Sunday Kind of Love

SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling.

Many thanks to Snarkyroxy, beta moste excellent, for her time and support.

Warning for domination and humiliation.

Two-hundred-and-eighty-eight... two-hundred-and-eighty-nine... two-hundred-and-ninety... Severus stirred his experimental potion in a clockwise direction. Glowing an iridescent silver, the concoction was reaching a critical point but was still holding its form. It was coming along beautifully. He switched direction.

Another ten stirs should do it, he thought... three... four... five – this was as far as he had got on previous attempts – it was still holding together. Severus held his breath... six... seven... eight – there was a sudden pop as the potion destabilised and ended up, yet again, as a gooey, grey mess at the bottom of the cauldron. Severus threw his stirring rod to one side and slammed his fist on the worktable in frustration.

Wiping his brow with his sleeve, Severus went over to his desk to go over his notes once more. It should have worked. He could see no reason for it not to. It didn't make any sense. Was his own ability to brew it in question? No, impossible. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He would have to wait until next weekend to try again.

Voldemort's demise had given Severus both the freedom and the time to pursue his academic interests and investigate those avenues of research that had long fascinated him. Like many wizards before him, Severus had often wondered about the very nature of magic itself – what it was exactly and where it came from. As a small boy, he had pestered his mother with these questions and more.

'Why aren't the other boys in the street like me, mum? Why can't they do magic?'

Eileen smiled. 'No one knows for sure, pet. It's just something you're born with.'

'So, I've always been a wizard?' Severus asked.

'Yes, always,' his mother replied. 'Even before you were born... well, I knew.'

'How?'

'Let's just say a mother knows these things.' She laughed. 'Now, put your books away before your father gets home.'

Even though life was to steer him onto a very different path, Severus' curiosity on the subject never abated. What, exactly, set wizardkind apart from the rest of humanity? How could a witch or wizard be born to a Muggle, and conversely, how could magical parents produce non-magical offspring? Was magic an external force or did it come from within? Was it a mixture of both?

Two years after the war ended, and quite by accident, he stumbled upon a clue. When Hermione cleared out her parents' house, she brought her father's extensive book collection back to Hogwarts with her. Mr Granger had had similarly eclectic tastes as Severus. He had been fascinated with the field of forensic dentistry and had had more general interests in medicine, genetics and biochemistry. When Severus eventually found the time to peruse these texts, he was astonished at the developments that Muggles had made in these disciplines. He was amazed by the Human Genome Project and DNA sequencing. Here was the key to unlocking the mystery, he realised. The answers to some of his questions, at least, must lie there – in the genes.

Enthused by his discovery, Severus contacted St. Mungo's to establish whether or not any research was being done in this field. The medical establishment, he discovered, was well aware of the science of genetics and the advances that had been made by Muggles, but the 'magic' gene, if such a thing existed, was proving harder to pin down than anyone had anticipated. In due course, Severus offered his services to the research team, which were readily accepted.

It took several years, but the team eventually managed to isolate the 'magic' gene. It was hailed as a major breakthrough in magical medicine. There were high hopes for its practical application in the treatment of long-term spell-damaged patients. Severus, however, saw different possibilities in the discovery.

During the course of his research, Severus had examined the DNA of Squibs as well as wizards and, to his surprise, had found the gene responsible for magical ability present in all of the samples. In other words, genetically, there was no difference. Why, then, were Squibs unable to perform magic? It seemed that the science of genetics could only go so far to explain the mystery. Conventional wisdom on the subject prescribed that Squibs were the result of the parents' magic being incompatible. It seemed logical, therefore, that somewhere along the line, science ended and magic took over.

After much deliberation, Severus put forward the theory that it was not so much a question that a child was born without the ability to do magic, but rather that that ability was blocked in some way. St Mungo's had shown interest in his findings and decided to back his research by awarding him a grant to develop a potion that would release a Squib's latent magic.

The Establishment had a sound reason for sponsoring this line of research. While the official line was that Squibs were rare, the reality was that the chances of a baby with no magical abilities being brought to full term were exceedingly small. For a lot of people, the social stigma of producing a Squib was simply unimaginable. There were spells bordering on Dark Magic that could detect the magical essence of a child early on in pregnancy and, if absent, the pregnancy was simply terminated. Although not in any way condoned by the wizarding world, the practice was not uncommon, particularly amongst the purebloods, where years of vigorous inbreeding had only compounded the problem. Consequently, Severus' research also had the discreet backing of the Ministry of Magic. Severus had great hopes that his discovery would not only reduce the incidence of abortions, but that it would also release the magical potential of those Squibs already born. There was still a possibility, of course, that there would be exceptional circumstances where the parents' magic was truly incompatible, but Severus hoped that in time, that difficulty, too, would be overcome.

Severus knew that if he could pull this off, the financial rewards would be enormous. More importantly, perhaps, it would give him fame rather than notoriety, recognition and a place in history that would overshadow his murky past. If ever there was a chance to brew glory, this was it. His theory, he was certain, was sound, and yet success continued to elude him. What in the name of Merlin was he doing wrong? The achievement of a lifetime was tantalisingly close, dangling like a carrot in front of him, just beyond his grasp. The gods, he thought petulantly, must be having a good laugh at his expense.

* * *

It was a tired, irate and grumpy Severus who returned to his chambers that Sunday afternoon. Hermione was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in the latest copy of Charm Matters (International Edition), when he stormed into the living room. She could see by his thunderous expression that he was not in a very happy mood.

'No luck again, I take it?' she asked.

'No,' Severus replied, going over to the whisky decanter and pouring himself a large one.

'Oh, well. I'm sure you'll get there in the end,' Hermione said indifferently, going back to her magazine.

Severus sat down in the armchair by the fire and glowered at Hermione through hooded eyes. He sipped his drink. 'What are you reading?'

'It's a very interesting article by Bill Weasley on Curse Breaking in Egypt,' Hermione replied, not looking up. 'He's found runes comparable with those in ancient Mayan civilizations. It's a really exciting discovery. I'm so pleased for him.'

Severus swirled the whisky around in the glass and stared at her intently. Fuck Bill Weasley. Fuck Curse Breaking, he inwardly fumed. A lack of interest on her part in his work and an enthusiasm for a former career choice was not conducive to putting Severus in a better frame of mind. She had to be taught a lesson.

'Stand up,' he barked.

'I'm reading, Severus.'

'Stand up. I won't tell you again.'

Letting out a long sigh, Hermione put the journal down and did as she was told. There was no point arguing. She stood on the hearth rug, facing him.

'You're looking very pink, Hermione,' he said. 'Why is that?'

'I walked back from Hogsmeade,' she replied. 'I thought the exercise would do me good.'

'Indeed. Rosy cheeks are somewhat... endearing.' He smirked. 'Tell me, are you pink all over?'

'Probably.'

'I'd like to find out. Take off your robe.'

'Severus, the children...'

'Just do it. Now.'

Huffing in annoyance, Hermione tugged at the fastenings of her robe.

'Slowly, Hermione... seductively,' Severus almost whispered. 'As if it were the first time.'

Hermione did what was asked of her and dropped her robe on the sofa.

Severus settled back in his chair and took another swig of whisky. He held it in his mouth for a moment, savouring the burn on his tongue. He gazed at his wife of ten years, standing before him in a white cotton bra and a passion-killing pair of comfy old knickers. The furry slippers on her feet did nothing to add to the allure. Still, it was what was underneath that counted.

'Why aren't you wearing any stockings?' he asked.

'My feet were damp after the walk, so I took them off,' Hermione replied, rubbing her arms and shivering slightly.

'Cold?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes.'

'I'll soon warm you up. Take your bra off – and those things on your feet.'

Hermione complied without complaint.

Severus sighed contentedly and shifted in his seat to accommodate his burgeoning erection.

'Play with your breasts, Hermione.'

Hermione, not being particularly in the mood, circled her nipples with the tips of her fingers. Severus, however, was having none of it.

'Not like that. Lift them up and squeeze them together. That's better.' Severus took another gulp of whisky. 'Now... I want you to wet your thumbs and rub your nipples for me.' Satisfied that she was following his instructions, Severus put his glass down and steepled his elegant hands together. He rested his chin on his fingertips and peered at her. 'Do you find that arousing, Hermione?'

Hermione felt a delightful little tingle run down her spine. 'Yes, Severus.'

'Do you want more?' he purred.

'Yes.'

'Very well. Run your hands down your sides – slowly, slowly, there's no rush – and under your knickers.' His hands moved to cover the tent in his robes as she did so. 'Put your fingers in your pussy and tell me how wet you are.'

Hermione pushed her fingers deep inside herself and let out a small moan. 'I'm very wet, Severus.'

'I am very glad to hear it. You may stimulate your clitoris.'

Severus put his head back against the chair and regarded the woman pleasuring herself in front of him. He noted all the usual, subtle signs of her arousal – the flush on her upper chest, the pulse point on her throat, the slight flaring of the nostrils as her breath quickened. Hermione had never faked it – she had never wanted to – but if she had, Severus would have noticed. He knew her body almost as well as he knew his own and would never have been fooled. He watched Hermione's hand moving inside her knickers, beginning to speed up as her orgasm approached. Head back, lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering, she was almost there.

'Are you close, Hermione?' Severus asked, although he already knew the answer.

'Ye-ess.'

'Then stop.'

Hermione groaned in protest but stilled her hand.

'That's a good girl. Now, turn around and bend over.'

Hermione turned her back on him. As she bent over, she unconsciously put her hand between her legs, seeking some relief.

'Hermione, if I see you touch yourself again without my permission, you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, Severus. I'm sorry.'

'You will be if you disobey me again. Now, my lovely little slut, pull your knickers down – not so fast – slowly, slowly all the way down. Good. Very... nice. No, don't take them off. Leave them around your ankles.'

As Hermione obeyed his commands, Severus gathered his robes up to his waist and spelled off his underpants. Lightly tracing his fingers over his cock and balls, he let out little sighs of pleasure, delighting in the sensations he was creating. He ordered Hermione down on all fours.

'Keep your head up and arch your back. Legs further apart... That's fine.' She'll be expecting me to get behind her and fuck her now, he thought. Well, she's going to be disappointed. She would feel as frustrated as he did by the time he'd finished with her. He grasped his cock more firmly.

'Now, what to do with you?' He kept her waiting a few moments while he pretended to think. 'Put two fingers in your pussy,' he finally instructed. 'No, not underneath, from the back.' It was an awkward position, but Hermione managed to do as he asked. 'Yes, like that. Now, move your fingers in and out. How does that feel, Hermione?'

'It feels... good,' she gasped. 'Very... good.'

'I suppose you would like to climax?'

'Yes. Please.'

'Unfortunately for you, I am not feeling generous. Continue what you are doing, but you are not to come under any circumstances. Do you understand?'

'I... understand.' Hermione was desperate to come but knew the consequences would be dire if she did. She heard Severus' breath hitch and looked back. He was languidly stroking his cock, observing her.

'I did not tell you to look at me.' His voice was husky, but still controlled. 'Keep your eyes down.'

Hermione looked away quickly.

'I suppose you want me to bury my cock inside you, Hermione?'

'Ye-es, very much.'

'Then beg me for it.'

'Please, Severus, fuck me. Oh, please... please. I want to come so badly.'

'Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather be reading about... Curse Breaking?'

'No... no...' she whimpered, 'please... I –'

'I believe I shall... not.' He laughed quietly at her discomfort. 'Not now, at any rate.'

'Please... I need...'

'I said no.' He smirked at her howl of displeasure. 'You've been a bad girl, Hermione. Now, drag those fingers back and put them in your arse – all the way in, as far as they'll go.'

It was fortunate that she was so wet. Using her juices for lubrication, she carefully stretched her anus and eased her fingers inside.

Severus groaned at the visual display of wantonness before him. His breathing grew more ragged as his hand moved faster over his cock.

'Pump them... faster... oh, yes... like that.' Severus pressed his head against the chair and arched his back as he felt the familiar rush. 'Oh, gods, you dirty little bitch.' He thrust his hips up, whole body jerking, and came, shuddering into his fist.

Taking in great gulps of air, Severus cast a quick Cleaning Charm over his groin and rearranged his robes. 'Come here,' he demanded hoarsely, still out of breath, 'and lick my fingers.'

Hermione turned around and crawled on her hands and knees towards him. Still hopeful that Severus would allow her to orgasm, Hermione maintained eye contact while she licked the palm of his hand clean. Eyes crazed with lust, she sucked each finger in turn, finishing with his thumb. Severus, however, remained unmoved by her silent pleading.

'Lie over my knees.'

'But, Severus, the children will be back any minute.'

'Then you had better hurry up.' Severus drained the remainder of his whisky while Hermione climbed over his lap. 'Legs apart.' He Transfigured the whisky tumbler into a medium-sized butt-plug, parted her cheeks and inserted it firmly into her anus.

'There.' Severus tapped the end of the plug with his wand, charming it to slowly expand inside her. 'You should be nicely dilated for me in a few hours.' He gave her bottom a few light smacks. 'I'm going to fuck you hard tonight, wife, and I'm in no mood for foreplay. Once the children are in bed, I want you to go into the bedroom, disrobe and await my pleasure. Do not attempt to find release before then.' He pushed her roughly off his lap and onto the floor. 'Now, get dressed.'

* * *

Severus was true to his word. From the time he grabbed her by the hair and threw her on the bed, Hermione knew she was in for a rough night. He had been like a man possessed – grabbing, clawing, biting – using her for his own pleasure, then casting her aside like some unwanted toy, leaving her bruised and sore with a thumping headache. Severus had finally allowed her an orgasm, more for his gratification than for hers, rolled off her and gone to sleep.

Hermione lay on her back, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, and wondered if he'd mind if she took a potion for her throbbing head. She knew he would be annoyed if she healed her injuries herself, but surely he wouldn't notice the lack of a headache in the morning? Hermione had a nine o'clock class and desperately needed some rest. She decided to risk it.

Hermione got up, crept quietly into the bathroom, took a phial from the cabinet and downed it in one. It tasted foul, but she felt better immediately. Summoning a glass of water to take away the taste, she glanced at herself in the mirror. It was not a pretty sight.

'Gods, what a mess,' she muttered, staring at her reflection in horror. 'I really need to do something about this... this Niffler's nest. Hermione tried to run her fingers through her hair, but it was too tangled from all the twisting and pulling.

The mirror decided not to comment on the bruises, scratches and bite marks, or on her puffy eyes, red from crying. It had seen it too many times before.

'You need a good cut, dear,' said the mirror. 'I've been telling you for years.'

Hermione sighed. The mirror was right. Her hair was beyond redemption. She would owl Ginny during the week for the name of her hairdresser and make an appointment.

***

Later, still unable to sleep, Hermione lay on her side, staring at Severus' back. He was snoring softly. It was strange, she thought, that most people thought of her husband as a cold, emotionless man, when, in fact, he was quite the opposite. Severus was capable of tremendous extremes of passion – he merely kept himself in check most of the time. In turn, he could be tender, rough, and sometimes sadistic. It just went to show, Hermione thought as she eventually drifted off to sleep, that one should never judge a book by its cover. Her husband was a complex man, of that she had no doubt. She knew when she married him that she was taking on a wizard with demons, insecurities, a dreadful past and a whole load of guilt, and yet she had loved him in spite of his faults – and she still did.

It had taken a long time for Severus to open up to Hermione entirely, since life had taught him from an early age that emotions were something you kept hidden at all costs. As a child, his deceptively fragile-looking body and singular looks had made him a target for no end of bullying. Tall, pale and skinny, with silky hair and long slender hands, he endured a relentless onslaught of punching, kicking and name-calling. He had no friends among the boys his own age, as he had no interest in their games and preferred his books to football. Severus learnt not to show his feelings when they thumped him and called him a poof – crying only made the punishment worse – but it hurt just the same. As for the girls, well, they always seemed to want to kiss him, so he avoided them like the plague.

His mother was sympathetic but firm. 'Remember they are Muggles, Severus,' Eileen told him. 'Never be tempted to harm them. It is always better to keep out of their way.'

Heeding his mother's advice, Severus kept himself to himself as much as possible, preferring his own company or that of his mother, who told him tales of her own childhood and her time at Hogwarts. Then, one day, he came home from school with a black eye and a bloody nose.

'Severus, have you been fighting?' His mother was appalled.

'No, Mum.' He had been ambushed by a gang of much bigger boys. He burst into tears. Eileen set about drying his eyes and cleaning up the blood.

Severus' father, who happened to be home that afternoon, was not impressed. 'Stop mollycoddling the lad, woman. He's got to learn to fight his own battles.' He turned to his son. 'And you, Sev'rus, stop that snivelling before I really give you something to cry about.'

Tobias Snape was something of a man's man. He liked a couple of pints with his mates down the pub after work, a game of darts on Friday, and the occasional flutter on the horses. He enjoyed watching the sport on the telly, used to be an amateur boxer in his youth, and had been known to keep the odd whippet. How this pale, ethereal, peculiar child had sprung from his loins was beyond him. He simply could not understand it. One thing was for sure, though; the boy needed toughening up or he was going to get the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis.

'Come 'ere, lad,' he ordered. 'It's time you learned to defend yourself.'

Severus approached his father warily and with good reason. On the rare occasion his father took any notice of him, it was usually to yell at him or to be on the receiving end of the back of his hand. What followed became the only memory Severus ever had of his father paying him any positive attention.

'All bullies are cowards,' Tobias began. 'If they think you're weak, they'll always pick on you. If you fight back, they'll leave you alone. Watch me.' Severus gave his father his undivided attention. 'Put your fists up like this.' Tobias demonstrated. 'Now, protect your chin with your left hand and jab with your right, like so.'

Transfixed, Severus stared at his father before slowly raising his hands to mimic his movements.

'That's the way.' Tobias got down on his knees and put his hands out, palms facing his son. 'Now, hit my hands. Right... right... that's it. Now throw a left. Good.'

Severus' eyes lit up in wonder. His father was showing an interest in him and was actually praising his efforts. He determined to impress him.

Eileen looked on disapprovingly. This did not bode well. Their son was a wizard, for Merlin's sake! In a few years time, he would be able to take on the entire school with one hand tied behind his back and reduce them all to dust. Encouraging him to fight with Muggles was a really bad idea. Who knew where it might lead?

'Pretend my hands are those bullies now, son,' she heard her husband say, 'and put your weight behind them punches.'

Severus did so. Take that... and... that... and... THAT. He punched harder and started to sweat with the exertion. It felt good to imagine pulverising his enemies with his bare hands. All his pent up rage and resentment came to the surface as he sparred with his father. Right, right... left. Right, right... left. Hate you... and... you... and... YOU.

'Good lad. That's grand. Keep it up.'

Deep in his belly, Severus felt something surge. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew if he didn't stop, something bad was going to happen. He didn't want to hurt his father; he was only trying to help him. Severus firmly pushed his anger and frustration back down and stood still, panting.

Control.

'Well done, Severus.' Tobias ruffled his son's hair. 'That were a good effort, that were.'

Severus grinned at the rare show of approval.

'But remember, in a street fight the Marquis of Queensbury rules don't apply.' Tobias touched the side of his nose with his forefinger and winked. 'When in doubt, a well-aimed kick in the knackers is as good a defence as any.'

'Tobias!'

* * *

Eileen's worst fears were confirmed a few days later when, attacked by the same gang of boys, Severus retaliated. Lashing out with his fists against his tormentors, Severus let his anger go and held nothing back. The spectacular burst of spontaneous magic resulted in the hospitalisation of three of the gang and a visit from the Ministry for his parents. His father had taken his belt to him for that, but Severus never cried out once. It was worth it. He knew for certain now that he was going to be a powerful wizard. No Muggle boy would ever dare touch him again. But what about wizards his own age? What could he expect when he got to Hogwarts?

Severus decided to leave nothing to chance. By the time he received his letter, he had already memorised a few choice hexes, and it wasn't long after his arrival at Hogwarts before he had to put them to good use. He quickly realised that bullies were not confined to the Muggle world, only this time he was prepared for them. Most people soon gave him a wide berth once they had been at the wrong end of his wand, and generally left him alone. Severus was still a friendless misfit, but at Hogwarts he was a friendless misfit who was grudgingly respected. He could live with that.

The Marauders, though, were something else, and it wasn't long before he attracted their attention. Severus had been standing in the corridor just before his first Potions lesson, minding his own business, when Sirius Black deliberately shoved him into the wall. He looked up to see Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew laughing hysterically. From that day on, Potter and his cronies went out of their way to make Severus' life a living hell. They were always careful not to go one on one with him, however, and usually hunted as a pack. For the most part, Severus kept his cool, ignored them as much as possible, and treated them with the contempt they deserved.

Adolescence and the rampaging hormones that went with it brought its own problems. Severus put on a growing spurt that made him feel gangly and awkward. He knew he was not attractive, as girls giggled whenever he passed them in the corridors and huddled together, whispering. As a defence, he adopted a haughty air and a cutting way with words. While his voice was breaking, he didn't trust it to shout at them, so he developed a series of terrifying glares that usually sent them running. Love, he decided, was for the Sirius Blacks of this world.

But there was one girl who refused to be intimidated. Lily Evans. Nothing he did could shake her off. Whatever he did, she insisted on being nice to him. Severus found her actions suspicious. She was an intelligent witch – she didn't need his help with her homework – what was she after? He got his answer when she pinched his bum one day in the Potions storeroom. He turned around, mouth open, to give her a piece of his mind only to find himself drowning in a soul-sucking kiss worthy of a Dementor.

It was just his luck, of course, to fall for a Muggle-born witch and a Gryffindor to boot.

With Lily, Severus felt a different kind of magic swell inside him, a kind that made him feel good. In her arms, he knew joy. Yet again he had to repress his feelings, even though he wanted to shout his love for the girl with the red hair and green eyes from the top of the Astronomy Tower. There were no romantic interludes in Hogsmeade or moonlight broom rides for them. They had to keep their dangerous liaison a secret, snatching a few stolen moments here and there whenever they could, looking forward to the time when they would leave school and House loyalties would no longer matter. Then came the fateful day when Severus called Lily a Mudblood, and drove her straight into the arms of James Potter.

If Severus thought he had felt pain in the past, it was nothing compared to that. But as his was a love that had never officially existed, he couldn't even show how much his heart was breaking. Watching the girl he loved wrapping herself around his archenemy almost drove Severus over the edge. Severus wished a thousand painful deaths on James Potter as his magic boiled inside him. Gods, how he hated that bastard.

Control.

In his rage and self-pity, Severus cast aside any romantic hopes and dreams he may have had. Love was for fools; it made you weak. He was a powerful wizard, he could do without it. Cynical and embittered, Severus locked his heart away where he thought nobody would find it, and turned to a madman who made him all kinds of promises in return for a vow of undying loyalty. Severus thought that taking the Dark Mark would serve him well and secure him a prominent place in the New Order. Instead, it started a chain of events that led to twenty years of misery, remorse and self-loathing.

By the time he became a double agent, repressing his emotions had become second nature to Severus. It was one of the reasons why he was such a superb Occlumens and probably accounted for how he managed to stay alive and fool Voldemort for as long as he did. But it had come at a price. He had taken an oath to avenge Lily's murder. Everything was secondary to that. Work, ambition, relationships, Severus abstained from all emotional involvement in order to apply himself zealously to his self-appointed mission. That was not to say he chose to live like a monk. He took his pleasure of women whenever he felt the urge, using their bodies as he saw fit, but other than Magenta, he rarely had sex with the same woman twice.

As the years passed, Severus grew more insular and detached. He hid behind his 'Bat of the Dungeons' persona – terrifying the children in his charge and keeping his colleagues at arms length, biding his time until he could avenge Lily's death. Severus looked for no future beyond that. He deserved none. So, sealed up in a tomb of his own making, Severus prayed for the downfall of Voldemort and looked forward to the day when he would be released from his miserable existence.

The Fates, however, had other plans. Bottled up emotions have a nasty habit of making their presence felt and demanding your attention when you least expect it. At a time when he could least afford it, Severus found himself infatuated with a Gryffindor girl once more, only this time, he was her teacher and she was young enough to be his daughter. Forbidden fruit again, more guilt again, more feelings to stifle again. Even when he realised his feelings were reciprocated, he could not bring himself to consider that there may be a chance of a long-term relationship. Hermione was young; she would leave him, just like Lily had done. Severus tried to convince himself that his feelings for her were nothing more than lust, but it was in vain. At thirty-seven, Severus Snape may have been more sexually experienced than the average wizard, but in matters of the heart, he was still an inept seventeen year old.

Knowing the dreadful task that Dumbledore had set him, Severus could only despair at the irony of it. The gods were showing him a glimpse of paradise, knowing full well that they were going to snatch it away from him again. Would they ever allow him to atone for his sins? How much more was he expected to take?

When he fled Hogwarts, Severus took his love for Hermione and kept it safely hidden away. He was careful to clear his mind in Voldemort's presence, but allowed himself a little time every night to think of her before he sank into troubled sleep. With Dumbledore dead, he was even more convinced that he wouldn't survive the final conflict, but now, as well as seeking revenge for Lily, he would be fighting for a world that would be safe for his beloved Hermione to live in. That thought alone gave him great comfort.

As war approached, Severus suppressed all thoughts of love and concentrated on the task in hand. Then Moody informed him of the final battle plan and gave him the bag containing Potter's Invisibility Cloak. He was stunned, to say the least. Severus had resigned himself to an ignoble death as befitted a traitor and murderer. He had never trusted Moody – even though Albus had assured him that he would leave testimony regarding Severus' orders to kill him, he had expected Moody to hide the evidence once Albus was dead. Now Potter, of all people, was extending him a hand of friendship, and Minerva was asking him to stand beside her to represent Slytherin. A tiny spark of hope ignited in his soul.

On the battlefield, Severus had to hold back when he saw Hermione standing at Harry's side. She looked like some Celtic warrior princess. Although it filled him with pride to see the determined look on her face as she stood ready to defend Lily's son to the death, all his instincts told him to sweep her up in his arms and carry her out of harm's way. Then, when she reached up to put the locket around his neck, his feelings for her threatened to overwhelm him. He noticed the fleeting look of hurt cross her face when he reacted coldly towards her, but she had turned away before he could say anything. For the first time, he realised that he actually wanted to survive the battle, that there was something – no, someone – to live for. With that liberating thought, Severus felt a shift in him that gave him the final impetus to relinquish the burden of hatred he had carried for so many years. He felt a tremendous surge of unconditional love fill his body as he added his wand to the others; a sense of connection and a feeling of peace. Then it was all over; he was alive. Now what?

* * *

Severus sat at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, staring at the untouched, rapidly cooling mug of tea in front of him. He had not asked for it, but Tonks had made it just the same. She sat down opposite him without saying a word. She had no idea what to say. Moody had not told her why Snape was not taken into custody, and she didn't think Severus would tell her if she asked. Instead, noticing the state he was in, Tonks took out her wand. Severus flinched.

'It's okay, Sev,' Tonks said. 'I just thought I'd tidy you up a bit. Don't want people to think you got those cuts and bruises from me.'

Severus nodded curtly.

Tonks got to work cleaning him up and healing his wounds, finishing with a flourish and a quick Reparo to fix his torn clothing.

'There,' she said briskly. 'Good as new.'

Good as new was not exactly how Severus felt, but he thanked her anyway.

They sat in silence again until the unmistakable pop of Apparition was heard upstairs. A few moments later, Harry entered the kitchen, supporting a weeping Hermione. He nodded to his guests.

'Just thought you'd like to know that Remus was hurt, but he's going to be okay.'

Tonks' shoulders slumped in relief.

'Remus' room is made up as is the room next to it. Hermione and I will be in Ron's room if anyone wants us.' And with that, they turned and left.

Severus stared at their retreating backs. So, he thought bitterly, history repeats itself. First Potter, now his... whelp. He felt his newfound peace of mind rapidly evaporate as his magic burned inside him.

Control.

A/N 'The Marquis of Queensbury Rules' were laid down in the late nineteenth century to govern the sport of boxing. Named after the 8th Marquis of Queensbury who endorsed them, they still form the basis of the rules that govern the modern 'sport'.