Rest, Unrest and Revolution

banner by crazywriterchic

65. REST, UNREST AND REVOLUTION

~*~May~*~

The dungeon bedchamber was pitch black; he couldn't see the definition of bedpost or wall unless he lit his wand.

But that made no difference.

He could hear her.

Her soft, even breathing revealed that she slept.

Slept, while he wanted to do nothing but lie in blackness and listen to her breathing.

And feel her.

The warmth and weight of her, pressed against him. Her heartbeat. Even her horrid hair against his chin.

Insufferable girl.

He didn't seem capable of sleeping unless he was pressed against her in some way, if he slept at all.

There was a time when he'd been kept awake by the listening, the feeling, the yearning, the seeking for her even when he knew he mustn't touch, mustn't grow accustomed or worse, dependent upon her.

And then there was a time when she was cool and still in his arms, in a state not quite living nor dead, and his every waking moment had been filled with desperation and ache and need.

Now, he was awake watching over her as she throbbed with life. He lay there, alert to the small whimpers and deep breaths that signalled muscle aches and back spasms, which he could often ease for her with a stroke of his hand and a murmured chant.

During her waking hours she didn't allow herself any rest, not even when she was clearly desperate for it. She studied; she wrote; she figured; she interviewed. She lived by her schedules and her charts, and he watched her driving herself into the ground...

And could do nothing.

Nothing but assure himself that she at the very least slept.

When she'd first thrown herself at him, demanding that he marry her, her reason had been her education, an education that had slid further and further into the background as circumstances had erupted around them.

He felt the alarming distension of her stomach move beneath his hand and felt the roil of guilt...guilt he didn't deserve, he reminded himself fiercely, but guilt all the same...that even now it was a circumstance of his making that had altered her future so irrecoverably and threatened her immediate goals...her N.E.W.T.s. He'd never considered the discomfort, the constant awareness of this "other" that a pregnant witch must deal with.

And worse.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of Molly Weasley and Poppy Pomfrey bustling around Hermione, making plans for her confinement, all full of good cheer and affection and optimism...

And her eyes, large and beseeching and filled with terror.

His Miss Granger. His warrior of a wife. Terrified.

She quickly hid it, quickly turned her expression placid, but that moment when their gazes connected and he'd felt that pulse of terror had almost been his undoing. And now he smoothed his hand gently over the immense swell of stomach and wondered in horror how this new being, this son that she oh so rightfully insisted was his, could possibly escape without destroying her.

And so he listened to her soft sleep noises and shielded her from pain with charms and remembered when the soft sounds she'd made had been of a different type all together.

But eventually he felt her waking up...and knew why...before she was even aware of it herself. There were some things he couldn't relieve her of, after all.

She shifted beside him, started to moan and then caught herself and stifled it. He wanted to help her sit up, but she clung to the illusion that she could go to the toilet and back without waking him, and he'd learned to leave her to it.

She eased herself from the bed, gave herself a moment, taking a few deep breaths before beginning her lumbering walk across the floor, grabbing the door to steady herself. Only when she was in the bathroom did he swiftly rise and hover outside the door, ready....

But it wasn't long before he heard the flush, and slid back between the covers before she slowly made her way back and took her place beside him.

She laboriously shifted, inched, slowly and cautiously, until she was back in the curl of his embrace once more. She took his hand and pulled it until his arm circled her stomach. She nestled her cheek against his arm and sighed....

Merlin, the scent of her.

He closed his eyes, even though it wasn't necessary in this pitch-black room, and inhaled.

He smelled the faint echo of eucalyptus and spearmint.

He smelled his taste potion on her breath, with each sweet exhalation.

And found himself easing closer, closer, drawing in deeper breaths.

Now, he inhaled deeply.

And wanted to taste it in her mouth.

To slip his tongue between her lips and... taste.

She needed her sleep.

But the longing, oh Merlin, the longing.

A shiver trembled through him.

And then, as if sensing his need...

She whispered into the blackness, "I woke you up." She reached up with her hand and stroked the raspiness of his cheek.

He buried his face in the horrid, tangled mass of frizz that passed for her hair and kissed it.

"You didn't." He matched her whisper with one of his own, and it seemed as if they were the only waking people in the world.

"I'm sorry." She sighed wistfully.

Her wakefulness was palpable in this black night where every instinct he'd honed seemed ridiculously yet determinedly fixed on getting her rest.

Of course, there had been a time when he knew how to relax her, to help her sleep....

"Relax," he murmured as he stroked her belly with enough pressure not to tickle, but lightly enough not to stir the baby within. He made slow circles with his palm, and she shifted more comfortably into his arms.

"Lovely," she sighed.

The sixth, or maybe the eighth time...when had he grown so careless with his potions, he wondered idly...his hand swept low enough to feel the brush of coarse pubic hair dusting across his knuckles, he paused, then slid his palm lower, turning it until his fingers cupped the precious mound, cupped and pressed, waiting for the slight arch of back, the moan....

She stiffened in his arms and her legs clamped tight around his fingers. "We can't," she said mournfully.

"You can," he said, sliding one finger deeper into her folds, seeking... seeking and finding, as her head fell back against him and lolled sideways as her breath caught in a hitched gasp.

Gently, he stirred, so gently, until he felt her begin to strain against him, her thighs parting, as she reached for more.

He bent his head to her neck and closed his teeth on the tender skin there, heedless of her hair that tangled with his tongue, even as his fingers probed and slid and circled the slick flesh, the distended clit, teasing her until her body thrummed with tension and her soft whimpers and sobs raced down his spine.

He bit harder.

He pinched.

He found that spot, that sweet spot that brought the cry from her lips and the clutching spasms to her core, and he relished in her exquisite release, her exquisite, beautiful, triumphant release....

And the slow sliding into languor as her body relaxed against him. "I should..." she began, reaching for his rigid cock.

"No," he said, catching her hand and pulling it back to where he could keep it captured against her stomach. "Sleep."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "How... how do you always know exactly what to do?" she asked, her voice raspy with drowsiness.

"I don't," he said, as he'd told her so many times before. "I just..." He stopped short of the word try. Because in the blackness of the night, a flash of brilliant clarity brought other words to his lips, before he could stop them, before he could consider them. "I have to prove...I have to be..." he choked. And again, he wanted to stop the words, but they came anyway. "I am not my father." And again, the blinding clarity and pain. "Either of them..."

And then she rolled in his arms, rolled toward him, and her warm palms were on his cold cheeks as she pulled his face down until she could capture her lips with his, and he tasted potion and more, that essence that was his Hermione, his Miss Granger, his heart and his soul, and when she finally pulled away she breathed, "You are my beloved, you insufferable man. My darling boy and my dearly beloved and you don't have to prove anything."

And then, leaving him no opportunity to retort or respond, she was asleep. Profoundly and deeply asleep in his arms in a position that was guaranteed to leave him with a useless arm, and Merlin help them both if danger erupted and he needed to respond quickly, with this ridiculous piece of baggage pinning him to the bed, and he wondered why her hair was wet, why his cheeks were wet, why he found it suddenly both more difficult to swallow and easier to breathe....

And finally, he slept with her.

XX

Sleep was a deep and beckoning bliss, and even the strength of his arms around her wasn't enough to make her want to leave it. "No..." she sighed. Only to feel herself dragged across the bed, to feel his arms tense and shift as he prepared to lift her. "I said no...."

"I'm taking you to Poppy."

"Poppy knows," she protested. "For God's sake, first you obsess about me not getting enough sleep, and now you're dragging me out of bed? I want to sleep."

"Something is wrong," he snapped. "You've slept half the day away for almost a week. This is not normal, not for you."

"It's normal for eight-month-pregnant me! Severus Snape, if you don't put me down," she gasped as he lifted her from the bed, "I'll hex you. You can't take me to Poppy. You'll...you'll look like a fool!"

He stopped, his gaze turning to black ice.

Belatedly, she reached up and stroked his cheek. "You're not a fool, but you'll look like one. You'll be one of those husbands that witches smirk about, the reason why Molly and Madam Pomfrey don't think I should have you with me when the baby comes, and I have to have you with me...I have to! Please, Severus. Please. Everything about me is perfectly normal. My blood pressure is normal. My everything is boringly normal. Right down to the backaches and swollen feet and ankles," she sighed. "And a desperate need for sleep."

"Your N.E.W.T.s..."

"Are three weeks away. I have plenty of time. But once I completed my Arithmancy project, I just needed to..." She yawned and curled more snugly into his arms.

"Sleep," he sighed. "Are you certain? You've been so driven..."

"To complete my projects while we're still here. To interview the house-elves before someone makes us leave, and to complete my Arithmancy project before anyone else is forced to..." She broke off, not wanting to complete that statement, to reveal her desperate quest.

He lowered her gently back to the bed, and she felt the relief mixed with regret as she felt him pulling away. She clutched his arm and held him close.

"I thought you were studying for your N.E.W.T.s, for your scores," he said with a scowl.

"I did, and I will again. But it wasn't the most important thing."

His scowl smoothed into that blank expression he used when he was trying to hide his emotions from her. "You gave up on that, too? First, you leave school, and now you write off your N.E.W.T.s. How much more do you plan to sacrifice?"

"Sacrifice? I'll have no problems passing them all and even now, the only person who might have higher scores is Malfoy." She grimaced, despite herself. "But I just can't be bothered to obsess over it, not when these other things were so much more important. That's hardly a sacrifice."

"But..."

"Obsessing over marks is something a child would do, the girl I used to be. I hope you don't mind... I don't mean to let you down..." She pressed her lips against the palm of his hand. "I grew up, Severus," she said. "I grew up, and now I want to sleep." She smiled up at him. "And when I wake up, could we take a very slow ramble around the lake? That is, if you're not horrified to be seen with a lumbering hippopotamus at your side."

He fell down beside her on the bed with a soft snarl. "Ashamed? Are you mad?"

She shrugged as best she could and stared down at her huge belly. None of the other Hogwarts brides had got pregnant yet. She felt the anger's slow burn start. "The Ministry would like us to be the shining example for their Marriage Law, but I'm pretty certain the other students are horrified and look at what's happening to me as a cautionary tale. Of the two, I'd much rather be the caution but... I don't imagine I'll ever fit into my old clothes again."

"Are you a witch or aren't you? Any of them can be charmed to fit you."

She glared at him. How could he be so obtuse?

But his eyes warmed with dark heat, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. He stroked her hair from her face and trailed her fingertips from her shoulder to her bare breast, where they caressed her until she felt her skin flush. "Did you expect to wear the same clothes you wore when you were seventeen forever? I can assure you, I could never fit into mine again, thank Merlin, and I've never given birth. As for being a hippopotamus... no beast has ever looked as lush and ripe as you do now, and this is the way you taunt and tease me. Insufferable, as always."

She blinked back tears. "You're an excellent liar."

"Indeed. Now sleep."

And she did.

XX

They were on the far side of the lake, Albus gambolling along at their side, when Hermione felt the need to sit on a rock and rest again. Severus supported her as she found a comfortable spot and was taking his place beside her when the dog's low growl alerted them.

Headmaster Dumbledore was still some distance away, but fast approaching.

Hermione felt her own spine stiffen, and if she had a ruff she was certain it would be bristling, just like the dogs. "What does he want?"

She felt the professor's hand rest lightly on the back of her neck, his fingers winding through her hair until they found bare skin to soothe. "The beast wouldn't hate him so if he didn't pick up on your emotions."

"I never said I hate him," she said stiffly. Albus stepped closer to her, baring his teeth. Guiltily, she found herself soothing his neck much as hers was being soothed. "You find it too easy to forgive people of unforgivable things."

"Do you think your grandfather ever made decisions that got people killed?"

"What?" She twisted as best she could to glare up at him.

"In the war. He was an officer. Do you think he ever made choices, decisions, that put men he respected and even cared for in harm's way?"

"That was different! It was...well, it was...it was different, that's all!" She watched the tall, stooped figure in the purple robes draw nearer and chafed at the idea of comparing him to her beloved grandfather. "And he certainly never told any man to kill his own wife."

She felt the kiss, the soft kiss on her temple, and felt herself flush with warmth and even embarrassment, because Headmaster Dumbledore was going to catch them snogging like teenagers...which she was. "Oh, fucking hell," she muttered. And then said nothing more, because Albus was braced as if to attack, Headmaster Dumbledore was blithely ignoring the danger as if he knew nothing about dogs whatsoever, and...

He had better not use magic to hurt her dog!

"Albus," Severus snapped. "Down."

The dog flattened on the ground, still glaring daggers.

"Well, if it isn't Wulfric," the headmaster said, genially. "Good dog," he added, though he kept his distance. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but Hermione, I require some information before I head down to an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot."

Severus froze beside her, his arm tightening around her. "What kind of information?"

But she knew. She hoped she knew....

The headmaster sent a roll of parchment floating towards her, his eyes still on Albus at her feet.

She opened it, scanned it, and felt tears pricking her eyes. "They did it," she breathed. "They did it."

"What?" Severus demanded.

"Yes, please enlighten us as to why a delegation of Arithmancers from the American Congress of Wizards have requested an emergency meeting with the Wizengamot, and why Madam Marchbanks asked me to give you her regards and congratulations?" His eyes twinkled, his lips curved into a smile, but he was clearly unhappy about being left in the dark.

Hermione sent the parchment back to him and looked out across the lake, her heart fluttering in her chest. "My Arithmancy project." She turned her face to that of her husband and found his black eyes burning into her. She grabbed his hand and smiled tremulously. "Professor Vector and I sent it to the American Arithmancers for outside, unbiased verification and validation. I never expected them to be so fast or act so...so precipitously!"

"Well, Americans," Headmaster Dumbledore said, as if that explained everything, and perhaps it did.

"The Ministry was using us to prove that the Marriage Law worked, and I wanted to use Arithmancy to prove that it didn't," she began, but seeing those black eyes shutter over, she realised her error and rushed on. "I calculated presumptive outcomes of marriage to each wizard who offered for me because of the Marriage Law, and the results were so dismal, it proved that the terms of the Marriage Law would have led me to either an unsatisfying marriage or, at worst, death...had I accepted it." She clutched the professor's hand in hers and raised it to her lips. "It's only because I refused to accept it and went outside the law to find my own husband, and because...because you agreed..." She broke off, choking on emotion.

"But why the Americans?" Dumbledore asked.

"Because I didn't want the results to be made public. I didn't want each individual man's name dragged through the mud, and I didn't want my personal life held up to more speculation than it already has been. I wanted someone to verify the results so that the results could be presented to the Wizengamot without revealing the details of each calculation."

The headmaster twirled the roll of parchment with his fingertips, staring at her. "If I am interpreting the signals correctly...and I do have many decades experience reading such signals...I believe you may have just sounded the death knell for that despicable law. Once this becomes public, and it sinks in that the defeat of the Tom Riddle might never have happened if..."

"No," she said sharply. "I specifically kept references to the war out of it. I only did figures on the actual relationships, the marriages that would have resulted." She stared at her beautiful silver ring and its emerald chip and added softly, "Not every forced marriage would end or prolong a war, but they each have the potential to destroy lives. That's all I wanted to prove. That they were destroying lives."

"Well." He nodded. "I believe you have accomplished just that. And now, I must heed the call and attend that meeting." He was half-turned away, when he stopped and added, "Severus, surely you'll reconsider about that Order of Merlin...?"

"I will not."

He sighed, and with nary a crack, was gone.

"Order of Merlin?" Hermione cried. "You're getting a..."

"I refused it."

"But...but if anybody..."

"I don't want to discuss it. I refused it, and that's the end of it."

"But Severus..." She wrapped her arms around her stomach. "If not for you, for your son."

"Especially not for that reason," he snapped, his eyes hooded as he pulled away from her.

A cold gust of wind swept across the water and she shivered, his withdrawal leaving her bereft.

He pulled her closer and kissed her, first her eyelids and then the bridge of her nose, and finally, the lightest of kisses brushed across her lips. "Although when you are offered one for overthrowing the fucking Marriage Law, I will insist you accept."

"Do you really think it will work? That they'll listen? That they'll care?"

"If you'd told me why you wanted pictures of us in the Daily Prophet to remind everyone of what a happy couple we were, I would have done more than hold hands and window shop whilst that disreputable beast licked himself."

And remembering that infamous picture on the front page of the Prophet with Albus giving himself a thorough and evidently highly satisfying licking at their feet, she fell laughing against him and allowed herself to hope.