Chapter 3: Growing

Christmas joys for my beta, LariLee, and my Brit-Picker, MagicAlly.

I own nothing. Jo owns everything. For reasons I do not understand but heartily appreciate, she lets me play with her toys, providing I clean up behind myself. Happy Christmas, Jo!

The Christmas Rose

Chapter 3: Growing

Five Weeks Before Christmas

The blazing logs burned in the fireplace, and the Snapes basked before it in silence. Severus sat in the ingenious contraption known as a "recliner," which Hermione had Transfigured for them from one of his old wingback chairs. The seat of the recliner was certainly large enough for them to easily sit side by side. For some reason, however, Hermione preferred to sit in his lap, her cheek pressed to his chest, just above his heart. Severus held her securely to him, one arm firmly about her waist, whilst the other stroked slowly and sensually up and down her back. One of her hands clutched a fold of his white linen shirt; the other grasped and released the fine strands of his black hair, letting the strands run through her fingers, then grasping and releasing again. Her eyes were closed, an expression of bliss upon her face, lit golden by the firelight. His eyes were open, watching the fiery light as it moved over her features, accenting her cheeks, with her mouth in shadows, then shifting, so that one shell-like ear was glowing and the rest of her face indistinct.

In the week since the successful brewing of the infusion of hellebore, they had been virtually inseparable. The breach in their relationship had frightened them both into rethinking some of their personal positions on different topics. Hermione came to see that Severus needed her in a manner she had never permitted herself to know. In some ways, it made him seem less omnipotent to her, for it demonstrated a neediness he had never been able to communicate to her verbally. In other ways, it made her surer of him, to know that he required her presence in his life every bit as much as she required him in hers. Severus came to see that Hermione did not view her work as an escape from him or from their home; rather that it engaged her intellectually and stimulated her voracious mind sufficiently, which was as much a necessity to her as breathing. Finding that their separation had rendered her as unhappy and physically unwell as it had him made him feel more secure in her, to know that she could no more walk away from him without tearing herself asunder than he could contemplate a life without her in it.

Arriving in their home directly after the infusion was brewed, they had tumbled into their bed, both exhausted to the very marrow of their bones. Fully dressed, they had lain face to face, indulging themselves in touches and kisses that owed more to relief than to passion. They had fallen asleep in one another's arms, each clinging to the other as to flotsam in a flood. When at last they woke, Severus had insisted upon ordering food from the Hogwarts kitchens and feeding her with his own hands as he also fed himself, before he would permit an in-depth discussion of their separation. He had received her apology for walking out on him with a wordless kiss to her forehead, almost like a benediction. She had received his apology for his jealousy and his unkind words with amazement and a heart full of gratitude. Had she been asked what she thought was fair versus what she expected, she would have willingly admitted that she did not believe him capable of the kind of admission of fault which he delivered to her, though she certainly felt she was owed it. That he followed his words by carrying her to their bed and making earth-shattering love to her was much easier to believe. She wondered if he were aware how much more intimately they were bound now, by their joint confessions of wrong, or of how the amends they made to one another, in bed and out, over the next several days, smacked very much of atonement.

On a more fundamental level beyond thought or reason, they were simply enthralled in much the way they had been in the very beginning of their love. They parted to do their work each day but came back together in the late afternoons as if they had been apart for a matter of days rather than a matter of hours. If they made love less often than they had in the first frantic weeks of the Enchantment, they certainly spent more time wrapped in the solitude of one another's eyes, thoughts, and arms.

Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head back to gaze at her husband's face in the glow of the hearth's illumination. His lips, in repose, were fuller, more kissable than she had ever seen them. The scowl was gone from his face, smoothing out lines of care, though the crease directly between his eyebrows remained. The inky depths of his black eyes when she met them seemed to capture her and hold her there, safe and imperilled in the same moment. Willingly, Hermione arched her neck, giving herself over once again to the jeopardy of surrender to Severus Snape.

Severus drank in the sight of his wife's half-lidded eyes as she moved them slowly over his face in the glimmering firelight. The scrutiny which he had never been able to abide in his life as the ugly, greasy git, he relished in his new incarnation, as the wizard in possession of the most alluring witch alive. When she met his eyes, he gently pushed into her mind, willing her to allow herself to give over completely to the passion slowly and inexorably building between them. He felt the moment when she yielded herself to his will. When she offered her throat to him, he dipped his head to lave, then suckle that spot where her artery pulsed the blood from her fierce heart, to her fervid mind, and to points beyond, encompassing the legs which would wrap themselves about his hips, and the cradle of her womanhood, which would rise up to meet him, and meet him again.

Thus engaged, it was not until Quirk cleared his throat the second time that his master or mistress paid the least heed to him.

Severus did not raise his head, but rather spoke to the house-elf with his lips yet against Hermione's soft skin.

"Is the castle on fire?" he asked.

"No, Master, but..."

"Are you bleeding, Quirk?"

"No, Quirk is not bleeding, but ..."

"Then go away," Severus said, now applying teeth to the spot which had been licked and sucked.

Hermione struggled in his arms and he released her so that she could sit up.

Twining her fingers in Severus' hair, to let him know she had not lost their place, she spoke kindly to Quirk.

Quirk wrung his hands. "Quirk is sorry to be bothering Master and Mistress," he began, "but there is something being wrong with the kitty babies."

Severus actually looked over at the elf, at this pronouncement. "Are they ill?" he demanded.

"Well, one of the kitties may be having a fever," he allowed conscientiously.

"Then, what?" Severus growled.

"One of the kitties is too high for Quirk or the mommy-kitty to reach it. One of the kitties is being good. And two of the kitties Quirk cannot find."

Hermione surged to her feet. "You've lost two of the kittens?" she said.

"Quirk has not lost the kitties – Quirk cannot SEE the kitties."

Severus, now with an empty lap, pinched the bridge of his nose, as Quirk said, "But the kitties is always back when it is time to eat. Only, mommy-kitty isn't happy with the way the babies is being and Quirk does not know what to do!"

Hermione started towards the study. "So only three of the kittens are in the study now?"

Quirk followed behind her. "Quirk is only seeing three of the kitty-babies, Mistress."

Hermione said calmly, "You know, Quirk, baby kittens are so little they can get themselves into very small hiding places."

"Quirk can hear the kitty babies talking – he just can't see where they are," he lamented, following Mistress into the study.

Hermione looked about the study carefully; other than seeing Crookshanks, ensconced in the desk chair, flicking his tail with some annoyance, nothing appeared to be out of place. She knelt on the floor and peered into the nest.

"All five of the kittens are here, Quirk," she said gently.

Quirk looked over her shoulder. "See, Mistress? The kitties is eating now, they always come to eat."

"Which one has the fever?" she asked, her hand hovering over the nest.

Quirk squeezed under the desk and scooped out the protesting kitten which was a fair match to its father with its long orange fur. "This kitty is being hotter, Mistress."

Hermione took the tiny tomcat into her hands. He seemed to be no more or less warm than he ought to be. "The kitty seems fine to me, Quirk. I don't think he has a fever."

Hermione moved Crookshanks and sat in the chair near Quirk.

"Quirk, the kitties are getting bigger now, and it is natural for them to move around more and get into more mischief – they are just kitties, being kitties. Now, if something is truly wrong, I want you to come tell me straight away. But it is not a good idea for you to be disturbing Master unnecessarily. Master is a little grumpy right now and it is best not to bother him unless you really need to."

Quirk hung his head. "Yes, Mistress. Quirk will remember that the baby kitties are getting bigger, and Quirk will not worry."

With a gentle pat on his little elf head, Hermione left the study, closing the door behind her.

Severus was standing before the fire when she came back to him and wrapped her arms about his waist, resting her head where she could listen to his heartbeat.

"Well?" he asked, the rumble of his basso profundo vibrating against her listening ear.

"The kittens are fine – but I'm a little worried about Quirk. Do you think he's over-stressed?"

Severus moved out of the circle of her arms, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. "How the hell would I know? But if he is, we'll take them all to the animal Healer next week."

"Severus!" she protested. "That's not funny."

"Funny be damned," he responded, closing the bedroom door with finality.