Brewing

As always, my thanks and adoration to JKR for everything you recognize.

And as always, my undying gratitude to Leigh-Anne for knowing just what to say and exactly when I need to hear it.

22. BREWING

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. I told you to take care of her, not reduce her to tears," Snape snapped, watching his young wife fling herself into the idiot's arms.

Oh, he'd heard what was said, every fucking word, and noted that she wasn't without her feminine wiles when it came to manipulation. Evidently, she had manipulation of the Weasley brat down to a very fine art indeed. But he'd think about that and deal with it later. Now, there were more dangerous things to handle.

He rose to his feet alongside Potter, who was still shaky, but well on his way to recovery.

"Continue," he instructed Miss Weasley. She followed beside Potter, keeping him warmed with a delicate bit of wandwork. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he snapped softly, not certain whether she heard, and caring even less.

After a moment's consideration...in which he gnashed his teeth at the necessity...he led them away from the main entrance and to a small side door generally warded from view, much less entry, by students.

"Forget you've been here," he snarled as they entered. "Because you won't see this door again."

Minutes later, he had them in the Potions classroom with the door shut, silenced and warded.

"Here," he said silkily, "is where it gets interesting."

Ginevra sat by Potter, sending scathing looks toward Hermione.

Ron sat near Hermione, looking baffled but, for once in his life, almost capable. He seemed ready to spring into action whether she erupted with more hexes or more tears.

Hermione stared at the floor.

"Mr Potter. You have the right to file a formal complaint against..."

"Fuck off," Potter sneered, startling Ginevra.

"Watch it, Harry," Ron hurried, casting a nervous glance at Hermione.

Hermione continued to stare at the floor.

"Am I to take it that you will not be filing a complaint?"

"Of course I won't." Potter cast a narrow-eyed gaze in Hermione's direction.

"I'm sorry, Harry" she whispered, but her eyes never left the floor.

"Which is only half the problem. We may still have to deal with the fallout if anyone else witnessed the... altercation," Severus announced.

"Easy," Ron said. "Harry opened his gob and called you a git, and Hermione hexed him."

Severus blinked. Weasley was actually correct.

"She could have killed him!" Ginevra protested.

"You've hit me with worse." Ron shot back. "It was just a hex."

"With wandless magic," Potter added, casting another glance in Hermione's direction. And then, suddenly, almost eagerly, to Severus, "Did you teach her that?"

"If I had taught her to toss wandless hexes, I can assure you I would have also instructed her on when not to toss them, Potter."

Potter snorted.

How elegant.

"And you still haven't told us what's going on with you." This time Potter was talking directly to Miss Granger. "What's going on with you? What happened?"

He stopped short of aiming any more accusations in Snape's direction, but the inference was still apparent.

She raised her eyes and managed to look almost prim as she announced, "I'm having a rather difficult period, if you must know!"

Snape sighed. Wonderful.

Ginevra's expression as her eyes darted from Snape to Hermione and back again changed from astonishment to embarrassment. Her cheeks flamed, and then she was ducking, hiding her face, too.

A little late on the uptake, suddenly Ron covered his head with his hands. "Oi! Too much information!"

Only Potter seemed unmoved. "Bullshit. Something's wrong with you, Hermione, and I'm not leaving until I know what it is."

"Why do you care?" she snapped. "When did you start caring..."

"As inspirational as this is," Severus interrupted, unwilling to be party to more emotional outpourings, "I see no benefit in continuing it. Potter, you've recovered, and you have no intention of reporting this incident, and I think it's evident to all that Madam Snape..."

"What kind of shite is that? It's Hermione, you git!" Potter snarled. "And I want to know what's going on. Whatever it is, it's magical, not..." At this, he broke off, having reached the limits of his ability to deal with her feminine issues.

"Oh, Harry! Just drop it. Everything is under control."

"Right you are on that," he snapped back at her. "So under control you almost killed me."

"I'm sorry!" And this time, her eyes were pleading. "I'm not myself, okay? I overextended myself."

"Doing what?"

"Occlumency, if you must know!"

At which point, Potter raised his eyes to Snape's, and it didn't take Legilimency to read murder in their depths. "You bastard."

"Before you say anything else," Snape hissed, "perhaps I might remind you of what landed us in this little tete-a-tete?" He then shot a warning glare at his own dear, sweet wife before she finished the job she'd begun on the castle lawn. "It's a pity you can't borrow some of her ability to block entry to the mind, Potter. But don't look at me. I'm not the one who drained her."

Potter blanched. "Then...then who? Not Volde..."

"Potter!" Snape barked. "Don't say that name in front of me." And then, with more than a small bit of satisfaction, he added, "Ask the Headmaster. I'm sure he'll be happy to tell all. "

Before Potter could respond...

"Harry, did you read the book I gave you?"

His glare faded into embarrassment. Now, he was the one staring at his toes. "That's why I'm here. It got confiscated."

"You lost my book?" She jumped to her feet, her wand fisted in her hand.

"Filch took it!" the selfish little prat whined, dragging his fingers through his unruly hair.

"Oh, so this is why you're so upset with me? Because you need me to help you out of a bind? Charming." She tilted her nose into the air. "Severus," she said sweetly, "will you please take care of this? I'm sure you can get my book back for me." She cast one last glance over her shoulder at her "friends." "I have some personal needs to attend to."

Even Snape blanched at that one.

The little witch.

Leaving him with the Prats of Gryffindor and her own messes to clean up.

"Professor Snape," Ginevra said crisply, "you're a very bad influence on her."

"Thank you," he responded, equally as crisply. With a flick of his fingers, he un-silenced and unwarded the doors. "One more thing. You will keep the details of this little escapade quiet. Especially the wandless magic."

He left without waiting for their responses.

XX

Hermione paced before the fireplace, wringing her hands. Her fingers still tingled, especially the one that had erupted in a hex. She stuck it in her mouth to soothe, and even her tongue tingled. She yanked it out.

What was happening to her?

She had little time to contemplate, however. The force of energy that entered the bedchamber with Professor Snape was more palpable than if a door had slammed open.

She whirled to face him.

His face was white, his features livid. "What the fucking hell was that?"

"I...I don't know!"

He crossed the room to her and grabbed her by the upper arm. "Then figure it out fast. Pull a stunt like that at the Malfoy's..."

"Owl them! Tell them I'm ill and can't make it!"

"We will be there, and you will be under control if I have to put you under an Imperio. Is that clear?"

"You wouldn't dare!" But she knew as soon as she spat the words that oh, yes, he would dare. "I didn't do it on purpose!" she amended hastily, rubbing her hand on her robes.

Abruptly, he released her arm and took her hand in his to examine it.

As soon as his fingertips touched hers, she felt a jolt of something part electrical, part magical. She tried to pull her hand away, but he raised her fingers closer for examination. Maybe he didn't feel it. But if she didn't get to sit down, she was going to collapse from the sensations. She staggered backward, landed on the edge of the bed, gasping.

And still he didn't release her fingertips. He held her hand in one of his while stroking her fingertips with his other hand. Each stroke, each caress, sent another jolt through her. She could hardly breathe. "Please. Stop."

The eyes he raised to hers were as black as she'd ever seen them. Blacker. Narrowed and gleaming. With a sharp tug, he pulled her back to her feet so that she was standing inches away from him.

"Now that I've seen how easily you manipulate Weasley, I feel I must make myself very clear, Miss Granger. Do not play me. Do not cry false tears on my shoulders or think you can plead feminine distress in order to distract me. I won't tolerate it. And I won't tolerate watching you do that to the boys you call your friends."

"Is that what you think I was doing?" she gasped.

He yanked her closer. "And what else would you have me believe?" he asked in his most silken tones.

Oh god oh god oh god. The truth was too raw and quivering, and she'd die before she'd blurt it out again.

"I will not be used to taunt them or tease them or do whatever else it was you intended." He slid his hand up the back of her neck, beneath the heavy fall of her hair, and his fingers dug into her scalp with a sensual pressure that caused her to go limp; her head fell back into his hand. "I'm a man, Miss Granger, and a powerful wizard, of this you were well aware when you chose me to rescue you from your fate worse than death," he sneered. "I am not one of your boys."

And then, with a movement as violent as it was sensual, he lowered his face to hers and crushed her lips beneath his, and her heart pounded--she wanted to push him away--she wanted to pull him closer and cling to him and feel his hard body pressing into her. When she thought she'd die if he didn't let her breathe, but would surely die if he broke the kiss, he drew away, heaving in air and pushing her against the bed, lowering her to it, and then, hooking a finger into her robe, baring her shoulder to the cold dungeon air, to his hot, dry lips, to the tip of his tongue as it traced the delicate bones from her throat, sending a shiver through her body.

He drew away from her and inhaled deeply, as if searching for a scent on the air, and his black eyes were hooded as he said, "You're a child, Miss Granger. But you've joined a dangerous game, and I'm not going to let your foolishness get us both killed. And..." he nipped the skin at her throat, and she gasped...it hurt..."I'm not going to watch you throw yourself into Ron Weasley's arms to win his comfort and support."

"I didn't..."

"And," he overrode her with the force of his dark velvet voice, "I'm not going to listen to you spread romantic lies and fantasies about us to soothe your ego and provide an excuse for the sacrifice you believe you are making."

Romantic lies and fantasies.

If he'd hit her, she couldn't imagine it hurting more. And she only knew one way to make it go away--please, please, make the pain go away--and so she slid her fingers through his hair and cupped his head and pulled it to her and forced him to kiss her again, to give her more of his drugging kisses, to chase the pain away and replace it with the dark, sweet comfort she found in his arms. And even as her lips met his, she felt him bracing to pull away, and she rose with him, making him pull her weight with his own, refusing to break the connection between them, the yearning, desperate joining of lips and soul....

And the moment, the very instant, she felt him soften, she traced his lips with her tongue and sought entry, wanting to taste him, to savor him, to take in his darkness and make it hers as well.

He jerked away from her.

She reached between them and found him hard, bulging beneath his trousers, and knew a momentary triumph...

Too brief, because he slapped her hand away.

"Don't," he snarled.

And something in her broke, something angry and aching. "Why not? Because it's not Saturday? Who made that rule? I didn't! It's just a way...a way to control, and what if I don't want to be controlled. What if I don't want to be an appointment on your calendar, 'Fuck Miss Granger,' and nothing more than that? What if I want you now? Am I not your wife? Don't I have any rights?"

He yanked her left hand up between them and held his near it. "I made that rule! I made it to salvage the last little bit that is left of any control I have of my life, my own fucking body. The Ministry uses these rings to monitor, to make sure we're doing our part, you realize that, don't you? Through these bloody rings they know when we fuck, and I have to live knowing that somewhere in some office in the bloody Ministry of Magic somebody is monitoring when Severus Snape fucks his child bride! And worse, that somebody there might notice if he begins to partake of her loveliness a little too often, that he might even exhibit a little bit too much fondness for her flesh, because if that happens...it will come to the Dark Lord's attention, Miss Granger. He will know. And he will know how to hurt me. And he will hurt me by hurting you. And that's why we're not going to fuck today and why we must fuck on Saturday, even though I don't want to give them the satisfaction. Because when I entered into this marriage, I turned my body over to the Ministry to monitor, and I live with that every fucking minute of every fucking day!"

Oh god. And she thought she'd known pain.

He rose, trembling, and turned his back on her.

Something inside her ripped open, and not even tears would fill the need to despair.

Would her indebtedness to him never stop growing?

If she couldn't even give him sex, what was left?

He braced his hands on the mantle and hung his head, fighting for air.

She couldn't touch him.

And so it was she found herself yet again falling back on the finest of English tradition.

With trembling hands and aching heart, she began brewing the only potion at her disposal.

Tea.