8. Finding Strength

Chapter Eight: Finding Strength

Severus took the gently proffered cup with a shaking hand.

"Severus, I really wish I did not have to ask this of you," Albus attempted to soothe the younger man, "but we need to determine when to place our plan in motion. It is the only way."

"I am quite aware of that, Albus." Severus stared blankly into the cup. "It will be difficult, you understand." Eyes of steel flicked upward, meeting the icy, but not unsympathetic, regard of his elder.

"Yes, my boy, I do know it will be most difficult for you. However, you are the only one who can do this." Albus felt his heart go out to his protégé. How many times had he sent this boy off to do unspeakable things? Not once in all these years had Severus ever flinched from his duty. A spark of admiration swelled in the old man's chest.

Nodding, Severus drained the cup in its entirety. Before the headmaster's eyes, the young Potions master morphed into the somewhat attractive, younger, lithe form of the Charms professor.

"If you do not need me any longer, then, Headmaster?" Severus' feminine voice unnerved Albus slightly. He would never become used to witnessing the effects of the Polyjuice Potion.

"Go on, Severus," he replied. "I have taken care of Miss Clearwater for the evening, and she will be none the wiser."

"As you wish, Albus." Miss Clearwater's body gave a very Severus-like nod as he spun to stalk out of the office.

"Severus?" Albus called out in afterthought.

Without turning around, Severus glanced at the high-towered ceiling as if in prayer. "Yes, Albus?"

The old man hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to impart his final words. "Miss Granger is your greatest asset, Severus. Love is not always a weakness. It can be your strength. Remember that, my boy."

Severus quirked his head slightly in the headmaster's direction before closing the door. "I will remember. Thank you, Albus."

Severus-as-Penelope rounded the corner. His robes clung to his legs in a very undignified manner. Stifling a growl, he tugged them free, never breaking stride. He detested being in this body any more than necessary. The swing of his hips was all wrong. He was an intruder in an unmanageable foreign body.

Coming to a halt outside Miss Clearwater's quarters, he relaxed just a smidgeon and allowed his senses to reach out into the darkened corridor beyond, feeling the chilled air for uninvited guests. When he could detect nothing, he brought down the wards quietly and slipped inside.

Miss Clearwater must not have suspected anything the last time they waylaid her from reaching her quarters, as every ward and everything remained unchanged. For a spy she is entirely too trusting, he thought critically. Severus frequently and chaotically changed his wards. His policy was trust no one, not even Albus Dumbledore. He snorted loudly. Albus had asked Severus to come to his office earlier in the evening to discuss an unruly student; once they were in private, he discovered that Albus had a rather distasteful favor to ask of him. Trust Albus, indeed.

Severus sat wrapped in his own thoughts, sitting in front of the roiling Pensieve fraught with dark images. It was now or never. He had been away from the Dark Lord for several weeks, and the Order was desperate for information. He took a deep breath, tipped his head forward, let the tip of his nose touch the spinning surface, and soon felt himself surge forward into Miss Clearwater's recollections.

The smell hit him first: an overpowering metallic stench accompanied by a coppery taste in his mouth that made his teeth ache and his senses cower in self-preservation. He never could stand the smell of the Dark Lord. It had never affected anyone quite like it had Severus. It was his own personal torment and one that had threatened his composure numerous times over the years.

A hissing brought his attention to the right where Penelope stood at the Dark Lord's side, her head tilted back in ecstasy as the reptilian-featured man feasted upon her neck. Severus watched in horror as her robes were splayed open and flung apart to reveal her slim, nude body. The groans that came from her as the Dark Lord seized her curly sex and wrenched her body to him could not have been mistaken for anything but unadulterated desire.

Severus turned away. He refused to watch this. The Dark Lord had taken his pleasures from men and women alike, and it was not an experience he wanted to relive, even vicariously. He wondered briefly if perhaps Miss Clearwater felt the same or if the undisguised pleasure playing upon her half-masked face was genuine.

The scene changed several more times over the course of a few minutes. Miss Clearwater seemed not only to be a spy of the highest order in the eyes of the Dark Lord, but she was without doubt his personal plaything as well. She was constantly in attendance as he commanded his miscreant servant Wormtail, sibilated with Nagini and conferred with other Death Eaters. The Dark Lord trusted her inherently and especially did not trust any of his Death Eaters around her. She was his and his alone. And she had access to information privy only to the closest of confidants.

The realisation that Miss Clearwater was evidently enjoying her position sickened Severus to the very pit of his stomach. He was only too glad to abruptly terminate the connection after having acquired the necessary information.

Again, he took great pains to leave Miss Clearwater's rooms in the precise state he had found them in, and leave early enough to be sure it was Miss Clearwater that was seen leaving the room, should there be eyes to see. Even portraits were not to be trusted any longer: a decree made at the last Order meeting by Albus Dumbledore himself. They gossiped entirely too much, and one could never be sure when an innocuous comment could turn deadly. He was prudently secluded before he transformed back into his own form.

Stalking out of the darkness, he headed straight for the dungeons at a terrifying pace, his robes whipping and breaking behind him like whirlwind waves in a cyclonic storm. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: the woman waiting in his quarters.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The door to Severus Snape's quarters shuddered forcefully on its hinges, swinging open to reveal its dark and brooding master. She sat where he had left her: in her favourite place upon the settee in front of the fire, contentedly reading one of his latest Potions journals.

Not looking up from the article, she continued their conversation nearly where they had left off before Albus had summoned him.

"Severus, it says here that milkweed and thistle can be combined to soften the effect of the transformation when using Polyjuice Potion. We should really brew up a new batch this weekend and give it a go. What do you think?" Her pert little nose poked out cooly over the journal as she finally made eye contact.

"Oh, gods!" she moaned and hurdled over the back of the settee. Severus just stared at her, more than visibly disturbed, and his eyes burned wildly, flickering back and forth across her face, as if searching for something.

"What happened, Severus? Are you all right? Is everything okay? Speak to me!" Hermione grabbed both of his arms in a desperate plea to get him to answer her.

The bold grip of Hermione's small hands upon his arms felt like an anchor drawing him back to earth. He allowed himself to be drawn back into the chocolaty intenseness of her gaze.

His hands gripped Hermione's waist firmly like a vise, desperately crushing her, soundlessly begging her not to let go. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the faraway look in his eyes arrested the breath in her throat. Her head involuntarily tilted, and the question went unspoken.

She was taken unawares when he pulled her towards him and crushed his mouth against hers. He wasn't so much kissing as he was drawing upon her life force as if it were the only thing that kept him alive. He devoured her, completely dominated her, and she allowed it to happen.

A sundry of emotions poured from his body into hers: his longing, his desperation, layer upon layer of frustration that had built up year after year. He bestowed it all upon her through a kiss and she absorbed it out of necessity, giving in to the overpowering need to heal him.

Frantically, his fingers began ripping away at her clothing: first her outer robes, then her gown and finally her knickers. Then he began fumbling with his own buttons. He would not let her go, would not come up for air. If he stopped now, he was afraid of losing himself, of going insane. The thought even occurred to him that he might just possibly die. He could not bear to tear himself away from her taste, her scent, her touch. The woman before him was his lifeline. He needed her more at that moment than he had ever needed anyone before.

As he clumsily climbed out of his clothes, his teeth locked upon her neck and drew at the tender skin there, pulling her hair back to expose the white flesh. Hands flew at lightening speed across his chest, long nails scraping against his hardened nipples, trailing across his stomach, leaving marks in their wake. Hermione pulled his taut erection into her stomach, making it very clear that she was his for the taking.

Invitation taken. Her fall was cushioned solely by the throw rug that his settee sat upon. Penetration was sudden and hard, a stark contrast with the softness of the carpet beneath her. Stroking her from the inside, he felt her every curve surround him and let her body caress and comfort him.

His strokes became punctuated, longer and harder, as all of his pent-up frustrations surfaced. Hermione arched her back uncontrollably beneath his labouring body, highly aroused from his unexpected fervor. Severus was unrelenting and forced her to take her pleasure before his. In a last attempt to crush out the last vestiges of painful and unwelcome feelings, he pushed ahead until finally, they overflowed into her and her body swallowed them whole.

Severus collapsed on top of her in exhaustion, clenching his arms around her shoulders, cupping her head in his hands. He buried his face into her neck and held on, every last part of him shaking uncontrollably.

"I am sorry, so very sorry," he whispered in her ear over and over.

Hermione smoothed his hair and shushed him into silence, cradling him against her chest and speaking soothingly as if to a child. "You should not be sorry, Severus. I am here for you. Whatever you need, I am here. I am not going anywhere."

She wondered if he was crying, his body was shaking so violently. But gradually he calmed down, his grasp loosening somewhat, and after a time, he raised his head to look into her eyes. His eyes were dry. His voice was sure and firm.

"Hermione," he said softly. The black ice of his gaze liquefied into a softer emotion he only ever allowed her to see.

She lifted her hand to caress the side of his face. "I love you, Severus. I do not even have the words to express how much I love you."

"I suppose that is saying quite a lot, then," he chuckled back at her, bringing a smirk to her lips.

Severus dropped his mouth in a much gentler embrace, resting his lips chastely against hers.

He spoke without breaking contact. "I am a weak man, Hermione. You are my strength. A wise man told me that."

"Who? Albus?" Hermione teased.

"Who else?" Severus broke away from her mouth.

"Hmm," she answered pensively. "Are you ready to tell me what is wrong?"

Severus looked at her for a short time, pondering how much of his soul he should reveal to the woman beneath him, this most gorgeous, remarkable woman who believed in him and supported him wholeheartedly and unconditionally.

Deciding to take an honest approach, he replied, "I have spent the last twenty-some odd years of my life living through hell, Hermione. And tonight, I finally realised that we have not yet even begun to fathom the heat of the fire."

With reassumed grace, he stood and offered his hand to help her up off the floor. They held each other in silence, each memorizing the feel of the other's body.

"That's not all, though, is it?" The question escaped from her lips before she could put a stop to it. Did she really want to know everything? Quickly, she recanted, "Never mind, Severus. I am not sure I want to know."

He squeezed her tighter and took a deep, steadying breath. "It is probably best if some things went unsaid," he agreed. "However, I can tell you that whatever the Dark Lord has in store for us is going to happen on the Spring Equinox."

Hermione nuzzled her nose into the smattering of graying hair on his chest. "That's not too far off. I suppose, in the meantime, we should try to get in as much of this as humanly possible." Her tongue darted out and traced a circle around his left nipple.

The corners of Severus' eyes crinkled as an unused smile consumed his face. "Well then, my little vixen, let's not delay the inevitable, by all means."

The kisses that followed were more leisurely and lasted far into the night.