Chapter 2

The center of Perrinwolde was the village pub. There, over pints and bog standard pub fare, Hermione smiled winsomely, and Severus interrogated skillfully until they pieced together the local legend behind the fountain.

The region had always been fertile, given to large crops and large families and good hunting. But, when a tannery set up in the nearest town, things began to decline. The land was poisoned, and it poisoned all who depended on its fruits. The village declined rapidly.

At this time, a stranger came into the village. No one could agree on his name, but they all agreed it was the stranger who saved them. He was tall and short, thin and heavyset, but always male. It was at his suggestion that the artists carved the fountain, and on May Day, they dedicated it to Pan.

The next day, the stranger was gone, the fountain was flowing and their crops began to bounce back. Those who sickened drank of the fountain and were healed, but only if they were sickened by the land. The game likewise began to recover and multiply rapidly. Those who drank of the fountain began to have children. Twins were the rule, not the exception. Those hoping to catch the attention of their desired mate could use the fountain to land their attention.

In exchange, they honored the stranger's request – every May Day, the village threw the wildest, most enthusiastic party they could. Children danced in the streets during the day and adults would couple in the woods at night. Stores of wine and beer were laid in for months in preparation for May Day. As long as they celebrated Pan, his blessing remained on Perrinwolde.

It was with more questions than answers Severus and Hermione returned to their single shared room. The village was tiny, and not even the threat of offending powerful foreign wizards could scare up a second room for Unspeakables Granger and Snape.

Grumbling under her breath, Hermione commandeered the bath first. She didn't know if it was out of sheer perversity or what, but Severus spent forever in the bath whenever they were forced to share space in the field. Which, she thought ruefully, happened far more often than she'd like to admit. At least in this semblance of an inn, they had separate beds. On the thought of sharing a bed with her partner, her overactive mind conjured the sensations of her favorite fantasy – his hands roaming over her, his erection pressing into her backside – and she felt, again, the flare of sheer wanting that encompassed her then.

Hermione let her hands move down her body, echoing Severus' hands, teasing the sensitized skin beneath her nightclothes. She shuddered and let herself savor the memory-cum-fantasy for a moment before packing away her feelings. Their decade-long partnership and the friendship that arose from it mattered far more than her need to get laid.

Exiting the bathroom in her mannish pajama shirt and pants, she motioned to Severus. He rose and moved to take his turn in the bathroom. "Good night," she murmured as they passed.

~/~/~

"Good night, Hermione," he replied before closing the door. The moment he heard the click of the latch, he slid his wand from his sleeve and with swift movements sealed the small space against intrusion and for silence. Protected, he stripped off his robe and underclothes. As usual, he was aroused beneath the layers.

Despite the spells to cocoon him in privacy, Severus waited impatiently for the shower to warm before entering the spray and taking himself in hand. Eyes closed, mouth open, and right hand sliding firmly up and down the length of his cock, Severus focused on not a straight fantasy, but a mélange of memory and imagination. The scent of Hermione's shampoo and the way her robes pulled tight against her ass when she bent over to examine the plaque, the way her breath would catch when he teased her nipples, the feel of her skin and way she licked her lips and how badly he wanted to bend her over the edge of the fountain and thrust into her... Severus came with a deep roar. Panting, he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to come down to normal before continuing his shower.

When Severus was done, he dried and dressed himself in a nearly identical pajama set as Hermione – his black to her blue – and left the bathroom. A quick glance told him that Hermione was already trying to sleep; her back was to the lamp left on for him, her breathing even but too quick for true sleep. He let his gaze linger for a moment, wishing he could be the lover he wanted to be, curling around her, stroking the length of her body until she moaned and turned over and said, "Please, more..."

Shaking his head to dislodge the wish, he retreated to his own bed and turned off the light. With a sigh for his already half-erect cock, he rolled over and began to mentally recite recipes for first year Potions until sleep came.

~/~/~

Hermione was enjoying a delicious dream. Soft, fluid hands were roaming over her, sliding along the fabric of her pajamas, dipping under it to stroke her heated skin. She could feel the hands' teasing touch as they skimmed under her breasts and along her belly.

"Mmmm, Severus, yes," she murmured, tilting her head for the nose she felt nuzzling at her ear. The tongue licked her neck confidently, making her shudder. Her dream Severus blew on the trail he left on her neck, cooling the skin and making her shiver into wakefulness.

Turning around, she wrapped her arms around her companion, reaching in the dark to stroke his hair. Her hands slid through long, clean tumbling curls. Frowning, her hands moved forward now to touch his face. Instead of sharp plains, thin lips, and that prominent nose, she found plump lips, full cheeks, and a pert nose. A decidedly feminine face was attached to the person in her bed. She drew in breath to scream when the woman placed two fingers on her lips and said, "Shhh," in a mellow alto that throbbed in her body like bass. From her touch on her lips, a warmth spread, leaving her arousal intact but dissolving her fear and panic. A small smile blossomed on her lips, and her companion smiled in return.

"Hello, wisher," she said, shifting her body closer to her. Hermione could feel her trousers – a heavy, corduroy-like fabric – pressing against her legs. Her bare breasts pressed against her opened top and Hermione could feel her own nipples harden in response. She had never though of another woman sexually before, but this felt so right, so natural, she wanted to follow through on the impulse.

"Hello," replied Hermione. Her hands began to roam over her companion's body, mimicking the way she had been touched while asleep.

"Wisher, while I appreciate your attentions, I am here for your pleasure, not my own," her companion said as Hermione's hands began to fondle her breasts.

Hermione frowned, but removed her hands. "Why are you calling me 'wisher'?"

"Because, dear wisher, that is who you are to me. You wished at my father's well and your touch pleased him. I am here to grant your wish."

With a small sigh, her companion summoned a small floating light, casting a dim glow over the room, nearly bright as day in contrast to the previous dark. Hermione could not contain her gasp. Her companion was indeed female, with soft pale skin with a touch of sun-kissed color, a riot of curls all the colors of fall, and full breasts tipped with hard chocolate peaks. It was the horns that startled her. Rising from her forehead and curling back into her hair, the horns were a deep brown too glossy to be black, ridged from natural growth. Hermione whipped her blanket off of them and looked down. The sensation she mistook as pants were legs. Starting at the waist and covering legs that ended in cloven hooves were small locks of fur shades darker than the curls on the woman's – no, satyr's – head.

Now she pulled away and sat up, fascinated. "You're a satyr!" Hermione exclaimed. "I mean, I'm guessing, but it's the only thing that makes sense! There's no name for a female satyr, and you certainly aren't a nymph, as classically described... Does this mean you are here for Pan? Oh, my wish! But it wasn't for me, it was for Sev..."

Hermione stopped talking as the satyr silenced her with a kiss. Her arousal flared to life again, burning brighter than before, and she abandoned herself to skillful lips pressed against hers and a tongue that teased her own into play. The satyr broke the kiss heartbeats later.

"Now, wisher, I can see you are a woman of many questions. But you are the answer to your own wish. I am just here to lend a hand."

"Oh, but how, I mean, I don't...," Hermione stammered, whipping between desire and fear.

"Wisher, I am here to grant your wish. You bring joy to your Severus before this night ends, I promise."

The satyr rose from the bed, balanced gracefully on her hooves. Her hand reached out for Hermione. "Stand, wisher, and present yourself. Your Severus awakens and we must be ready."