Lorded

The characters and world are JKR's.

Thanks, as always, to the lovely and intelligent Leigh-Anne for beta-ing and to Juno-Magic for being willing to give up sleep when I needed quick feedback and reassurance!

17. LORDED

At this late hour the evening was winding down, and only a handful of Death Eaters remained, none in mask and black robe.

Severus sighed and handed his own to the house-elf. Although he'd be welcome at any of the upper echelon's formal entertainments, one of the Dark Lord's surprising strengths was the simple fact that he rarely forced anyone to do anything they didn't want to. And one thing Snape didn't want to do was attend social events with the Malfoys.

Despite the wine he was handed, the cigarette he was offered (and accepted) and the comfortable wing chair near the library fire, this was not a social event. Or rather, not any more.

The Dark Lord sat across from him, a glass of wine that he wouldn't touch on the table beside him. He couldn't drink much of anything other than water and ate very little; he stayed alive on potions that Severus brewed for him. But he always was one who cared about appearances, and the wine at his elbow and silk robes made him look almost civilized if one could get past the unfortunate serpentine horror of his new incarnation.

Lucius sat on the Dark Lord's other side with Narcissa sitting on the arm of his chair, draped over him like an elegant piece of artwork.

Which she was, of course.

God only knew where Bella was; Severus was hoping it was not in the same country.

"We miss you at our gatherings, Severusss." The Dark Lord's thin smile was as genuine as they ever got, which meant he probably meant his words.

Severus merely gave an elegant shrug. It was an old conversation.

"Yes, Severus," Lucius drawled in near-sincerity. "In fact, perhaps next week you should bring Madam Snape along, introduce her to her new friends?"

Narcissa smiled, watching Severus's face as she toyed with her husband's hair. "Don't be churlish, darling. We wouldn't want to make Severus's young bride uncomfortable."

"Yet," Lucius added with a smirk, kissing his wife's knuckles.

The Dark Lord turned his red eyes to Severus. "Would she be uncomfortable?"

A loaded question? Surely not as stupid a question as it would seem on the surface. What was he asking? And why? "Well, yes and no. Would she be uncomfortable at a gathering of Death Eaters? I'll allow you to draw your own conclusions. Would she be uncomfortable at a Malfoy soiree, politics notwithstanding?" He tapped the ash from his cigarette and shook his head. "Not bloody likely. The girl was raised in Muggle society."

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "Mudbloods."

"Her father is a Muggle baron, and her mother ... " Severus took a delicate drag and pretended to savor the smoke before continuing, "... is a Lady who is evidently frequently at Court. You know, the Muggle Court. Buckingham Palace, one would presume."

Narcissa stared suspiciously. Lucius couldn't decide whether he should be impressed or disdainful.

The Dark Lord alone seemed to get the implication. "Their Queen?"

"The very same."

"Does that ... complicate things?"

"It might. I'm probing to find out more. But yes, it might."

"Why should we care?" Lucius decided disdain was the order of the night.

The Dark Lord didn't take his eyes away from Severus, and Severus didn't shrink away from it. He wasn't entering, but he was watching, analyzing, pondering. "It might be imprudent if anything unfortunate happened to Severus's bride, I believe, is the point he is making so delicately."

"Muggle investigations into wizarding murders can be problematical," Severus agreed.

"And is this connection helping you in other ways?"

"I know she's still attempting to do Potter's thinking for him, which has been to his benefit for over six years. Unfortunately, Potter has such a pronounced dislike of me..." Severus smirked. "He seems ready to toss anything she suggests aside in a fit of pique."

"Excellent."

"Indeed." Severus sank back in his chair and closed his eyes, soaking in the luxury of excellent wine, burnished leather that molded to his back in exquisite support, and the satisfaction that Lucius was annoyed. He almost forgot his prop, but snatched the cigarette away from the arm of the chair just before it burned it.

"And what did you bring to entertain me, Severusss?"

He rolled his head sideways on the back of the chair, relaxed, and simply opened his eyes in invitation.

The images flashed by like lightning in no particular order – Miss Granger asleep on the floor, weeping in her sleep. Miss Granger's face twisted in pain as their sham of a wedding was consummated. His own hand twisted into her hair, pinning her against the dungeon wall. On and on they went.

It was an embarrassment of riches.

Miss Granger's bruised genitalia.

That was the image that caused the Dark Lord to return and to linger, and from the thoughtful mood in his brain, Severus deduced it was not because the Dark Lord was interested in the view.

Finally, the Dark Lord's presence withdrew, and Severus allowed himself a couple of slow blinks to recover from the invasion.

"You never cease to surprise me." The Dark Lord studied him closely.

"Indeed?" Another drag on the cigarette.

"I didn't picture you as brutal, Severussss."

He sighed. "My bride is a delicate flower, it seems."

"And will she go crying to Potter about her cruel husband?"

Severus allowed his smirk to spread. "Without a doubt."

The Dark Lord smiled. "Excellent work, Severuss. Excellent."

He basked in the approval.

He basked in the ill-suppressed and petty jealousies emanating from the Malfoys.

"And now, a game of wizard chess?"

Severus accepted another glass of wine, another cigarette, the offer of the white chess pieces and Lucius's resentment with good grace.

Losing a game or two to the Dark Lord was a pleasant enough distraction from what awaited him when he returned to his bed.

Lucius and Narcissa had long since retreated to their bedchambers when Severus laid his white King down (kicking and screaming) for the third time.

"I'll never defeat you," he sighed wearily.

The Dark Lord smiled. "But you always put up such a good fight."

"There's that."

"Before you go, Severusss... one word of advice."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Do not allow yourself to form an attachment for your young bride."

Severus reacted with a startled glare. "My first instinct is to inform you how impossible that would be. But then I realize, you wouldn't find it necessary to warn me, if you didn't see a danger...?"

"I only remember the last time when I almost lost you, Severuss." Red eyes glowed softly in the early dawn.

"Are you threatening to kill another of my toys?" Severus asked, head cocked in wonder. "I'm flattered. I didn't know you cared."

"I hate to see you get hurt."

"Then you also remember the hard lesson I learned about teenaged witches." He bent to kiss the Dark Lord's hem. "There's no need for reminders. There will be no attachment, my Lord."

The claw-like hand reached out and ruffled his hair with affection. "There's my boy."

Severus rose and smirked. "Always."

The Dark Lord's laughter followed him.

XX

The instant the wall began to shimmer with the mere thought of opening, Hermione was out of bed. By the time it opened, she was halfway across the floor.

By the time he entered and tossed his mask and robe into his leather chair, she was a heartbeat away from throwing herself into his arms –

But stopped short. The words came out choked; her voice cracked with emotion. "Did he...did he hurt you?"

He gave her a resentful look. "Do I appear to be injured?"

"No ... " And then, the relief flooded through her. "No. Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid...afraid it would be like last time." And this time, she did sink against him and cling to him until she realized he was stiff and cold in her arms. She pulled away and stared up into his face, confused.

"The Dark Lord has never hurt me, Miss Granger." His voice dripped with acid.

"But last time..."

"That was Lucius Malfoy. He felt I had breached an unspoken agreement that if he wants something, he should get it." He jerked at his buttons with agitation, as if he couldn't get out of his shirt quickly enough. "He wanted you for Draco. He would have destroyed any wizard who attempted to block him from you." He stopped, his shirt hanging open, and shrugged. "The Dark Lord would not allow him to destroy me, but he allowed him to vent his frustration. It was a wise decision, all things considered." His eyes slid to her, his expression cloaked.

She stared at him, her confusion growing. He was cold, deliberate, and the way he looked at her ...

"Now then," he said silkily as he began the slow process of unbuttoning his trousers. "Since you're so eager to see me and so joyful at finding me unharmed..."

She walked slowly to the bed, her mind spinning.

"Yes, ever the smart girl." His voice came from behind her ear, his breath hot on her neck. She shivered.

He eased around her until his thighs hit the mattress and then he pulled off his boots, slid his trousers down his long legs, and stretched out diagonally across the bed. His erection jutted from between his thighs, and as she watched, dry-mouthed, he began stroking it. His eyes never left hers.

"Do you want me to..."

"Yesss." The word hissed.

Like a snake.

"Be my good little wife," he crooned, but his eyes and his voice were flat as coal.

She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Something was wrong. She'd never been afraid of him before. But now, this minute, she was one fast movement away from stark terror, and she didn't know why.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, her heart thudding in her chest.

She leaned over and whispered softly into his ear, "Do you want me to suck your cock?"

He froze. "What did you say?"

"Isn't that what you want?" she pushed, her voice rough with suppressed fear, and something more than fear. "Tell me."

"What I want," he snarled, "is for you to stop using tricks you've learned from bloody fucking books, and stop saying the things you think I want to hear, and to just..."

Genuine confusion and the frustration of getting it wrong again overcame her uncertainty. "But men like to hear women talk dirty in bed."

His hand fisted in her hair and it bloody hurt; she forced herself to breathe slowly as he growled, "Just say what Hermione Granger would say. Be Hermione Granger. Forget the fucking books!"

"Hermione Granger is the fucking books!" She grabbed his hand and peeled his fingers out of her hair so she could jerk away. "But I'm Hermione Snape, and believe me, you do not want to hear what Hermione Snape has to say, so either tell me what you want me to do, or–"

He sat up and sneered, "And just what exactly does Hermione Snape have to say?"

"Hermione Snape wants to know who is in this bed, whether it's a man who has spent a long, difficult night and needs comfort from his wife...or whether it's a Death Eater looking for a quick blow job from a whore!"

Her hand met his cheek with a loud CRACK, and the stinging pain shot up her arm, but she wound back, ready to repeat the blow when he caught her wrist and clamped down on it.

They sat there frozen, glaring into each other's eyes, and she realized with a start that his were no longer flat as coal but burned with rage, and relief shot through her because at least this was a Severus Snape she recognized.

"You could have just said no," he snarled. "No is a perfectly acceptable answer. Hitting me is not."

"But the answer wasn't no," she said. "If you needed me, the answer was never going to be no." She wrenched her hand out of his grip; her wrist would probably bear a mark as dark as that on his face. "But when you come to me smelling of wine and cigarettes and him and I look into your eyes and you aren't there..."

"And what if the simple answer is, I am both? I am a man who needs comfort from his wife, and a Death Eater who–"

She stopped him with her fingers on his lips, unable to hear the rest of that thought.

"Then on those occasions when a Death Eater climbs into my bed, allow me to hide behind words like fuck and cock and whore, or I don't think my heart will survive the experience."

He shoved her away. "I told you. No is an acceptable answer."

"Not if you need me," she whispered, her fingers trailing down the angry red mark they'd inflicted only moments before. She saw that his erection had faded and reached down to take his penis in her free hand, to stroke it back to attention.

He stopped her hand with his. "My answer is no, then."

He fell back onto the bed and pulled the sheet over his body. He watched her from beneath hooded eyes.

Weariness claimed her. She walked around the bed to the other side and slid between the sheets. She released a long, shuddering sigh.

He pulled her into his arms and curled around her.

She wasn't sure what it meant. That he forgave her? Or was it she who should be forgiving him?

She was too tired to think it through. She just knew that he was back. He was safe.

And belatedly, just as sleep overtook her, something strange flickered through her consciousness. He ... needed her. He as much as told her so.

She wasn't sure she liked the way he needed her. It frightened her. She wasn't even sure she should be willing.

She wanted to shove that Dark part of him away and force him to come back to her as the man she trusted.

She wanted to wrap herself around him and absorb everything that was Dark until he could be the man she trusted again. And more, until he could be free of it all for good.

But mainly, she just wanted to sink back into his arms and let sleep overtake her. And perhaps, there was her answer after all.

She laid her head on his shoulder and was assaulted by the smell of his time with the Dark Lord...

And still would rather be there in his arms than any other place on earth.

With his breath on her neck, on her shoulders, in her hair, she gave herself up to sleep.

And they slept through breakfast and lunch without moving other than to adjust more deeply into their sleeping embrace.

XX

Hot ... wet ... desire.

He thrust forward, in, seeking release--Merlin...so wet and hot and slick and –

"Eeek."

Such a soft sound, soft wordless sound, but in a voice able to rip into the most relieving of dreams.

Fuck.

A dream.

Thighs. Those firm, soft folds were ... her thighs.

Slender, strong hands pulling at his arms as he clung, frozen in mid-thrust, not wanting to blink into wakefulness but unable to dismiss those hands, that small disturbing, "Eeek."

But he didn't want to let go of her.

He groaned into her neck, unable to stop himself from writhing against her and soaking up the sensations of her body, of her hot, wet...

Wet?

"Oh, god..."

The mortification in those words, not passion, mortification.

He was suddenly and vividly awake.

With a lap full – a bed full – of blood.

"Eeek," and "Oh, god," in-fucking-deed.

He let go – she rolled away from him, and he was now cold and wet, but no less aroused, fuck it all to bloody hell.

"Don't say a word!" she snapped. "Don't you dare say a word!" As if he were somehow to blame? She clearly didn't like the expression on his face because she glared threateningly up at him and spat, "Don't even think it!"

Words? There were words for a time like this?

Not to mention, thoughts?

"We...we can behave like adults," that annoying, crystal-clear voice announced with a thread of tremor vibrating through it, "or I can Avada Kedavra myself and put us both out of our misery!"

At which point she leapt from the bed and ran to the loo, her shirttail - his shirttail – a blaze of Gryffindor red.

The door slammed shut.

Then slammed open again.

"And don't you dare burn my sheets!"

Then slammed shut.

And. Open.

"And it's all your fault for distracting me so – for staying gone until I was convinced you were dead and then coming in and making me angry so that I forgot to change–"

Her cheeks blazed almost as red as her...his...shirttail. "Don't. You. Dare."

Leaving him totally aghast and agog, unable to form any thoughts beyond, "I've brought the fucking Dark Lord into my bed...no, that witch can out-Dark Lord the Dark Lord at his darkest."

Followed by, "Now there's an idea, why don't we just turn her loose on him and sit back and watch and may the best maniac win?"

Followed by the awareness that his most formidable wife had managed to talk away not one, but two erections in one day.

Now there was a talent that didn't surprise him in the least.

All that over a bit of menstrual blood.

He waited until he heard the bathwater running and was certain she wasn't going to storm back in and have another go at him before he finally let go...

And laughed himself to back to sleep.