D-Day, H-Hour, G-Point

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

My beta rocks! Thanks, Dacian Goddess!

Who could believe that my minuscule flat contained that many things? I consider the question while I contemplate the stack of cardboard boxes lying in front of me. And what about the furniture? I love magic; it can make everything smaller and lighter with a wave of a wand. I spent all of Thursday commuting between my future-ex-flat and Spinner's End, the keys to which Severus sent me by owl yesterday. I'd have liked to have finished before five p.m., but I wasn't that lucky; I had too many things to move. He comes back home at five thirty, just as I've put my computer in the room that is destined to be my office.

"Good day, Hermione. I'm glad to see you already feel at home."

"Think nothing of it, Severus. After all, this will be my home."

He only nods while a light smile hovers on his lips.

"I gave my new address to all my acquaintances. Don't be surprised if, one day, my aunt Maddie knocks at the door. She's used to visit people without warning."

His smirk tells me that he understands my tactic and that he won't let me get off the hook that easily.

"I don't see a problem with that. Your family will be mine as well in less than two days. I'll show her the Snape definition of the word 'hospitality'."

Stealthily, he comes and stands between me and my way out. I can't let him corner me.

"This is all very good, but it's time for me to go back home. I've been very busy all day, and now, I'm exhausted."

I try to get round him, but he takes advantage of my manoeuvre to catch my forearm and draw me to him.

"Is this a way to say 'good-bye' to one's fiancé?"

I feel like someone who witnesses an accident and who stays rooted on the spot, not being able to react; I can see his face coming near mine, and before I can think, Oh, his lips cover mine. His other hand grips my other arm, and I can't move anymore.

His kiss is light, made of small strokes, and lasting. If I didn't know it was Snape kissing me, I would have qualified it as "tender". Little by little, in spite of myself, I relax. He can feel it and takes advantage of it by encircling me with his arms. One of his hands slides to the nape of my neck to hold my head in place while the other takes possession of the small of my back. He kisses me harder, with more insistence, and his tongue joins his lips in their assault on my mouth. Taken aback by the sensations that he creates in me with his kiss and with the little, barely perceptible circles his hands draw on my body, I let myself go against him and open my mouth completely. My hands grip his waist, my tongue welcomes his, and before long, I moan. He withdraws from my embrace at that moment and looks me up and down; he is smugness incarnate. He's just proven to me that I'll be powerless to prevent the consummation of our wedding. I'm appalled by this revelation upon myself, and I flee. I can hear him shouting at my retreating back, "Good night, Hermione, and sweet dreams."

What a week! The Weasley twins seem to have given me more work than usual. I suspect them to be trying to punish me for taking pure and sweet Hermione as a spouse. It's their brother's fault; it was he who let her go. I've retaliated by asking them to be my best men, which they couldn't refuse; it would have been too rude, and I asked them in front of three customers. That should prevent them from playing a dirty trick on me. It wouldn't do for their public image if they were to ruin a wedding where they were best men.

My fiancée...I use the word as much as possible, for soon, I will have to say "my wife", and that word doesn't have the same ring of freedom...asked me for money for a little reception after the wedding. I hope she does not intend to organise a feast; I won't stand the company of cretins for a long time. I send her what she asks, but I remind her in my letter back to her that she wouldn't want to be the cause for several accidents. Actually, I don't want to go back to Azkaban and to its guardians just because my self-control will have slipped. I can be charitable on occasion: there's no use in giving those nice workers in the North Sea more work than they already have.

I chose our rings at the beginning of the week. I didn't have the opportunity to show them to Hermione when she came by yesterday, but I've given her food for thoughts. Come to think of it, she didn't tell me who would stand for her. I'll find out tomorrow. There's no need to mull over it until then.

D-Day, H-Hour minus a half hour. I am in the Hall of Ceremony at the Ministry, already settled at my place. The only other person present is the employee of the registry office, but he's engrossed in last minute verifications and other preparations. I've taken a book to kill time while waiting for the wedding party to arrive, but in the end, I'd rather observe the accommodations. To my own satisfaction, I notice that there aren't any bouquets, garlands or embellishments. This isn't a wedding for love; there's absolutely no need to do too much. The chairs are arranged as they should be, behind those destined for the bride and groom. I can hear noise coming from the corridor. The first guests are arriving.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks enter the hall. They nearly turn around when they see me alone, but decide against it and take place somewhere on the bride's side of the room. They shouldn't have worried. I was decided to ignore them if they afforded me the same courtesy.

A short time after, a whole load of Weasleys arrives. Two red and one dark heads leave the lot behind them. Fred and George Weasley take a seat directly behind me. The dark head...it belongs to Potter...takes place behind Hermione's chair. I should have guessed. Strangely, I'm not affected that she's chosen him to stand with her. Anyway, I will make sure that she limits her interactions with him to the minimum in the future. I spare a glance for the other Weasleys. They all look alike, but I can tell my promised's ex-boyfriend is missing. A pity; I would have liked to twist the knife in his wound so much.

At last, Hagrid and Hermione's parents arrive at the same time. The Grangers goggle at the half-giant nervously, which makes me smile; the bloke wouldn't hurt a fly. They finally sit down.

The atmosphere is charged with the hostility emanating from the guests and with their frustration at not being able to act upon said hostility. I feel like laughing, but I doubt that all these people would share my sense of humour.

At last, Hermione comes in. She has chosen to come to me alone. I don't know if her gesture denotes distrust or autonomy, or both. Why is she so difficult? I change my mind as soon as I notice the disapprobation taking hold of the faces in the Weasley clan, especially on Molly's face. My mind is very flexible, isn't it?

The ceremony itself is short, barely lasting twenty minutes. We exchange our vows of fidelity, love, mutual care, etc. I hardly listen, to be honest. I utter the expected words in-between thinking about a variant of Polyjuice, which should allow transforming only one body part of the drinker. The face, for example, or the hands, or another part. It'd be very profitable, and now that I earn a commission of the sales....

"And now, Mister Snape, you can kiss Mrs Snape!"

"Madam Granger! I intend to keep my maiden name."

My sweet bride's voice brings me back to reality. My parents-in-law swell with conceit at their daughter's feminist expression, and the assembly agrees wholeheartedly with her. Hypocrites!

"I don't have an objection to that," I add.

Our living together will be difficult enough without debating about last names. After all, it doesn't count that much. Only power is important.

The feeling of hostility against me grows and reaches an alarming level. I won't let them get the better of me, and I'm determined to show them the kiss of the century. Hermione's complexion swings from disgusted-green to desiring-red. It's up to me to make sure that the desiring-red wins. I draw her gently toward me and take her into my arms her before she can step back. She looks mesmerised, unmoving, with her eyes staring at my mouth. I take possession of her lips. I don't need to incite her to open her mouth and soon, our tongues caress each other. It's not a gentle kiss, but... hmm... I put an end to the kiss of the century before I am responsible for my own public embarrassment. Ah, desiring-red has won, and her eyes have darkened. The extorted kiss of Thursday evening has not been in vain.

I turn my head and watch her guests. They all sport a becoming redness on their faces, but in their case, it's caused by anger and astonishment, except for Fred Weasley. He's probably thinking that he should have taken the YLC tests and tried his luck with Hermione. Too late; she's my wife now. I take her arm and lead her to the buffet I noticed at the back of the hall upon arriving. I'm relieved to see that she didn't go for the grand scale, just some Champagne and three trays of buns. A few waves of her wand and the bottles are opened; they pour their contents into the flutes. For the rest, the guests can help themselves. However, I must undergo fake congratulations. Potter hands Hermione an envelope. "You know what it is," he says to her. I'll get the truth of the matter later. Conversations are awkward and sparse, and most of them are about the weather or the perfect way the ceremony went. Less than a half hour later, there's only my wife and I left.

"It's time to go home, Hermione."

She's apprehensive and fiddles with the fabric of her dress.

"Calm yourself, please. You have no reason to fear."

My voice is soft, seductive. She lets me see her fear. She gives me power over her. That's the best aphrodisiac.

We leave the Ministry and Apparate directly into Spinner's End. I avoid the awkward moment when no one knows what to say or where to look by proposing that I prepare a light lunch. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a surprised "O", which satisfies me greatly. She hasn't understood yet that this kind of gesture is part of my manipulation. As long as that cursed decree isn't revoked, I need a wife in my life. My goal is to make the idea of staying with me very appealing to her until I don't need her anymore.

"It was very good. I didn't know that you could cook, at least, not that well," she mumbles.

"What did you believe? Do you know how to cook?"

She blushes.

"A little."

"You mean you know how to open a tin and warm its contents."

Her embarrassment is the only answer that I need.

"Come. It's time now. I need to go out at the end of the afternoon, so let's put that out of the way now."

"Put what out of the way?" she screeches.

My eyes sweep her body from head to toe without haste to get the message across. She seems ready to flee, and I feel justified to grab her wrist and drag her to our bedroom upstairs. I throw a few comforting words at her above my shoulder.

"It's said that the first time is the more difficult."

"I'm not a virgin!" she protests indignantly.

"I'm not speaking of that particular first time, but of our first time together."

We arrive in the bedroom as I'm saying that sentence. I close the door with a spell of my own invention, one that isn't in the book Potter put his hands on...nor in any other book, by the way.

I don't waste time and kiss her immediately. I hope that the way she reacted to our two precedent kisses overrules any other reaction and makes her cooperative.

I must believe that I'll never understand women. My own wife is giving me a hard time. Instead of relaxing and appreciating the present time, she struggles against me in a very interesting manner if my anatomy is any indication.

I can't let her go; it'd be admitting defeat. I can only tighten my embrace. I'm so enthusiastic in my task that Hermione ends up being stuck between the door and my body. She's still trying to push me away, but with less and less conviction. I move my lips away from hers barely the length of a breath.

"Relax, Hermione. Why not trying to enjoy what's going to happen between us instead of resisting?"

Rage dances in her eyes. She clearly has no intention to appreciate. It's time to bring out the heavy artillery. I slide a leg between hers so that my thigh presses against her crotch as far as her sheath dress permits it, and I rub sensually against her body, covering her neck...especially on the sides...with kisses and licking her. My hands slide along her arms, which offers the double advantage of controlling them while giving her gooseflesh. I don't know how long this very agreeable, little game has lasted, but finally, she undulates her body in answer to the movements of mine. I haven't bedded a woman since the Dark Lord fell. I didn't know how much I've missed it. I raise my head and kiss her full mouth. She returns my kiss with so much enthusiasm that I forget to keep my hands on her arms to snake them around her and pin her more intimately against me. I can feel the fabric of her dress stretching, ready to rip at the seams, but neither she nor I care about it. Lust has taken over us, and she accompanies me without resistance to the bed. We're both breathless.

"Undress," I murmur, my voice hoarse with desire.

I withdraw so that she has room to accede to my request. However, the loss of contact clears her mind somewhat, and her face looks mutinous.

"Now, or I'll do it myself."

That seems to convince her. She opens the buttons of her dress, which are subtly hidden by magic, and finds herself in her underwear in front of me. She hasn't bothered to make an effort: plain, white cotton knickers and bra. Whatever, she won't keep them on for long.

"What about you? I won't go further before you're in your underwear too," she says.

What? This is my home; who is she to give me orders under my roof? Oh, yes, it's her home too now. She should show respect nonetheless. That said, nothing interesting will happen if I keep all my layers on my back. So I take off my wizarding robe to find myself in just my black cotton briefs. One of my past mistresses once told me that I was sexier with black briefs.

"Now, take off the rest."

"Only if you take off the rest at the same time."

If I didn't have to live with her, I would have cursed her already. I comply nevertheless. My erection feels better when confronted with freedom and points at my wife's belly directly. At last, there's no doubting what my intentions are.

"Where were we?"

This was of course a rhetorical question. I take her in my arms again, and this time, there aren't any clothes between us. The effect is electric and immediate. Before we know it, we're lying on the bed, devouring the other's mouth, our legs intertwined in a very exciting manner. I can feel her dampness spreading on my thigh while the seminal fluid that escapes my penis finds refuge in her pubic hair. I won't last long, so I push her on her back, and without ceasing to kiss her, I penetrate her. She isn't quite totally ready. This little problem is resolved with a few thrusts. Quickly, I find the perfect spot, the one that has her moan louder, that has her hands pinch my back, my buttocks, the nape of my neck with a force I didn't know she had. In short, I've found her G-spot during our first coupling...this is a good stroke for my male ego...and I exploit the discovery to the maximum, or at least until my body controls my mind and strives for its pleasure. When I finish, I stay inside of her to see what her reaction is. She sports a satisfied look, but the way I scrutinize her reminds her of what's just happened. She squints. There's no need to be an accomplished Legilimens to know her thoughts.

"If you wished to use sex to make me as docile as a doggie, you can go hang yourself."

Less than a quarter of an hour later, I was leaving the house.