Chapters 2 & 3

II.

"...ex fidem maritum!" Lowering his wand, the wizarding vicar overseeing the ceremony parted their hands, checking the cuts on their palms. They had healed, leaving behind no scars. A gesture with his wand, and blue monograms appeared over the spot where he had magically carved each the other's initials. Those initials were now permanently intertwined. "Excellent, excellent... You may now exchange your rings, which are the symbol for eternity, being whole and unbroken circles of...holy sweet heaven!"

Harry, handing over the rings Hermione had asked him to hold for her, arched a brow at the vicar's exclamation. Severus arched his brow, too. Holding out his hand, he accepted the smaller of the two rings from the holy man, examining it. One black brow arched upwards in enquiry. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It depends on what you think it is," Hermione returned nervously.

"A magic-forged diamond ring," her groom said quietly. "One of a very expensive pair, I see."

"Albus made them his wedding present to us," she confessed, holding up her left hand so that he could slide the clear, subtly faceted ring onto her finger. "I couldn't give you a metal that might react with your work, after all. Um...with this ring, I thee wed."

He lifted his own hand, allowing her to slide his ring into place. Both resized themselves with little squeezes, then stayed still, enchanted for strength and durability as well as for self-sizing. "With this ring, I thee wed."

It was a bit backwards, but then it was an unusual marriage. Their eyes met, their hands interlaced. The vicar stated something about powers invested, and then it was upon them. Words that were both final and inevitable, dreaded, yet anticipated: "...You may kiss the bride."

Aware of the eyes of the entire student body resting upon them...it was like a train wreck, Ron had reckoned; no one at Hogwarts could stay away from watching this particular pairing take place, all the way down to the scruffy, aging cat held in Argus Filch's arms...she lifted up on her toes to give him a quick peck. He leaned down at the same moment, their noses bumped, their mouths slid...and somehow their lips parted. Once that happened, she couldn't help exploring a little with her tongue, an exploration that he apparently felt an equal need to share.

It wasn't a very lengthy kiss...certainly it could've gone on quite a bit longer without protest from either of them...but they did part to face an absolutely stunned crowd, rather than the whooping and whistling she might've expected at a more conventional wedding. Face flushing, Hermione glanced at the vicar.

The age-balding wizard cleared his throat. "Erm...yes. It is my pleasure to introduce to you Severus and Hermione Snape!"

Dumbledore started clapping from his seat in the front row on Severus' side of the Great Hall. The school chapel had been deemed too small, in the end. He also rose to his feet, and perforce dragged most of the staff with him by sheer force of personality. That caused the students to hesitantly start clapping, and just as hesitantly to rise. Since they had already signed the registrar at the makeshift altar, with Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall acting as their two witnesses, Hermione found herself firmly walked down the aisle at a quick but not quite hurried-looking pace.

Her husband was clearly determined to escape, but just as clearly determined to preserve his dignity in their retreat. Unfortunately, they had to come back for the feast, and endure the torments of the receiving line, though when the students did file out and line up to shake their hands out in the entry hall while the Great Hall was being redecorated for supper, a pointed, recurring glare from the groom kept all of the giggling, wincing, and otherwise rude commentary to an absolute minimum. At least, within a dozen bodies of their point in the reception line. Even Harry and Ron reluctantly offered their hands in congratulations to their Defence teacher, though they each hissed in Hermione's ear as they embraced her that they both still thought she was totally nutters.

The feast was typical of Hogwarts, scrumptious and plentiful. The house-elves had outdone themselves, making it a sort of catch-all Yule Feast and wedding celebration. It came with two additional differences from the usual sort of feast, however: for tonight, and tonight alone, Hermione was permitted to sit at the head table, between her quiet husband and her puzzled but accepting parents; and when the ghosts processed into the Hall as they did for most feasts, they did so accompanying the traditional cake-on-a-pole that a beaming Hagrid carried into the chamber during the dessert portion of the evening.

The royal icing on the cake was endangered by the floating candles overhead, given how high Hagrid hoisted the ribbon-decked pole, but the half-giant presented it with a gentle flourish to the happy couple, and Hermione found herself standing and cutting the pound-cake with her husband's hands covering hers. Cheering started when she lifted the piece in her hands to those thin lips. Or rather, jeering: she could hear Neville's voice shouting along with the rest of the students urging her to smash it into Professor Snape's face...and it was tempting, she had to admit that much to herself; Hermione had felt the scathing brunt of the Potion Master's tongue aimed her way on more than one occasion throughout her school years.

Gingerly holding the first piece of cake, Hermione carefully fed the slice to her wary husband, matching his movements so delicately, not even his lips acquired a crumb, nevermind the tip of his long, thin nose. Dark eyes narrowed in wary speculation as she fed him his slice, but relaxed in appreciation by the end of it. She tensed a little when he lifted her own piece to her lips, but he, too, fed it carefully to her. No smears of frosting marred her features.

There was more than one groan of disbelief in the Hall at their respectful, staid exchange. Indeed, it would be more accurate to say that only a handful of people didn't moan from disappointment. No bits of dessert mushed to their faces, no frosting smeared ignobly on the prominent nose of their least-liked instructor, nor on the stubborn chin of the know-it-all Head Girl.

Bugger off, she thought silently, dismissively as they lifted narrow champagne flutes and entwined arms for the traditional draught of the bubbling vintage. All of you might think it's funny to embarrass him in public, even a fitting sort of revenge for all that he's done to his students through the years, but you don't have to make a life with this man...and you don't have to worry about him knowing exactly where you sleep at night!

Normally, as the guests of honor, they wouldn't have been able to leave the party early. Of course, this was a wedding, not a more normal sort of party; it was expected also for them to depart at some point in time, as the groom and bride. If they had been in love, Hermione figured either she or he would've hauled their spouse out of the room, snogged passionately in the corridors on the way down to his quarters while loosening and shedding various layers of their clothes, and romped in their marital bed shortly after sharing that sip of champagne, rather than staying for more than the first few obligatory dances of the informal Ball the Headmaster had arranged. If they had been utterly in loathing of each other, they would've stayed until well past the normal nine o'clock curfew, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible...such as staying in the Great Hall until dawn or later.

As it was, Hermione found herself in the unenviable position of not wanting to leave early enough to be noticed and causing a scandal...which meant staying until curfew.

It also meant being the first one on the dance floor with a man who was notorious for his lack of interest in participating in social events, and staying out there for pretty much most of the other dances as well. She was therefore surprised and pleased to see that Severus Snape not only danced frequently with her, he'd had at least a few rudimentary lessons, enough to waltz gracefully with her, and then foxtrot agilely with her mother while she danced with her father. For lack of his own parents, who had passed away years before, Hermione danced with Dumbledore and Severus with Minerva, and then after that, she alternated dances between her friends and her husband.

It was strangely solicitous of him to keep partnering her on the floor, as well as courteous; he would touch the small of her back and gesture towards the dance floor in silent enquiry, or allow himself to be led towards the swirling figures whenever she slipped her fingers into his after dancing with someone else. And it was very helpful, having him join her on the dance floor every other round. By the end of the evening, there weren't very many distressed faces whenever they saw the Head Girl sweep past in the Defence professor's arms, nor very many huddles of snickering, sneering students giving them sidelong looks and bursts of rude laughter. It had become an acceptable sight, of sorts.

As it was, curfew had been extended to ten, and when nine-forty-five was announced so that the students would have time to get back to their dormitories, Hermione was grateful to be led back to the head table where she could sit and rest her feet for a moment. Dumbledore bade the students a good night and a safe journey home, as the majority of the students would be headed home for the holidays tomorrow...even Harry would be going home with Ron to the Burrow...and urged them out of the Hall with quiet murmurs and fluttering hands. Professor Mundane, the elderly Muggle Studies instructor, escorted Hermione's parents out of the hall, promising to Apparate them back to their home. When the hall was empty save for Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, who were taking down the decorations with their wands, Hermione turned her head quickly at her husband's murmur.

"Thank you," he stated. She hadn't expected that, and stared at him with raised brows. At her look of surprise, his lips twitched upward on one side in a tight smile. "Yes, I do have a sense of courtesy. I appreciate your not making a farce out of the cakes-and-ales portion of the feast."

"Oh. You're welcome," Hermione returned. "Thank you for dancing with me."

"And have rumors of my neglecting and abusing you from the very first hour circulating throughout the school?" he retorted dryly, arching a skeptical brow as he folded his arms. He was in a black satin version of his usual formal frock-coat, with jet buttons that gleamed in the light of the hovering candles. His eyes had gleamed like that, too, she realized. Right after they'd kissed as husband and wife.

"No, I just meant, thank you for dancing with me. You're a very good dancer. I hope I was good, too, though after having all that practice this evening, it couldn't possibly be otherwise," Hermione returned quietly, reaching down to slip her pumps from her feet. Her wedding gown was a slender dress of satin and lace Transfigured by Minerva McGonagall out of one of her other dresses, and the shoes equally enchanted from a pair of oxfords, but somewhere along the way, the Head of Gryffindor had forgotten to add a touch more padding to the insole. Hermione preferred dancing in glamour-altered sneakers for that reason; her feet didn't hurt as badly the next day.

Her brand-new husband surprised her by twisting their chairs to face each other with a flick of his wand. The normally surly, don't-touch-me professor startled her even further by reaching down and lifting one of her legs into his lap. Before she could do more than flinch in surprise, warm, strong fingers were deftly kneading the ball of her foot. Thumbs stroked down over the arch and rolled against the heel. Fingers gently twisted and tugged one toe at a time.

It was acutely, distressingly pleasurable. It was like he'd enchanted her nerves into marionette wires and connected them straight to her pleasure-points, to her breasts, womb, and clitoris. Even her lips buzzed with sensation as he lifted her other foot into his lap and worked on that one as well. Closing her eyes, she bit back the moan his touch was threatening to drag out of her.

And then the bastard stopped. "Are you alright?"

Sighing, Hermione wriggled her toes, wanting more.

"Hermione, are you alright?" he repeated, his fingers starting to work once more, this time in tandem on both of her feet. The combination of her given name and the touch of those hands... Those hands stopped, as he waited for her to reply.

Her dazed senses could only think of one thing to say. "Chapter...10."

"'Techniques for the Tongue'?"

Her eyes snapped open, her head lifting at the gaffe she had made. Not that it didn't conjure delightful images on its own, but that wasn't what she'd meant. "...What? No, sorry; Chapter 9."

"...Ah. 'Sensual Massage'," he confirmeded, smirking at her. And then dumped her feet on the floor. "Get your shoes on. We're going for a walk."

"What?" This time she was confused, not bemused. "What do you mean, we're going for a walk?"

"A nice, long corridor patrol," he murmured, his mouth twisted in amusement garnished with a twist of habit-steeped cruelty.

"Why?" Hermione demanded, bewildered.

"Because I want your feet very sore, and very appreciative, when I massage them again."

Hermione levelled him with a hard look. While it was nice to know he had a sense of humor, it wasn't that amusing. "Severus, I have been dancing for two and a half hours. Just walking down to your quarters will make my feet ache abominably!"

Stooping, she slipped her feet back into the Transfigured pumps, then stood with a groan. He rose as well. Hermione found her hands being tucked around his elbow. The assistance was appreciated, by the time they reached the corridor by the Defence classroom. A muttered password to one of the sections of stone between arched support struts in the corridor outside his office and classroom, and he guided her into the short hallway that revealed itself. Waiting until the stones of the wall reformed behind them, he opened the door blocking their way, then scooped her up in his arms, lifted her over the stone threshold, and set her back down on her feet again.

"Walk to the bedroom, wife," he instructed her. "As slowly and heavy-footed as you can."

Hermione laughed, and managed an exaggerated, soft-footed tip-toe for a few steps. She had to stop when a stack of books threatened to trip her. In fact, that was the decor of the place: books, magazines, more books, article clippings, and, oh look, even more books. From the looks of the living room, the man was a veritable biblio-packrat. Books on bookshelves, books on end-tables, books on sofa cushions. Journals and periodicals in stacks that practically formed tables of their own, and even a few piles of scrolls scattered here and there.

It looked disorganized in that there seemed to be no category required for each pile, but everything was neatly stacked; apparently, the house-elves were allowed within these walls to dust and tidy and take away any bits of rubbish that might accumulate, but weren't allowed to reshelve anything. Bachelor quarters, but livable ones.

"If you drool on any of my tomes, madam..." he warned her.

"I wouldn't risk that, and you know it. But, God, if I'd known that by marrying you, I was gaining access to literary heaven, I'd've been tempted to actually kiss that amphibious harridan in sheer gratitude," Hermione muttered, unsure where to start. She'd definitely have to speak to the Headmaster about getting their quarters enlarged; if she tried to bring her own extensive collection to such cramped quarters, they'd run out of air to breathe. An inconvenience, when breathing was very helpful if one wanted to keep reading.

She squeaked when she found herself scooped off her feet again. The strength in the Potion Master's arms surprised her; Hermione knew she wasn't petite, but he carried her with effortless ease into his bedchamber. Here, the stacks of books were different. They weren't leather-bound tomes written by wizards and witches throughout the ages. They were Muggle paperbacks. Stacks and piles of them.

Another mindless mutter escaped her, as she saw familiar, well-loved titles from science-fiction, fantasy, mysteries, and many more she didn't know but wanted to become acquainted with, preferrably soon. "I think I'm getting aroused, just looking at all of these books!"

His laughter startled her twice. Once, for the hearty shock of it, and twice for the fact that she slipped in his quivering arms, making her squeak and clutch at his shoulders. Dumping her on the bed, he braced himself over her prone body as his chuckles wound down. Sobering, he studied her, the corner of his mouth still quirked up. "Then I should take advantage of the situation. Chapter 2 does state that 'Seduction Begins With The Mind', after all."

Breathless, Hermione stared up at him. Gathering her courage, she reached for the front of his frock-coat, unfastening the long row of Knut-sized buttons. "Well, don't expect to make love to me on a pile of books. The last thing I'd want is a paper-cut on my you-know-what!"

Again, that made him chuckle, though he suppressed it quickly into a mere hint of a smile.

Lifting her hand to his cheek, Hermione eyed him thoughtfully. "Why do you do that? Why do you suppress your good humor?"

"Habit." Sitting up, he finished unbuttoning his coat. She sat up as well, and he gestured for her to turn around, giving him access to the buttons at her back. "Occlumency demands emotional self-control, and my skill in that discipline was all that stood between me and death for far too many years."

"The Dark Lord is gone, Severus. Why cling to unnecessary habits? You can change yourself, you know," she offered. "It won't be easy, but you can change. You just might find yourself living a happier life, if you do."

"I'll consider it."

Hermione wisely didn't press the point. Not when an I'll consider it from the man who was now her husband was a lot more encouraging than almost anyone else's outright yes. Unfastening the cuffs of her sleeves, she slipped the gown over her shoulders and stood, letting it pool to the floor. Revealing her choice of undergarments. White, of course, a strapless bra, bikini knickers, suspender belt and stockings, all edged with bands of lace in the form of interlocking S-letters. From the arch of one of his black brows, she guessed he liked the thought of her clad in his initials.

"See something you like?" she asked as bravely as she dared. Her voice wasn't entirely steady, but Hermione didn't let any of her trepidation show on her face. Just because she'd never done it before and was therefore nervous about an entirely new realm of knowledge to study didn't mean she was going to let him think she was afraid of sex. Apprehensive about being thought inadequate, but not afraid.

Mutely, he nodded, then stood and stripped off his shirt as well as his coat. He had to sit again to remove his boots. She reached behind her back to remove the bra, and he dropped the boot in his hands, holding up one palm to forestall her. "No...I will do that."

Blushing, Hermione was pleased he wanted to be an active participant in undressing her. Waiting while he removed his socks as well, she watched him stand once more, this time unfastening his trousers. He hesitated, then turned his back to her before dropping them. The subtlety told her that he, too, was just a little apprehensive about this moment between them. Gathering her courage, Hermione lifted her hands to the muscles of his back as he stepped out of the garment. He stilled, then breathed deeply, let it out, and leaned into her hands just a little bit, accepting her touch.

Somehow, she had expected scars on his back. Physical marks to match the dangers of his long decades as a spy. But Hermione could neither see nor feel any as she smoothed her fingers over his spine and out across his shoulderblades. There wasn't much in the way of spare flesh on his body; the war had no doubt been the greatest, stress-inducing factor in keeping him lean. Stepping closer, she slipped her palms around his ribs, her fingers sliding along the grooves formed by bone and muscle. His hands covered hers as she wrapped her arms around him, his breath hitching as her satin-clad breasts pressed into his back.

He was warm, despite the cool air of his...of their bedchamber. It was as much her quarters now as his. Pulling back, Hermione found her wand and aimed it at the hearth on the inner wall, across from the curtained windows. Stoking the fire, she started to turn back to her husband, only to feel his own hands sliding down her back, then around the narrow dip of her waist to her stomach. Hermione found herself drawn back against the warmth of his chest...and the lump of his loins.

"Do not take this the wrong way, wife, but...I find that I am not all that eager to become a father right away. Later, perhaps," Severus murmured, resting his chin on top of her upswept hair. "But not immediately, and not for at least a couple of years, if it can be prevented. And certainly not while you are still enrolled as a student in this school."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "Thank goodness." At his start of surprise, she twisted her head, looking up and back at him. "Did you really think I'd want to turn myself into Mrs. Weasley?"

There wasn't anything he could safely reply to that, so he merely shrugged.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I studied the law while I was looking up information for that contestation hearing; we do have to engage in twice-weekly procreative encounters, which means no taking preventative measures before we copulate...but there's nothing in the law against taking the Morning After Potion. It's those who don't want to stay married that will have to comply with the three-offspring clause right away, because they're the ones that will want to hurry through their obligations. The rest of us can take our time about starting a family, so long as we start one before the first twelve years are up."

A soft sound escaped him; it could've been a laugh, but she wasn't facing the right way to see if it was one for certain. "We think alike, then. I came to the same conclusion with my own research, and brewed some in anticipation. The bottle is on the bedside, along with a pain-suppressant for your first time."

She smiled at his thoughtfulness, turning in his arms. That brushed her breasts against his chest. His dark eyes glittered down at her. "That's what I like about you, Severus Snape. I doubt I'd ever have to nag you about being prepared in advance for something."

"I think you will find, Madame Snape, that I am far superior to the other males of your acquaintance."

"Superior?" she repeated, arching one of her brows in mock-skepticism.

"In every way," he confirmed quietly, arrogantly. Closing the distance between their mouths, he kissed her. This time, the parting of their lips was deliberate on both sides. In this, Hermione did have some experience, thanks to her snogging sessions with Ron, before she'd decided they were just too different to date. She'd put-off the youngest male Weasley with the admittedly truthful statement that the end of the war was too important to be distracted by hormones, and then afterwards by acting obsessed with studying for their N.E.W.T.s...which was true enough that Ron had complained but let it pass, allowing her to break things off during the school year. Still, she had learned one or two things from the redhead that she was willing to share with the sable-haired man in her arms now.

Severus knew a few things about kissing, too. And about maneuvering two snogging bodies onto a bed without his partner noticing any pesky, overly-long interruptions. He wasn't too bad at unfastening the hooks of a bra one-handed, either. Those teeth of his, crooked and tea-stained, felt a little sharp as he suckled her curves, but a murmured protest from her gentled his technique readily enough. In fact, when she moaned her appreciation of the way he flicked the beaded tip of one nipple with his tongue, he increased that particular attack without instruction, and applied it to her other breast as well when he moved in that direction.

A stray thought made her roll her eyes mid-pleasure: Ron would've required brow-beating to change his technique that quickly. Fingers tangled in her husband's hair, Hermione dismissed all further thoughts of her friend. The Marriage Act had delivered to her the better choice of groom and she certainly wasn't about to quibble over her fate. Not unless he did something to displease her. Severus Snape wasn't that stupid, however; the law put her firmly in control of their marriage, and he was more than Slytherin enough to know that a pleased wife was a pliable wife.

Pliable enough that, when he teased her pubic mound through the material of her knickers, it was she who impatiently pushed off the last scraps of her clothing. Then scrambled off the bed in embarrassment. When he frowed at her, confused, she cleared her throat, trying to resist the urge to cover her naked self. "Um...lavatory?"

Smirking, he pointed at a door behind her. Retreating, Hermione took care of the call of nature that had risen when she had contorted herself in order to remove her undergarments. Finding a washcloth, she dampened it at the sink and cleaned herself, worried about any unpleasant smells. She couldn't delay too long, though, and opened the door with mustered bravery.

He was lounging right outside, leaning against the book-stacked bureau by the door. That startled her, but rather than pull her close, he waited for her to pass, then slipped inside the bathroom himself. Hermione debated for a moment, then decided to array herself on the bed...their bed...to await his return. Nervousness over what was to come had her reaching for the bottles on the nightstand. They were carefully labelled in his narrow but neat penmanship. Uncorking the pain potion, she used the spoon he had provided to give herself a dose. To her surprise, it tasted sweeter than expected, like a slightly tart cherry-ice.

The door opened as she licked the syrupy potion from the spoon. He had removed his underpants while in the bathroom. Seeing him naked startled her; there was a thin patch of dark chest hairs between his nipples and underneath his arms, but down at his groin, it was very thick. Short, but thick. His shaft, half-erect and bobbing in front of him as he approached the bed, was at most the length of her hand, average in length, but it was thicker than she expected. Hermione had researched anatomy...and not entirely from a scholastic need...and his was definitely thicker than average.

Hesitating, eyes riveted to the cowled head of his penis, she made up her mind and reached for the pain-killer again, measuring out another half-dose of the potion. He smirked as she did so, in a sort of superior-male way, and took the spoon from her as soon as she had finished swallowing the second spoonful. Popping it into his own mouth, he sucked the last of the coating from the utensil, then tossed it onto the nightstand and leaned in for a cherry-flavoured kiss.

Hermione found herself on her back once again, shivering with enjoyment as their bodies brushed and pressed together. Caressing what she could reach of his chest and back, she found herself edging closer and closer to his hips, until she caressed one buttock. Taking his soft moan for encouragement, she explored and kneaded that side of his body, then trailed her fingers bravely around to his front. Severus eased away from her, allowing room for her to tentatively caress his shaft. As if knowing she needed time to adjust herself to his body, he eased onto his back, letting her explore the way his foreskin slipped over the mushroom-pointed tip, revealing and concealing his masculinity in a fascinating way.

His hand covered hers after a while, showing her that she could grip him a lot more firmly than with just her fingertips. Silently, he showed her the motions he liked when caressing himself, guiding her palm up and down. Shortly after she got the hang of it, however, he pulled her hand away and reversed their positions, nuzzling her breasts once more. This time, when his fingers teased along her pubic mound, there was nothing to dull the ticklish stimulation. Nothing to prevent him from gliding through the seam of her flesh, which she aided by parting her thighs when his thumbs coaxed them wider with little caresses.

When he petted her clitoris, Hermione enjoyed it for a little while, but his technique, while nice enough, just wasn't enough. Taking courage from the way he had boldly showed her what he liked, Hermione covered his hand with her own and showed him the swirling, flicking pressure she preferred. The feeling of their fingers working in concert and counterpoint roused her passion quickly; she found herself gasping within a few minutes, straining into their combined touch.

His hand slipped lower, one of his long, thin fingers easing up into her body. He added a second finger as she rocked into the first. Hermione felt her opening being stretched, but it wasn't actually painful. Grateful for the potion he thoughtfully had provided, she used her free hand to pull him into a kiss. But when his fingers twisted forward and rubbed against something inside of her, she pulled back in dismay.

"Um...I have to, you know...that's making me need the lavatory again," she muttered, embarrassed. Severus responded by rolling further onto her, pinning her legs in place as he massaged that spot a little firmer. Squirming, Hermione pushed at his chest. "No, seriously, I need to get up..."

"Relax," her former teacher ordered her. "You don't need to go. Trust me."

Hesitating, she squirmed a little as she debated whether or not she could. Which made her think it was a silly question. I trusted him when it was revealed he was still on our side, that Dumbledore's death was merely a highly complicated ruse. I certainly trusted him with my life in the final confrontation, too...

"Trust me," he crooned softly in her ear, massaging in ennervating little circles. "You will love this, I promise you. Just trust in me...trust me. Hermione..."

"I do," Hermione whispered back, and found her muscles relaxing with all the smoothness of a rowboat launched onto the surface of a calm, quiet lake. The urge to urinate increased sharply, but she ignored the threat of hygienic embarrassment. If he made her pee, it would be his own fault.

He buried his face against the side of her neck, licking her skin as the fingers inside of her rubbed just a little bit faster...

Pleasure exploded through her body, twisting her muscles with fireworks that colored her vision behind her tightly closed eyes. She cried out loudly as her body bucked; it would have startled her, if she'd had more than a vague notion of shouting and crying as he clung to her, massaging that glorious spot throughout her gyrations. But her climax overwhelmed her. Dazed, she didn't register when she started to come down again. Nor did she quite notice when he shifted her thighs further apart and settled himself between them. Vaguely, she noted the way he coated himself with the copious fluid that had literally squirted from her vagina...and thankfully nowhere else...and she felt the stretching and tearing of her hymen as a sort of negligible pinch-feeling, but the rest of her was too sated in lassitude and lingering bliss to care.

Lifting one of her legs, he managed to find the right angle to rub his shaft against that thing inside of her again, brushing against it as he pumped into her. Hermione shouted again, arching her back. He groaned and thrust harder, making her lift her other knee to stabilize the small of her back. The position quickly triggered another unbelievable orgasm. Clawing at his chest, she thrashed, gasping for air in the rhythmic breaks between her cries of pleasure. He cried out, too, shuddering and pressing deep into her in a warm wave of liquid heat, curling around her as his thrusting gradually slowed.

Entangling her like a sort of benign Devil's Snare plant, Severus slumped over her, breathing heavily. He wasn't nearly as heavy as she expected him to be; somehow, he had managed to brace at least half his weight on his elbows and knees. It was a courtesy she hadn't anticipated, but definitely appreciated. Then again, she hadn't anticipated the way he had wrapped himself around her, either. Cuddling her, in a way.

If anyone would've told her Severus Snape was a cuddler...and a good one at that...she would've laughed in the poor person's face, then called for Madam Pomfrey to haul them off to St. Mungo's...

Their heavy breathing slowed and their racing heartbeats steadied as they rested together, cocooned in the scents of musk and sweat. Finally, he shifted onto his side with a groan, untangling their legs but pulling her against him with his arms as he rolled onto his back. Hermione flushed in embarrassment; her thighs were embarrassingly damp, as was the patch of bedding underneath her.

"Um...I'm really, really sorry about that," she apologized, flushing hard with embarrassment.

"About what?" Severus asked her, tracing his fingers over her sweat-damp back.

"...Peeing on the bed," she muttered, pressing her burning cheek to his upper chest, letting her curls hide her face.

He laughed, surprising her. It wasn't a cruel laugh, either. "That was feminine ejaculate, not urine, Madam Snape. You just experienced what is known in the vernacular as a 'shooter' orgasm."

"Well, don't you sound rather pleased with yourself," Hermione muttered, embarrassed for not having known.

"Mmm," he agreed lazily. "As I said, I am vastly superior to any other males of your acquaintance."

That, she couldn't let pass unchallenged. Snorting, Hermione lifted her head enough to look him in the eye and state boldly, "I'll reserve judgement, if you don't mind. At least until you've proved you can do it again. It might've been a lucky one-off, after all."

The shock in his dark gaze was priceless. Biting her lip to stifle a laugh, Hermione rolled free and reached for the second bottle. He rolled after her, catching her wrist before she reached her target. "Oh, no, wife...you have challenged me to give you more pleasure."

"But shouldn't I take some Morning After Potion?" Hermione asked as he kissed her just behind her ear, making her shiver.

"It is not yet morning," he reminded her, licking the outer curve of her ear, his breath warming her skin. "And you can only take one dose every twenty-four hours, though it will still be efficacious no matter how many times we enjoy ourselves between applications, so long as it is taken no more than twenty-four hours after our first encounter." A strain of his head allowed him to catch the time. "As it is now...eleven-fourteen...we have plenty of time before the first dose must absolutely be taken."

"Oh. Right." Hermione focused through the way he was fondling her breast and nibbling on her ear. "Well, you still owe me a sensual foot-rub, so I suppose we could start with that..."

A smug masculine smile proved that he agreed with her.

III.

Though normally it was against school policy to allow breakfast to be served in bed, whether it was the bed of a student, or that of a teacher...the house-elves woke the pair of them late the next morning by popping into the room with soft bangs that had both Severus and Hermione jerking awake and scrabbling for their wands. Luckily, they both realized what their targets were, and refrained from injuring the unsuspecting creatures.

Hermione, clutching the bedding to her breasts, watched as the two house-elves trotted up to each side of the bed, a leg-bearing tea-tray hoisted over their heads. Scooting awkwardly back, she let the tea-towel clad house-elf on her side settle the tray over her lap, before it bowed and vanished with another quiet pop. A glance to her side showed Severus being given the same treatment...and that the clock on the nightstand beyond him was showing the time, that it was well past the usual breakfast hour. She blushed, remembering why they had been up so late, to have slept in for so long afterwards.

Aware of the young woman beside him, Severus didn't bother to greet her until he had inhaled the steam from his milk-laced coffee cup, and downed at least half of the cup's contents. Once the caffeine hit his blood, he felt marginally more charitable towards the world. Of course, he had awakened feeling remarkably charitable towards his wife, to the point where his morning erection interfered somewhat with the tea-tray. Annoying little pointy-eared idiots, interrupting what could've been an even better way to jump-sart his day than the usual bliss of that first mug of coffee.

Setting the half-emptied cup down, Severus licks his lips, then leaned over, careful to not disturb the tray. She turned to look at him, lifting her face up to his just in time for his mouth to meet hers. He tasted of his coffee. She tasted of her cream-cheese-and-pear pastry. It was a surprisingly good combination.

When he pulled back, she smiled shyly at him. This marriage business wasn't too bad, so far. "Good morning, Severus."

"Mm. We'll see. Eat your breakfast," he directed her. "I would rather no one accused me of starving you to death because I was too busy having my wicked way with you."

That made her laugh, strangely enough. "And who is to say I wouldn't have my own wicked way with you?"

He snorted. "As if anyone would believe someone as innocent-seeming as you. Eat."

"Only if you do, too." She stated that firmly, wanting to remind him that this was supposed to be a marriage of equals, not of him bossing her around. Or of her bossing him around, although legally she could do that. Hermione didn't want to, however. She wanted equality. Although...he did have such a masterful air about him at times...and his voice in the depths of his pleasure was just as impassioned as when he was snarling at someone in his classes... The idea of him giving her an highly irregular sort of detention was rather exciting. "Damn."

"What?" Severus asked, glancing sideways at her while cutting into his fried tomato and over-easy egg on toast.

Blushing, Hermione made herself answer bluntly. "I was just thinking, I can't get detention from you anymore, because I'm not in your class. Now that we're husband and wife, it could've been rather...exciting."

Severus froze, his forkful of food inches from his mouth. Detention. With his wife. At his authoritarian mercy. Reminding himself that breathing was a good thing, he glanced at her again. "I think a detention could be arranged anyway, for such impertinence on your behalf. A detention with a bit of Chapter 17."

"Chapter 17?" Hermione asked quizzically, trying to remember which one that was. He pointed, and she craned her head. Finding the book on the nightstand at her side of the bed, she picked it up and flipped through the pages. A blush stained her cheeks. "...Spanking? I was thinking of fellatio!"

"Mm, well, that would put a stopper in your know-it-all mouth rather nicely."

Still a little shocked by his suggestion, Hermione thumped the book on the bed between them, stabbing at her own breakfast. "Be advised, husband, that anything you plan to do to me, I will be very interested in doing right back to you. So if you want to spank me...!"

She let the words hang between them in an unspoken threat, cutting into her fried tomato.

"...That could be arranged, too."

Wide brown eyes lifted and peered at amused black ones. He even dared to smirk. Deciding she was not going to be bluffed, Hermione picked up her mug of pumpkin juice. "Well. I guess I know how to keep you in line, then."

A loud guffaw from her husband surprised her; she hadn't expected that the normally dour man at her side was capable of such hearty laughter.

It wasn't until she was finished with her breakfast that Hermione opened her mail. One was a letter from an overseas cousin. The other was from St. Mungo's.

'Dear Ms. Granger, or should I say, Mrs. Snape;

Judeth Everleigh, Healer General.'

"Dammit!"

Hermione glanced over at her husband, wondering for one moment if he'd seen her letter. She had planned on making an offer for his hand after leaving the school, figuring that no one would dare think of asking for the snarky man sitting beside her in their marital bed...but that toad-faced witch, Umbridge, had hastened her scheme. Thank goodness the Headmaster had intervened! Between the two of them, she had long ago figured that they would raise utterly brilliant children. With potentially bad hair and teeth, but there were plenty of Muggle and magical ways of fixing such things. One couldn't, however, cure an inherited lack of intelligence.

Certainly the thought of raising a clutch of Weasley progeny had her shuddering in fear that they'd end up with Ron's studying habits.

Settling a concerned look on her face, she asked him earnestly, "What's wrong?"

"I did some research for the Ministry on the problems the Death Eaters were having with their Pureblood inbreeding schemes in the decades between the two wars...and now they have the gall to thank me for it, and to congratulate me on our wedding!" He flicked his letter at her. It said something similar, though it was from Priscilla Philliston, Chief Witch of the Wizengamot.

Hermione allowed herself a smirk, but only a tiny one. She passed him her letter, boldly letting him read it...since it could be interpreted in the same vein. "Then we're in the same predicament. We each assisted ourselves into this marriage."

"At least you saved me from that amphibious cow," Severus muttered, leaning in to kiss his wife. He paused an inch from her lips, a frown creasing his brow. Slytherin braincells, honed to needle-sharpness through his years as a spy, mulled over her 'contribution' to the Ministry's newest law. "...You deliberately encouraged them towards this insane Marriage-Act decision, didn't you?"

Of all the many things that she was, Hermione Snape was not an idiot. It was clear to her that she had better confess, or regret it for a very long time. Giving him an arch look, she shrugged. "Of course. There's no denying the research. As much as I love the Weasleys, you only have to look at them to see how they'll inbreed themselves into utter stupidity in two to three more generations. The Goyles and the Crabbes are even 'purer' than the Malfoys, yet they barely have three braincells to rub together between them...and let's not even touch the congenital defects clearly inherent within Bellatrix Lestrange and her cousin, Sirius Black."

Severus withdrew slightly from his intimidating pose, bemused. "You say that as if you didn't admire Black."

"Of course not," she stated firmly. "Not after I got to know him, stuck at his house the summer before my fifth year. He was an immature arse. I knew I couldn't convince Ron of it, so I gave up after Harry arrived and proved he still thought the man hung the bloody moon, rather than should be hung from it...I'm honestly surprised he didn't try to make a pass at me!"

Staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, Severus dared to ask, "And your opinion of myself?"

Since she was already in for a penny, Hermione thought she might as well toss in the rest of the pound. "A bully who needs to be turned over his wife's knee and thrashed soundly in punishment for all of his classroom cruelties and bullyings throughout the years...and then made love to until he weeps from it, as a form of positive reinforcement that he, or should I say, that you can still be as strict as Professor McGonagall is, without having to act like an utter arse...once you agree to change your wicked ways, of course."

Rather than scowling, he smirked at her. "You forget, my dear wife, that I would have to first display to you just how wicked I can be. Starting with Chapter 17, and working our way through Chapter 26, I think." Leaning back, he fetched his wand from the nightstand on his side of the bed, and flicked the trays off of their laps, sending them onto the top of his bureau. "Professor Sinistra is watching my House this week, freeing me from my duties. Neither of us have any appointments, nor expectations of visitors. We don't even have to leave our chambers. That gives me six more days to prove to you just how wicked I can be...without any interruptions."

Oh, he was a smart one, she had to grant him that. "Only on odd-numbered days. Even-numbered days, I get to be in-charge." At the quirk of his black brow, she lifted her chin, adding daringly, "...Or do I have to put you on a very strict allowance, with barely enough pin-money to buy yourself a single book a month?"

For a moment, she thought she had pushed him too far. Looming over her, making her shrink downward on the bed involuntarily, Severus addressed her impertinence with a soft, heated growl. "Remind me to inflict several paper-cuts on your you-know-what, should you think to try. You may bind me, you may spank me, you may tease me with your luscious body until I scream with frustration, but you will not cut me off from my books!"

She giggled. Hermione couldn't help it. She covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late. At the pained roll of his eyes, she reached up and caressed his cheek. "This is why I wanted to snare you, Severus. I knew you'd be a perfect match for me. I was going to wait until I had left the school first, of course, but I knew you would be perfect for me."

Leaning back just a little, he gave her a sardonic, mildly exasperated look. "...Must you always be right?"

Daringly, she looped her arms around his shoulders, bringing him back down into range for a kiss. "Of course. I am a know-it-all!"

It was interesting, kissing a man as he laughed ruefully, helplessly.

...

Three months later, Hermione Snape was the talk of the whole school, after having visited Madam Pomfrey.

The school nurse simply couldn't stop herself from gossiping about the girl's condition to Madam Hooch, who was in the infirmary to have a splinter from one of the school brooms removed from her hand. Within the hour, the Quidditch Coach slipped the information to the Ravenclaw Beater, Alice Hooch, who just happened to be her niece. Alicia Hooch quickly proceeded to tell several of her friends. Within two more hours, the rumors had reached Gryffindor Tower.

It was Ginny Weasley, however, who gathered the courage to confront their friend on the stairs between classes.

"...Is it true?" she asked Hermione breathlessly.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "...Is what true?"

Taking a gulp of air, Ginny forged ahead with the bravery and boldness of a Sorted Gryffindor. "...Do you really have paper-cuts on your...you know... Your you-know-what?"

Only the propitious shifting of a stairwell between them as Hermione chased the other girl halfway back to Gryffindor Tower kept Ginevra Weasley from being seriously harmed.

Fin