Bothered

If you recognize it, it isn't mine and is JK Rowling's. If you don't recognize it, don't blame Jo.

Thanks to Leigh-Anne, as always!

24. BOTHERED

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 could do nothing but lie in blackness and listen to her breathing.

That wasn't true, he corrected himself.

He could usually feel her, too.

He usually felt her heat.

Insufferable girl. She didn't seem capable of sleeping unless she was pressed against him in some way.

The dungeons were cold, of course. And the bed was too large. His own bed had been small but that meant that the heat from his body, trapped under the blanket, kept him warm.

This bed, however, was too large. If she slept on her own side, they both ended up cold. So she sought his warmth in her sleep, and he allowed it, because, after all, it was preferable to shivering alone in the darkness.

There was no other reason for her to seek him, after all. No other reason to keep him awake with the listening, the feeling, the yearning, the seeking.

Tonight, she slept on her own side.

She must not be cold tonight. She wasn't pressed against him.

And he couldn't bring himself to seek her for warmth.

For anything.

So he settled for the listening....

And the smelling. Merlin, the scents of her.

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

He smelled ink from her fingertips, the black eel ink that he preferred and she now used...without even asking, he might add if he were being petty, and Merlin knew he was prone to pettiness.

He smelled his own eucalyptus and spearmint scent; she still would rather soak in a hot tub filled with that than the jasmine and rose and lavender scents he'd offered her. She clearly dumped the crystals in with wanton abandon. What was meant to be a crisp yet subtle scent radiated off her in seductive waves. Did she think he had nothing to do but brew potions and then reduce them to crystals for her bath, so that she could laze hours away with textbooks levitating in front of her? And she called this enterprise studying? Leaving the door to the bath cracked open, no less, so that the steam permeated their entire quarters? Had she no sense of propriety? He had half a mind to inform Minerva to keep a closer watch on her fucking Gryffindors. Surely Miss Granger hadn't started such inappropriate behaviour since their marriage. He'd assumed she was the modest type, and yet her actions...

He refused to think of her actions. He was having enough trouble sleeping. He shifted, rolled toward her, and smelled his potion on her breath, with each sweet exhalation.

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

Because it wasn't a breath potion.

It was a taste potion.

He'd brewed it because he didn't like the taste in his mouth after he slept.

Now, he inhaled deeply.

And wanted to taste it in her mouth.

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

Did her mouth taste the same as his? Would like meet like (potion meet potion) and recognize and join? Or would her lips taste of something new?

Not that he would act on the desire.

But the longing, oh Merlin, the longing.

He shouldn't be awake. He should be asleep. Didn't she know that on those rare occasions when she wasn't pressed against him or wrapped around him or lying across him...sometimes he found it necessary to roll toward her and listen, and smell, and feel....

To reassure himself that she was still there?

On those black, cold nights in the dungeon.

A shiver trembled through him.

Because he was cold.

Because the bed was too big.

Because he refused to cross the expanse of bed and touch her, smell her, taste her, make her moan.

And then, as if sensing his need...

She moaned in her sleep.

He closed the distance between them and pulled her into the curve of his body.

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

Nobody would know that he kissed her hair.

Not even she would know.

And finally, he slept... with her.

XX

Hermione stormed down the second floor corridor instead of heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

Professor Vector! The...the harpy! Whatever had Hermione done to deserve being cut off from the special assignments that had once been her norm? Was Professor Vector deliberately attempting to sabotage her Arithmancy NEWT?

Hermione burst into the girls' bathroom with rage simmering in her veins, assuming that the only thing she'd have to deal with was Moaning Myrtle. She had to get away, to hide, to bring herself under control before something erupted unbidden, again.

Which is why she managed to burst into the middle of four other Seventh-Year witches before she realized that the bathroom was already occupied.

Hermione stared.

They all stared back.

Moaning Myrtle hovered above, giggling in delight. "Oooooh! Look who else is hiding from her husband...! And who can blame her?"

"I most certainly am not!" Hermione sputtered, clenching her wand more tightly.

Myrtle swooped down and stopped six inches from Hermione's face. "Is he that good, then?" She let out a maniacal giggle. "Or does he not bother you at all?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flame and stared at the others.

The other brides.

They stared at her openly, but even so, she could easily tell what had been happening the moment before she entered. One, the Hufflepuff Leticia Spiggot...well, she supposed it would be Leticia Merriman, now...was openly weeping with the others consoling her.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, despite herself. "Are you hurt?"

Leticia laughed bitterly, but hid her face in embarrassment.

"Some girls," said Moaning Myrtle viciously, "don't appreciate how lucky they are to have a boy in their bed!" And then she flew to the furthest corner of the ceiling and burst into noisy sobs. "Tormenting me! Talking of things I'll never know!" She sobbed even louder.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to whirl and leave the way she came in. She did not want to hear any more of this.

But it was too late.

One of the Ravenclaw brides leapt to her feet. "Hermione, you've got to help her."

Hermione fought the magical surge trembling through her and clutched her wand. If she were going to have any kind of magical surge, at least let it involve a wand. "What?" she demanded.

"She's hurt, all right," the Ravenclaw said bitterly. "That wretch she's married to has her so raw she can hardly walk!"

Raw? What on earth?

Oh.

Oh!

Oh.

Like a bad dream from a different lifetime, Hermione suddenly remembered that awful fateful day when she'd stormed into Professor Snape's classroom and demanded that he save her.

"I refuse to be shackled to a teenaged boy who thinks I'm available for him to rut any time he gets the urge because I'd never get out of bed!"

And she supposed that meant getting raw, too.

She shuddered with disgust.

"Well," she said crisply. "First, go to Madam Pomfrey..."

"I'd be too embarrassed!" Leticia moaned.

"Don't be a child," Hermione said officiously and hypocritically, and realizing both, and not caring. "You are a young woman with a young woman's problem, and Madam Pomfrey will be able to help you. There are potions that will help you..."

"Really?" One of the other brides gave Hermione a knowing look. "And they work?"

"One would presume," Hermione responded with Professor Snape's most scathing tones. If nothing else, Hermione had learned to scathe from her husband. Don't even go there, she glared silently. "And then, after all, you are a witch. You have a wand. Use it!"

"You don't mean..." Leticia looked horrified.

"I'd hex his bollocks before I'd hide in a haunted loo crying my eyes out, too sore to walk," Hermione snapped.

The Ravenclaw gasped. "You'd hex Professor Snape's bollocks!?!"

"I...I...that's not exactly..."

"Of course not," one of the others piped up. "He's Professor Snape. It's not as if he'd expect Hermione to...to...you know...every waking moment!"

"According to my research, it shouldn't take that long, anyway, as you're hardly a boy any more."

And on the heels of that, the memory that literally took her breath away.

"You're a teacher! And I'm a student!"

She sank to the floor.

And this time it was his voice she heard....

"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!"

This is what she'd wanted, after all. A husband who didn't bother her.

A husband who understood that she was, after all, a child bride.

Who would keep her safe and protect her and not bother her, and certainly not expect her to...

Stupid, selfish girl.

She stood up warily, realizing that they were all staring at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I came in here because I wasn't feeling well."

She turned to leave, and stopped, looking back at Leticia once more. "Go to Madam Pomfrey. Now." She looked at the young women on either side of her. "Take her, if you have to."

She was so lucky...so lucky!

But Professor Snape. He deserved more than this.

She had to prove to him she was not a child bride.

She could do that. She knew she could.

She looked down at the ring on her left hand.

Tricking the Ministry of Magic, though.

That might be a bit more difficult.

XX

When she hadn't appeared at lunch, he'd gone hunting.

He hadn't gone far when he'd rounded a corner and been struck by a body coming from the other direction. He hadn't even considered hexing; eucalyptus and spearmint would have announced her identity if the wild mane of billowing hair hadn't.

"Miss Granger."

"I'm...I'm sorry. I'm trying to get to lunch before it's too late."

He grabbed her arm. "Your magic is shimmering. You do not need to be in the Great Hall." He half-dragged, half-guided her back to their quarters.

He hadn't time for more than listening to a few terse words about Vector before telling her to order lunch from the kitchens and to take a calming draught. He had to attend a staff meeting, and then they'd go visit the wine cellar she'd been dangling before him for days.

The contents of which were sounding better and better all the time.

He eased into Albus's office and stood in his usual place, the back corner, leaning back with the walls for support. Many a meeting had he dozed in this spot. Merlin, this had better be short. He hadn't the patience for it.

When Albus entered all a-twinkle, he'd had the good grace to avoid Severus's eyes all together.

"Thank you for coming," he beamed at all of them. "I realize this is unexpected, but we do need to put our heads together and come up with some solutions before the situation gets any worse."

What? A sherbet lemon shortage?

Oh, if only it were that simple. Instead, Flitwick rose to report. "We have three married couples in Ravenclaw and of course, one in Hufflepuff. It's awkward but not totally impossible as the castle has kindly provided us with extra suites for privacy, but there's no denying that we'd be better off if the married students had their own section of housing and their own ... for lack of a better word, House."

"That's an extreme measure," Albus responded, "but one I'll certainly take under advisement."

"Perhaps," Minerva said crisply, "Professor and Madam Snape would consider overseeing such a venture, since they're already turning the entire history of Hogwarts upside down with their marriage."

Well. That certainly silenced the room.

"Minerva," he said pleasantly, "bite my arse."

Albus gave him a long look over the top of his glasses. "I expected you to be a bad influence on Miss Granger, not the other way around."

Severus slouched more securely into the corner. "I know Minerva doesn't consider her suggestion to have the slightest bit of merit, so perhaps she should tell us what is really bothering her?"

Minerva managed to straighten even more, as if a second poker had been crammed up her arse. "I don't know who is more to blame for this ridiculous situation, Miss Granger or you. I only know that the very idea of a professor and a student involved in a sexual relationship...married or not," she inserted before he could interject, "...is unsettling to the staff and causing untold issues amongst the students. I resent the fact that she is still in my classroom – any classroom, for that matter."

He allowed his voice to go to pure silk, his eyes to dead black. "If this is truly representative of the feelings of the staff, steps need to be taken to remove my wife from all her classes because I will not allow her to be subjected to such petty treatment. I expected it from her fellow Gryffindors, of course; I must tell you, however, that I anticipated a far better standard of behaviour from a faculty of which I am a member, and most especially from her own Head of House."

Albus interjected. "Don't jump to conclusions, Severus. I'm sure Minerva didn't mean it the way it sounded, and of course this staff holds nothing but the highest regard for Hermione. There will be no reason for her to discontinue her course of study."

Unexpectedly it was Hooch who cocked her head and looked him straight in the eye and said, "Severus, it has been said that Granger...sorry, Madam Snape, is not looking well, that she's stretched too thin, that her unexpected marital status has made it unlikely that she can see her education fulfill the promise it once offered. Furthermore..." she cut him off with a hard warning look. "It has been noticed that she is not herself. That she pays no attention to anything that happens around her, unless it involves you. That she looks like a whipped puppy that tags along after you like she's trying to earn her master's grudging affection. It has been said..."

"How dare you."

"I merely deigned to repeat what has been whispered, so you can have the opportunity to respond."

"How you must love to be the bearer of such glad tidings," Snape spat. "It appears that her presence is so problematical that Vector..." a curt nod and glare in her direction "...has chosen not to even offer her NEWTS level revision." He cast scathing glances at each professor in turn as he continued, "Flitwick, at his most Charming, is so filled with thoughts of improper horrors he simply pretends she doesn't exist." Dipping into her memories to check up on Albus's atrocities had provided unexpected dividends, and he continued to reel off each teacher's inadequacies in a litany of silken attack, and would have continued.

But Albus cut him off. "That's enough!"

Severus raised his gaze to the old wizard. "Really? Odd you should think so. I would have thought it was too much, but clearly you're having difficulty making such judgments these days.

"I think when you dare compare my wife--my brilliant little warrior of a wife..." That, he aimed straight at Albus, who received it without reacting. "To a whipped puppy," he sneered, "you should revisit the issue of cause and effect. Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not the one who has been kicking puppies."

He left the Headmaster's office in a billow of robe and took the stairs down two at a time, blind to anything but rage and the need to return to her.

He was halfway down the stairs to the fourth floor before he realized somebody was following him.

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder...

Fucking splendid. Hooch.

"Severus."

He didn't slow.

"Just wanted you to know what was being said. But I don't want you to think I believed it or was the one saying it."

Whatever.

"Severus?"

He stopped and whirled to face her with a snarl.

"Make sure she knows the way to my quarters. Should she ever need, well, something close to female companionship." And responding to the expression on his face, "Oh, sod off, Snape, you can trust me. I know she's not my type."

"Indeed, she is not." He drew a deep breath. "Thank you," he said belatedly, and then continued, "Rolanda, she might actually need some sessions with you, but if this could remain strictly confidential..."

She simply looked at him, waiting.

"I haven't even informed Albus, yet."

She raised her eyebrows at that.

"She tossed a wandless hex at Potter that flattened him. Straight from her fingertips." He saved the best for last. "Silently."

"Well, well, well. Spontaneously, too? Isn't that a bit of a trifecta?" Hooch didn't hide her surprise. "Agreed. Just let me know when. And warn her that I hex back."

She gave him a curt nod then angled down the stairs toward another corridor, leaving him to proceed to the dungeons.

And he hadn't even begun to prepare her for tea with the Dark Lord and the lovely Narcissa.

Fuck it all. He wanted nothing more than to crack open a bottle of wine, find a dark corner of the second best wine cellar in the South of England, and get pissed.