Gifted

JKR owns the characters and world. The story is mine. The beta is divine. Thanks, Leigh-Anne!

8. GIFTED

It couldn't happen again.

He didn't even know what had happened, what happened even when their lips barely brushed, and he sure as hell didn't know what happened when he found himself wanting to deepen it, when he felt fire and melting and –

It couldn't fucking happen again.

He had to stop outside the entrance Great Hall. He needed to catch his breath and brace himself for the entrance.

"Am I happy or miserable?"

He stared down at her upturned face, startled. Startled that these soft brown eyes and this impossibly young girl could truly be the source of such stirrings, and – she stared at him. Waiting. What had she asked? Happy? Miserable? "Good god, how would I know?" he snapped.

"I mean, how am I supposed to look?" she snapped back. "Am I supposed to look like I'm..."

"Sated." Like she'd looked after the fucking kiss.

Which was not fuck it all to hell going to happen again.

She seemed to focus her energy, then lowered her lids to half-mast and looked quite deranged.

"For fuck's sake, Miss Granger, I said sated, not ill."

She shot him a most puzzled glance and sighed. "I don't know how to look sated."

Insufferable witch! "I'm not the only one who fights dirty," he said silkily, tamping down the memory he daren't let float to the surface, not now, maybe not ever. And, certainly not immediately prior to entering the Great Hall for the first time as man and ... good god.

Wife.

Luckily, he had a very good idea of how to inspire her passion without lips. He breathed into her ear, "Imagine..." His breath moved tendrils of her hair. He noted her slight shudder as she listened, wide-eyed. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her earlobe, "Imagine that you've been up for days, for nights... not because you couldn't sleep, but because you didn't want to sleep, not if sleeping meant stopping ..."

Her eyes fluttered closed and her moist lips parted.

"... and now you've reached the limit of what your body can stand, but it's been worth it, so very worth every sleepless moment as your body screams for rest, your muscles ache for it, your mind begs for it, and all you have to do now is revel in the sensations, the triumph..." He turned his last words to velvet without even a semblance of pity "... of passing your NEWTs with all," one last shivery breath into that delicate shell of an ear, "Outstandings."

"Oh ... my." She almost purred, and her head tilted lazily to one side....

At which point he whisked her through the doors and into the roar of excitement and laughter.

Which immediately became a hushed silence.

"Chin up," he growled. He escorted her to the two empty seats at the far end of the head table, adjacent to his Slytherins and pulled out her chair.

At least he'd be spared some of the Gryffindor glares.

Hooch stared at him as he took his own seat beside her.

"Severus, you're growing a beard," Hooch announced. "And I don't think it's an improvement."

Fuck.

He aimed a hard look at Miss Granger and saw her staring at him, too.

He sipped from his goblet of wine and blandly scanned the hall. "I've just been informed that I'm growing a beard?"

"I...I didn't notice," she said. "My mind was on other things."

The snickers from the Slytherin table were quite unacceptable.

The stunned silence from his colleagues didn't even bear consideration.

He quelled the Slytherins with a single glare.

He quelled his colleagues by agreeing with her amiably. "Next time," he said, "we'll have to come up for air a bit sooner, don't you think?"

Hooch had a coughing fit beside him.

Hermione practically dove into her goblet and then came up sputtering.

What? She thought professors drank pumpkin juice?

He carefully avoided Minerva's eye as she rose to begin the Sorting. He didn't have to look at her to feel the arctic chill coming from that direction. So, she was bearing a grudge that he dared sully her favorite student.

Instead, he looked at Miss Granger and found her staring across the hall to the far table.

Ah, yes.

The fucking hell-cursed Gryffindors.

As the first eleven-year-old entered, Ronald Weasley was leaving.

Fucking hell.

It didn't take a mind search to know why.

He cut a look back at ... his wife. To see what humiliating and endangering reaction she was revealing.

And found her studying a fork.

"The head table gets sterling," she said, and he was certain nobody else noticed her fingers trembling or heard the slight tremor in her voice.

"If you'd married his brother, it would have killed him."

She turned the fork over and over and over, as if it held the key to the universe. "He'll get over it."

The sharp small pain caught him as unaware as anything since she'd burst into his classroom with her outrageous demand.

"Heaven protect the wizard who puts his heart in the hands of a teenaged witch," he gritted out, his sneering words out before he could stop them, just like the sharp pang of sympathy for Weasley.

She looked up at him, startled.

Oh, fuck. Now the glimmer in her eyes threatened to spill over. Merlin deliver him. He turned to his goblet for solace.

"That one's yours," she said, blinking quickly and applauding.

He turned belatedly to watch a terrified first year named Peregrine Burns slip from under the Sorting Hat and begin the long walk to Slytherin.

Snape forced a sneer, and the boy tripped, then took off running for the first empty chair he saw.

"Nice," she said.

"Indeed," he responded, satisfied to see Parkinson offer the new boy an illicit sweet.

He struggled to follow the Sorting more closely.

#

As the platters of food, heavy and rich with butters and sauces, appeared on the table before them, Hermione's stomach did a queasy turn.

She reached under the tablecloth and touched the professor's thigh, hoping nobody noticed.

He looked at her, astounded.

She leaned a little toward him as she reached for a bowl of sprouts and shot him a look.

Fortunately, he took the hint and leaned closer to her, though she was vitally aware that in no way did he get close enough to touch.

"I'm not sure your stomach can handle this," she said softly, with a glance at the sprouts in cheese sauce. Off his sudden questioning look, she continued, "You haven't had anything but broth and tea on your stomach for four days."

He scowled. "What was Poppy thinking? After the Cruciatus ... "

She looked at him, alarmed, and then around to see if anyone was listening.

His mouth clamped shut. He said more quietly, "After certain exertions, the body needs protein for recovery."

"I didn't know." Hermione felt like kicking something. Hard.

"You didn't know?"

Hermione studied her plate and pushed a roasted potato through heavy brown gravy in a pretense of eating. "You said not to call her. Not to let anybody in."

"My wards held?" he asked, seeming relieved and disbelieving and snarlingly angry, all at once.

"Do you think I could hold off an entire faculty of wizards if they hadn't?" She finally popped the potato in her mouth. "I'm sorry I didn't know about the protein," she sighed.

"So. You cared for me?" He touched his side probingly, frowning.

"I tried." She glanced around. Maybe she should tell him now where his reaction would be, hopefully, more controlled. "But, I mixed up the potions. I first gave you a Drowning Sleep instead of Dreamless Sleep."

He lowered his goblet and turned a withering gaze on her.

"You should label your potions," she said sternly, eating a savory bite of roast capon. The head table really did get better food.

"I know my personal potions chest like the back of my hand. It's deliberately obtuse to discourage thieves."

She shrugged.

"How do you know what you gave me?"

"Because when you hadn't awakened after 38 hours," she snuck a glance at him and quickly retreated from his dangerous glare, "I realized something was wrong. Plus, it tasted a bit too much like mint. That's how I found the Dreamless Sleep Potion. I recognized the taste."

"You tasted unlabeled potions? You, Miss Granger," he hissed softly, "are an idiot."

"And just think, you left your life and welfare in my hands." She popped a bite of baked apple into her mouth and smirked. "What does that make you?"

As he reached for his goblet –

"You probably shouldn't be drinking so much, either." Of course, her words would escape in a momentary lull of conversation at the head table.

She saw an entire table of heads turn and stare from her to Snape and back at her again, as he froze with his hand halfway to the goblet.

He took the goblet in his hand and drained it, sliding her a dirty look.

Hooch was the first to break the silence. "My congratulations, Severus, on your newfound marital bliss."

Hermione could only blame it on four hard nights of sleeping on the floor when she looked calmly at the one professor who taught the only subject she hadn't mastered and replied sweetly, "Bite my arse."

House points be damned.

#

The interminable feast was finally coming to an end, and not a moment too soon. He could only pray his legs would hold him up. He'd had too much to drink, which under ordinary circumstances would hardly have mattered a whit, but in his weakened state....

Damn the insufferable chit. If she hadn't told him not to drink, he wouldn't have been forced to prove he could.

Marital bliss, my ruddy arse.

Albus rose from his spot holding down the center of the head table. "And now as a last announcement ... " Albus turned his twinkle (though it seemed more obviously forced than usual) down the table at them. "As I believe anyone who reads the Daily Prophet is aware, amongst all the happy news of weddings in recent days was the news that our own Professor Snape has taken a bride, the former Miss Granger."

Fuck.

Hesitant applause swelled to a veritable smattering as Severus jerked his head at her, rise, and tried not to lean too heavily on the table as he stood. She grabbed his elbow and he was too bloody grateful for the support to pull away. He put on a nice scowl for effect, though.

Anticipation stirred from the Ravenclaw table as Terry Boot rose, grinning. "Professor Dumbledore, we of the House of Ravenclaw have a presentation to make."

Oh Merlin, what now?

Dumbledore nodded, surprised, and Boot walked to the front of the hall, holding some sort of small object in a blue velvet bag. He cleared his throat and announced, "Professor Snape, Hermione...?"

Then he gave what could only be described as an impudent grin. "The blissful union of Gryffindor courage and Slytherin cunning makes any Ravenclaw worthy of the name quake in our boots." The tension in the hall was broken by nervous laughter from the Ravenclaws, and Severus wasn't sure where to throw a hex first.

"Such a combination could easily control the wizarding world, you know," Boot continued, "if the two Houses ever stop feuding long enough, which never seemed a problem before, but now...?"

Again, laughter. Again, Severus fought to control his temper.

"As it's in our own best interests to remain on the good side of such a union, the House of Ravenclaw wishes to assure you that we wish you only the best in life and in your future together by giving you this gift."

He reached into the velvet bag and brought out a small silver cup with handles on either side. "A goblin-forged loving cup."

The Ravenclaws jumped to their feet, applauding, and search as he did, he couldn't find any ill will in it.

With a slight bow and a cheeky grin, Boot handed the cup to Miss Granger, and she looked practically moist-eyed as she looked down at it, and then slanted her eyes up to meet Snape's, surprised.

As the Ravenclaws cheered and Flitwick beamed with obnoxious pride, she offered it to him. He took it in his hand and stared at it. It was a nice thing, actually. He'd definitely check it for hexes later.

Granger took both of Boot's hands in her long, slender ones and smiled. "Thank you, Terry. And all of our friends in Ravenclaw." She ducked her head again, embarrassed.

At that moment, Severus was saved from speaking when Susan Bones rose from the Hufflepuff contingent and scampered to stand beside Boot. She gave a saucy smile and giggled.

"And we from the House of Hufflepuff present you with this specially decanted Elixir of Unity and Lovingkindness, simply because it's in our nature to wish happiness on those we love." Her impertinent sniff in Boot's direction diminished the sentiment of her words only slightly. "It's charmed to refill each year on the date of your marriage, August 28."

Miss Bones momentarily looked nonplussed as he continued to scowl, but evidently his scowl was weakened by wine and exhaustion because she managed to recover and present him with the golden vial.

He would have liked to snarl, but it hardly seemed proper so he forced a smile.

Or what he thought was a smile. From her reaction, he may have misjudged.

"Thank you, Miss Bones," he intoned. "And we most assuredly thank the proud House of Hufflepuff."

Well, that seemed to go over well. This time the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables both exploded in applause.

It was painfully obvious by the studied nonchalance of the Slytherins and the pouts of the bloody Gryffindors – always wearing their emotions emblazoned on their foreheads for all to see – that their own Houses had not considered the idea of bonding gifts.

No loss, although he did tighten his hold on Granger's hand. She seemed a little shattered to see the Gryffindors so carefully avoiding her eyes.

And finally, the old man rose and twinkled his way through the usual nonsense, and all were released to go hither and yon.

Before they could leave the table, however, the astoundingly delirious Miss Lovegood blocked their path.

Severus stopped and sighed, waiting for her to give Granger a tight hug and smile, and then to his astonishment, she focused her large eyes on him and grabbed his free hand.

She peered into his eyes, searching, and he drew back as far as he could without absolutely jerking free and turning on his heel.

Then she looked back at Granger, who seemed as disconcerted as he felt.

"You're both very lucky," she finally said with that weird smile. "Not everyone will end up so happy when this is all over."

Was she insane? At that, he did jerk away.

"Thank you, Luna." Granger gave her a fierce hug, then pulled quickly away, clearly distracted by the entire conversation. "That's very sweet of you."

Luna just nodded and drifted after her fellow Ravenclaws.

He opened his mouth to say something slicing, but felt her fingers tighten on his arm.

"She means well."

He let out his breath in quick snort.

Granger sniffed, and he thought she might be holding back tears, but then she said with far more haughteur than was polite, "Can you walk, or do I need use Mobilicorpus to get you to your bed?"

"Bite my arse," he replied.

#

She hadn't expected him to bring her here. Had he given her any warning, she would have refused.

Yet here she was, standing in the shadows as Professor Snape addressed the House of Slytherin in their common room. No amount of extravagant decoration or rich green and silver furnishings could diminish the fact that it was in a dungeon, and she stilled a shiver.

"Tonight we welcome our First Years to the embracing comfort of our House," he said in his dulcet tones. "Those who enter the House of Slytherin find friends and comrades whom they can count on for the rest of their lives," he continued.

"Here, here!" It was a unison response, clearly tradition, and clearly and proudly sincere.

"Our First Years come in, sometimes worried by rumors or reputation. What they quickly discover is that the House of Slytherin takes care of their own," Professor Snape continued smoothly. "Prefects, have the pairings been made?"

The first years were obvious by their fresh faces and expressions of excitement and general trepidation. To Hermione's surprise, they were each joined by an older student who handed them a small gift – a coiled Slytherin snake carved of deepest green jade with charmed silver eyes that occasionally blinked.

"Your guides will answer any questions you have and help you to your first day's classes tomorrow. The stairs can be tricky." He cleared his throat to general laughter. "If you have any problems, if you are bothered by anyone at any time, understand that you can call upon any Slytherin to assist you."

Hermione watched, surprised. Professor McGonagall had always left such details up to the Prefects, and there had not been anywhere near so much attention to detail.

Not that she would ever confess such a thing to Snape.

"And as you are all aware, tonight I also present to you my bride, whom most of you already know, Madam Hermione Snape." He made the slightest of bows in her direction and offered his hand, drawing her into the middle of the room beside him. She hadn't realized her hands were so icy until she felt his fingers close over her fingertips.

She forced herself to scan the room, relieved to see hooded glances and polite applause, but no open hostility.

Well, of course not. Not tonight. Not in front of Professor Snape.

As Prefect, Draco Malfoy stepped forward with a direct look straight into her eyes. "Madam Snape."

She realized she wasn't breathing.

She realized he expected her to offer her hand.

He bent over her fingertips but fortunately his lips never met them. "Those who enter the House of Slytherin find friends and comrades whom they can count on for the rest of their lives," he repeated in a drawl. She tried not to reveal the chill that swept through her before he finally stepped away.

One by one the Slytherins greeted her in similar fashion, the males bowing over her hand and the females touching her fingertips with theirs, as Snape watched calmly from beside her.

As they got younger she relaxed, and by the time the smallest First Year bobbed earnestly over her hand, making her smile, she felt oddly warmed. It was young Peregrine Burns, the first to get Sorted on this night.

"M-Madam Snape," he stammered, tongue-tied, and finally thrust his small jade serpent into her hand. "For you," he blurted and blushed.

She looked from the sweet, so sweet and beautiful gift to him and then impulsively kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said, and whispered into his ear, "It's my favorite gift we've gotten."

He looked at her with huge eyes and then grinned and ducked his head.

She glanced at Professor Snape. His expression gave her no clue. She finally let her smile sweep the room. "I hope to be an asset and a friend to you all."

Another "Here, here!" followed by polite and almost warm applause, and Snape took her arm.

"If there are no questions, I believe I will leave you to your first night celebration. You know how to summon me if you need any assistance."

He took her into the corridor, and she felt his weariness seep into him as if a glamour had lifted. It only took at a glance at his suddenly-drawn features to realized it had.

#

Upon entering his quarters it took all the strength he had left to make it to his chair and lower himself into it without revealing his bone-deep exhaustion.

It wasn't until he felt her slender but strong fingers release his arm that he realized her assistance had kept him from falling into the chair.

He glared up at her, determined to regain his sense of balance. "You chose potions by taste?"

"I'm not stupid," she snipped, flouncing across the room to sit down in the hard-backed chair. He noticed a flick of her wand at the seat before she dropped into it and vaguely wondered, but she continued, "I didn't willy-nilly ramble through the potions cabinet, taking a swig of everything that looked interesting, you know." She began unbuttoning her – his – robe. "I'd narrowed it down by the color and shape of the vials, the scent, the color and the viscosity of the liquid. But after I realized you were sleeping too long and did some research, I realized that Drowning Sleep and Dreamless Sleep potions are almost identical, except Drowning Sleep has opium, and is most easily discerned from Dreamless by the presence of water-mint."

"Rattling off words from a book, per usual," he grumbled, too tired to dig for a deeper taunt.

She sent his robe back to the wardrobe with a wave of her wand. "Fortunately for you, words in books work." Her face tightened in anxiety. "I think they worked. Or at least, they seemed to ... help?"

Once again he probed his sides, his torso, rolled his shoulders. Whatever had knifed through him like whiplash when he first awoke was almost completely diminished. The rest, well, he needed to examine himself to be sure, but... "It seems that what you did was ... more than adequate."

She gulped. Hiccupped. He looked at her, alarmed. She covered her mouth with her hands and bent forward over her lap –

"Are you ill? Miss Granger, the toilet is –" he snarled, ready to haul her in there himself if he had to. He was halfway across the room when she shook her head violently, and he saw the tears streaming from her eyes. She held out a hand to stop him from coming too close.

"I'm sorry – truly, I am. I – I was just so afraid!"

"Afraid?" he repeated numbly.

"I thought – I was afraid – I thought you might die! I did the best I could, I read everything, I – I just was so afraid!"

He ached. His arms ached. His legs ached. It was something that went beyond exhaustion and weariness and pain and something deeper. He forced his voice to be calm, to soothe.

"What you did," he repeated slowly, "was more than adequate."

Her sobs choked to a halt and she rubbed tears from her cheeks and managed to smile. "Thank you, sir."

He realized he was standing. He forced himself backward, forced himself to sit back down.

Forced himself to remember the things that needed to be said between them, so that this hell-spawned night could finally end.

"Miss Granger, did you read the terms of the contract we signed?"

She nodded, staring at her hands in her lap.

"So you know that we are required to have sexual relations once a week, with the exception of those weeks when your menses makes that less appropriate."

She nodded again. He noticed she didn't blush, which surprised him.

"You know that we are not allowed to use contraceptive potions or charms."

She nodded again, but looked up at him with quick desperation. "I hoped you would know something, though. Something that they wouldn't detect."

He nodded. "Yes. It's not the best, but it was used with great success for several centuries, and I doubt if anyone will think to look for it now."

She looked like the pressure of the world was lifted from her shoulders. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's for both of us. Now, you also know that you are expected to give birth to a child within a year of leaving Hogwarts, and so there will come a time when such contraceptive measures will have to end."

"Yes, I know." The devastation in her eyes was clear.

"Next week, I'll make legal arrangements to assure that you and any –" He broke off, unable to even voice the concept of children. "That you will be cared for in the event of my death."

Her head snapped up at the word death.

"In the meantime, we'll have relations once a week, which happens to be on a Saturday, because these rings are charmed to monitor the frequency and existence of said relations."

She nodded, staring at her hands again.

"It will not be ..." he struggled for words, avoided looking in her direction. "It won't be as difficult again, I can assure you. I will make every effort to cause you as little distress as possible."

"It's all right, truly it is!" she assured him. "I wasn't expecting violins and choirs of angels, you know."

"Which is fortunate and rather realistic of you," he ground out, trying not to remember the stark details of their marital bed.

"Professor," she said softly, and before he could brace himself, her soft brown eyes had captured him.

"Four days was a long time to think, and nobody to talk to."

"Which I'm sure in your case was catastrophic," he said, grateful for the opportunity to regain his equilibrium.

"Indeed," she said with a slight smile. The smile faded. "I'm not in a position to make demands. But I find I must."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Demands? You think to make demands of me?"

Her jaws tightened and she gave him a sharp nod. "Yes, I'm sorry, but I must. This horrid marriage law – it's so shortsighted and dangerous that I can't believe nobody sees what it's reaping for the future. So many babies, so many children – forced upon people who don't want them, or don't want them with their chosen mates." Her eyes were hollow, the shadows beneath them suddenly deep. "Professor, you must promise me – you must swear to me – our children will never know that they weren't wanted."

He was speechless.

"Swear to it."

He opened his mouth to say, "You want my soul, too? You have my life and way too much of my body and now you want me to give my soul and my honor to a vow that is a curse to all of us?"

He opened his mouth to say, "You stupid girl, you think I'll live to see children?"

He opened his mouth to shout, "Get out! Get out of here and don't come back!"

He opened his mouth to say all of these things, and many more –

And the only words that escaped were, "I swear to it."

She only nodded. "And I swear to it, too."

He could only hope for the sake of any unfortunate souls that "blessed" their union that she was better at keeping such a vow than he would be.