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, "I think I haven't properly thanked you." He closed the gap between them and stared into her beautiful brown eyes. "You've given me back my life," he dropped her hand, and his fingers inched up her arms, kneading softly from wrist to shoulder, "and with that my freedom." He buried his hands in her sumptuous curls. "I can never thank you enough, Hermione," he gently tilted her head to the left while he angled to the right, "but this is a start." Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he leaned in, so very close, their lips a mere hair's breadth away... "Wait!" he shouted, pulling back a bit, but still holding her tight.

Her eyes flew open, confusion and disappointment staring him in the face.

"I haven't brushed my teeth in a year; plus, that potion tasted abominable, although I appreciate all the effort you put in making it. Some basic hygiene is required on my part before any... intimacy," he purred and smirked simultaneously, if such a thing were possible.

"Intimacy?" she squeaked, as though her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and her eyes grew wide, as if to punctuate her high-pitched reaction. Despite her alarm, she stood rooted to the spot, clutching his robes.

He closed the space between them once again and fixed her with an intense gaze. "Yes, intimacy. Sex. Fornication. Intercourse. Isn't that what the general population calls it these days?"

She swallowed with some difficulty while nodding in affirmation. "Do you think we're moving too fast? Less than an hour ago you were a ghost, and now you're..."

"You act as if my proposal has come out of thin air. We've lived together for months and have been flirting for almost as long. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I was given a second bloody chance to live. I'm not wasting any more time being subtle." He hoped his charming, albeit plaque-coated, smile would convince her of his sincerity or, at the least, not hinder his attempted seduction.

"You're going to let a little bad breath stand in the way of your conquest?" she teased, licking her lips and fanning his figurative fires.

He pulled back again, keeping her at arm's length. "Well, now," his eyes briefly flicked south to his burgeoning bits, "it's more than simply brushing my teeth."

Once again, she smiled knowingly. "It's getting rather late, and these past two days have been action and emotion filled, to say the least. I've quite enjoyed our moonlight stroll, though, a chance to wind down and contemplate, but it's time we should be getting back to the flat." She Apparated so quickly it was a wonder no body parts were splinched. To Snape, it felt as though his stomach and brain had been left behind on the shores of the Black Lake.

Upon their return to the flat, Hermione retired to the bedroom for some impromptu, romantic decorating while Snape ensconced himself in the en-suite, performing the most thorough personal hygiene regimen in his life, both pre- and post-snakebite. He conjured a toothbrush – it only took three attempts before he got it right – and used Hermione's extensive collection of oral care products; living with the daughter of dental fanatics had its advantages. Next, he borrowed her pink plastic razor to shave, not willing to risk transfiguring the disposable into a sturdy cut-throat razor; he cut himself only twice, and since he had the forethought to cast a Silencing Charm on the bathroom, his creative profanity – "Salazar's saggy codpiece!" – fell upon his ears alone. Then he took a long, relaxing, luxurious shower, utilizing Hermione's high-end shampoo and conditioner; quality products really do make a difference, he would learn! Finally, to ensure a successful end to an already successful evening, he indulged in the fastest wank in the history of mankind; that Silencing Charm was doubly useful that night. He emerged relaxed and ready for action, wearing only a low-slung towel.

He leaned against the bathroom threshold and surveyed the newly embellished boudoir. The trusty Chianti-bottle candlestick stood sentry on the bedside cabinet, and the bed was draped in "neutral" black satin and adorned on top with a scantily clad witch. Hermione had swapped her white gown for a red negligee. Upon her feet, she wore red satin and marabou feather pumps with a sensible kitten heel; anything higher would have been excessive, as she would be horizontal and naked soon enough, making all footwear superfluous really.

Candlelight, satin sheets, sexy lingerie, wanton witch... This scene is vaguely familiar. "Deja vu," he muttered.

"Did you say something, Severus?"

"No," he denied. "Perhaps you're hearing things. I'll perform an auditory exam for you." Cocksure and brazen, he walked towards her, dropping his towel on the way; he sported a wicked gleam in his eye and an impressive erection.

She grabbed the duvet at the foot of the bed and covered herself with it up to her chin. When Snape reached the bed, he knelt beside Hermione. She made no conscious effort to move, but her chest heaved beneath the covers and her entire body trembled.

He asked, "Are you..."

"Nervous?" she interjected, clutching the duvet with an unrivaled death grip. "A little, but I'm excited too. You're in a different league compared to Ron."

"Indeed. I'll take that as a compliment, although I don't know what you're referring to exactly. I had the misfortune of seeing Mr. Weasley naked once. Fortunately for him, it's not the size of a man's tackle that matters but how he uses it." He couldn't help but smirk. "But getting back to my question, are you..."

"Still a virgin?" she finished his question, somewhat indignant. "Yes, I am, thank you very much. Between a graduate program and searching for a cure to your... deadness, I had no free time for sex, let alone dating."

"And I'm very, very appreciative, as I've said before, but I'm asking if you are...," he briefly placed a preemptive finger to her lips before she could interrupt him and finished his question, "cold."

"Cold? Not at all. I think your Warming Charm might still be working, actually."

"Then why are you hiding beneath the duvet?" he asked, concerned. "We've established several times before you have fabulous assets, which were on display mere minutes ago, so embarrassment cannot be the reason for the coverup. Perhaps you are worried sex will be painful this first time?"

"Not at all," she replied, bright and earnest. "Between all the jostling of riding a broom, a Hippogriff, and a Thestral, I don't think I have much... Well, without going into too much detail on female reproductive anatomy... No, I don't think it will hurt."

He blew a sigh of relief, rustling her raucous curls. "What good news," he said, his voice as sumptuous as the bed linen. "I won't need that industrial-sized phial to collect your virgin's blood, then."

She turned away from him, and her lower lip thrust forward, a petulant pout worthy of the master himself. "You're making light of a serious situation here." She dropped the duvet to cross her arms, inadvertently enhancing one of her aforementioned assets. "I want this to be perfect, Severus."

He placed a finger upon her lips again, applying gentle pressure to soften her moue. "You might consider this my first time as well... in this," he gestured grandly at his unclothed form, working the lascivious glint in his eyes, "particular incarnation." He longed to stroke her body and kiss every bit of her patchouli-scented skin, but he knew discretion is the better part of valor, so he settled for restraint and held her hand like a gentleman, albeit a naked one. "Hermione, I cannot promise tonight will be everything you dreamed a first time should be. This night will always be special and meaningful to both of us, regardless of what happens." With a tender touch, he guided her head up and caught her innocent and impassioned eye. One penetrating look managed to convey his lifelong yearning for a connection beyond that of physical pleasures and intellectual endeavors. "However, striving for perfection is an admirable pursuit, and one which we shall thoroughly explore on our own schedule."

His words must have inspired her – or knocked loose a few screws within her head – as she experienced a magnificent transformation: from shy and retiring girl to dominatrix. Using heretofore untapped reserves of strength, Hermione hauled Snape onto the bed and took his breath away with a kiss, one virtuous and corrupt kiss – with tongue of course. "Enough talk. Let's do this now!"

The duvet fell away as she straddled him, affording him unprecedented access to and a lovely view of his horny witch, firm and luscious curves strategically covered in racy red lace. "This is wholly unfair. I'm completely naked, vulnerable, and you're still fully clothed."

She laughed, bright and charming like silver bells ringing. "Right. This flimsy lingerie is the ultimate in protection. I'm impregnable."

In the time it took her to utter that one word, his mind was bombarded with images of Hermione, naked, her abdomen swollen with child. He was speechless... and dizzy, as he shook his head violently to extricate such alarming thoughts.

Apparently, she noticed his concern and allayed his fears. "Don't worry, Severus. I applied a contraceptive charm while you were in the bath."

A bit of color returned to his pale face. "Responsibility and common sense have never been so attractive. Now let me rid you of this armor..." He traced the edges of her nightie, the delicate straps and lace-trimmed cups holding up her ample bosom – a marvel of fashion engineering, that – briefly appreciating its beauty before grasping the hem, hoisting it over her head, and tossing it thoughtlessly to the ground. Now he had unimpeded access to and a spectacular view of his beautiful witch. He could finally take her in with all his senses, smell her, taste her, feel her warm, supple flesh beneath his fingers and lips from her dainty earlobes, the hollow at the base of her throat, her dusky pink nipples, her decidedly flat belly, the thatch of short, dark curls covering her quim, down to brightly manicured toes.

He breathed deeply of her scent: the sharp earthiness of her perfume combined with the musk of her arousal, creating a most intoxicating aroma for Snape. He pulled back her voluminous halo of hair and sampled the sensitive spot behind her ear. He felt more than heard her muted moaning, the vibrations pleasantly tickling his lips. Frivolous kisses, light as air, turned urgent, and soon he was nibbling her neck and tasting the tender flesh of her shoulder, savoring the sweet and salty flavor of her skin. He changed directions, moving northward, and while his mouth was engaged in games with hers – teeth nipping at kiss-swollen lips, tongues playing hide and seek – his hands had their own agenda. He stroked her silken breasts, caressing soft and languid at first, growing more rough and hurried with each passing moment. Her mewling ramped up in volume; he silently implored Merlin and any gods within telepathic earshot that she wouldn't attract the attention of Hogsmeade's army of stray cats. He headed southward now, his lips latching onto her nipples, his fingers kneading her flanks, hips, and buttocks. Her breathing became irregular, alternating between fast and shallow, deep and shuddering, and she writhed on his lap, responding to his fine-tuned ministrations. His hands honed in on the prize, finally reaching neatly trimmed borders of her lady garden. His index finger hovered above her clit and...

She pushed him down against the mattress, pronouncing, "That's enough foreplay for now. It's time for real action." She slid up his thighs until she just grazed his balls. Rising up on her knees, she grasped his swollen cock and brought the purple tip to her entrance. In her inexperience, she underestimated the distance required between penis and vagina for adequate penetration. "This isn't quite right. Severus, tip your pelvis up, and support my hips with your hands. I'm going to wiggle up here a bit to a better position, and..."

"Miss Granger," his silky-toned professorial voice boomed, reverberating throughout the bedroom. That got her attention, and she froze in place, still holding onto his erection for dear life. "Allow me." He disengaged her hands from his member and, in one smooth move, rolled Hermione onto her back, thus placing himself in the top position. "Your enthusiasm and domineering personality are hugely appreciated, but this tender situation calls for a seasoned dancer to take the lead." He felt the tension flow from her body as she surrendered control. Supporting his weight on one arm, he held his cock in his free hand, rubbing the tip over her moist labia, all the while gazing into her dilated, sex-driven eyes. With slow, insistent movement, he pressed his length inside her and waited for... some reaction from his neophyte partner.

After huffing a few cleansing breaths, she unclenched her fists, releasing the wrinkled satin sheet beneath, and gripped his buttocks, sending encouragement to move with every squeeze.

Despite Hermione's silent reassurance, Snape remained motionless, relishing the constant grip of her previously pristine (read: tight) cunt upon his cock. Then he began to move, finding a refined rhythm from the onset, the outgoing stroke gentle and agonizingly slow, the incoming reciprocal stroke rough and quick. His free hand roamed about her body, exploring, teasing, pleasing his witch: thumb tracing her lips, palm squeezing her breast, fingers circling her clit. His efforts were rewarded with vocal approval: her moaning grew louder, timed in sync with his thrusting. He thought his preventative masturbation earlier that evening would have lent him some staying power, but after a couple minutes, the telltale tightening of his balls informed him otherwise. He soon lost track of his finely tuned fast/slow pace, and his pumping became erratic. If Hermione's irregular breathing, nonstop wriggling, and fierce arse grabbing – Snape's bottom, that is – were any indication, her climax was close at hand too. After a few more strokes, he came, ejaculating hard and fast, the tightness in his body released like a faucet opened wide, not unlike the feeling of being reborn. Snape kept his wits about him through it all and continued to thrust and rub until his softening cock felt the faint fluttering of her vaginal walls. She had surely reached orgasm when she shouted his name and released his buttocks from her iron grip. Only then, when his pleasant task was complete, did he collapse beside her, spent physically and emotionally.

Hermione, drained as well, took his face in her hands and planted a sweet, chaste kiss upon his lips. "That turned out perfect after all. Thank you, Severus."

He felt a flare of heat upon his cheek – he hoped she couldn't see his blush in the dimly lit room. "You are very welcome. It was my pleasure, indeed," he replied, his voice smooth and velvety, as though his throat had never been torn asunder by that big fucking snake. After a time, when their labored breathing was the only sound to be heard, he added, "Thank you, Hermione."

She sighed contentedly. "Don't mention it. My pleasure. And welcome back to the world of the living, Severus."

A/N: See? There was nothing to worry about; that turned out just fine, a happy ending filled with lemony goodness.

The title of this chapter is taken from the lyrics of the song "The Ghost in You" by Richard and Timothy Butler of The Psychedelic Furs.

The multi-talented Proulxes – she can write and draw like nobody's business – has created another gorgeous work of art to accompany this chapter. You can find it at http://proulxes.deviantart.com/art/Severus-and-Hermione-together-435032598

Next up: The epilogue. What's life like for Snape and Hermione on the first anniversary of his resurrection?