Names

As always, my thanks to JK Rowling.

And extra thanks sent to lifeasanamazon for her last minute extra set of eyes!

51. NAMES

The sliver of chicken was warm and moist on her tongue as she let her teeth close lightly around it, then quickly, sucked it into her mouth.

Along with his fingers.

Even bandaged...blindfolded, for all intents and purposes...she could hear what she couldn't see and heard his soft intake of air. She licked the rosemary residue from his skin and savoured it, and finally allowed him to retrieve his digits along with, so it would seem, his ability to breathe.

"This is very nourishing broth," she remarked. "So thick, you don't even need a spoon."

"Horrid girl," he muttered. His fingers stroked across her forehead as he pushed her hair back out of her face again. "You're lucky I don't make you drink broth for four days."

She needed to see him, to see what strained his voice, whether it was concern for her or anger at her. Concern she could alleviate easily, deliciously easily.

But anger...

"I wanted to see what colour the magic was," she said on a sigh.

"What do you mean?" he asked stiffly.

"When the snakes moved, when they attacked...I wanted to see what colour the magic was. I asked Colin to take pictures."

"Are you insane?"

Anger. Definitely anger.

"I kept my distance. I thought it would be like before, that they'd just, you know, hiss."

"And you took another Muggle-born down there and put him at risk, too?"

"Oh, he was careful," she lied nonchalantly. "And after all, I had no idea it could actually fly through the air at me!"

She heard him grinding his teeth and flinched. She was being careful, though. Telling him only what she could, as if it were everything. For once she had the advantage of his not being able to read her eyes to detect how much she withheld. "I'm sorry I destroyed the bed," she finally said. "It was self-defence. Once it started attacking, I... I lost control."

And the last Horcrux exploded. And the expression on Professor Dumbledore's face, when I explained what happened...

The Headmaster had been flummoxed. Totally flummoxed. And had clearly wanted to shout at her.

But how could he? She'd found the last Horcrux and had destroyed the last Horcrux and had only a headache and sore eyes for it, when all was said and done. She rather thought she'd done well for herself, and the expression on the Headmaster's face was the cherry on top.

"Professor...? Are you angry?"

"Angry that you almost killed yourself and took half the castle with you? Why ever would you think such a thing?" he snapped and, taking hold of her chin, plopped another bite of meat into her mouth.

"My turn," she said and then probed for the plate on the bed beside her, trailing her fingers across it until she felt...a chicken leg?...and lifted it in the direction of his mouth.

He closed his hand around her wrist, and for a moment she didn't know whether he intended to snatch the leg from her or just push her hand away.

But then he angled it just so, and she felt and heard him take a bite. And another. And then, he removed the bone from her fingers and trailed his tongue over the palm of her hand, searching out the drips of flavoured oil that clung to her flesh.

And a surge swelled within her, liquid and overwhelming, a surge more potent than sex and more dangerous than rage...a surge of...oh, god...words.

They spilled from her lips without heeding her already protesting mind, her supposedly prodigious mind, that was already insisting she think better of saying...

"Grow old with me."

She felt him freeze, his nose pressed to her palm and his breath fanning across her moist skin with tickles of delight.

He pulled away.

But she wouldn't let him. She groped until she found his hand again and tugged him to her. "Grow old with me, Professor. Promise me that."

He dismissed her with a haughty sniff. "I'm already old."

"Liar."

"Then I am an old liar." He wasn't giving an inch.

"Well." It was her turn to sniff. "A true Slytherin Potions professor would know to lie and promise to grow old with me."

"Impertinent."

"Hufflepuff."

"You court danger," he growled.

And as he dipped lower over her, she reached for him and curled her hands around his head. She drew him close until their faces almost touched, and she whispered again, "Grow old with me...."

She couldn't feel gloomy that he kissed her instead of responding with the words she needed to hear. Couldn't feel let down that he wouldn't at least pretend. It wasn't her birthday, after all, and he wasn't much for pretending.... And so she revelled in the touch of his lips to hers, so gentle, so aching. She tasted his ache, felt it deep in her joints, how he ached, and she had caused it with those four words. Lest she bring herself to tears, she had to let other words take their place, and so she did; she whispered into his lips, "Make love to me."

The ache flared to flame, and she felt that, too, with the corresponding need in her core.

But he braced his hands on either side of her to lift his body away. "You heard Poppy's instructions. You must keep your head slightly elevated and your body still...no stress, no strain...until morning."

"Then I will lie very still. I won't move. And you will be very gentle and..." She breathed the last word and trembled at the sound and taste of it. "Slow..."

His entire body grew rigid over her and his voice was tense. "Miss Granger, a wife who lies still and doesn't move is the curse of many a marriage, and not the promise a man wants to hear."

She felt her cheeks flame. She hadn't considered...hadn't thought of it that way.

"So tell me," he continued, his voice rasping in her ear, "how you can make that most unsatisfactory situation sound like sheer temptation itself?" He nuzzled her neck and shivers trembled from her scalp to her spine.

"Because..."

His lips stopped hers from answering. And when all thought, all words, had flown from her, he said, "Don't speak. Don't think. Don't move."

And she didn't.

Couldn't.

As his lips turned her body to liquid and sought sweet crevices and bestowed her with spiralling sensations...but, not stress? No strain? Her entire body quivered with it, and she didn't care, couldn't care, just needed more; she just needed him....

And when she thought she'd weep from need and die if he didn't bring her to release, he settled himself between her thighs and touched her there.

Licked her there.

Teased and tantalized and tormented her there.

Until her back arched off the bed and she cried out and tears seeped from her eyes, her bandages, and her face was wet with them, and she could only reach blindly until she found him rising from between her thighs and settling again, this time the heavy heat of him pressing in so slowly, so... so carefully, so deliberately and restrained and delicious and oh...oh, yes, so perfect...she had to move, had to move against him, but his hands pressed her hips into the mattress and allowed her no movement. Instead, she was victim to his slow torture.

And when the torture had built to an impossible level, when she thought she'd splinter from it, he held himself back, hovering at the point of yet another sensuous plunge, and his tension radiated from him and through her. It wasn't just a tension born of blood and engorgement and trembling need, but another tension, a deeper tension, something undefined yet rampant between them.

She whimpered beneath him clenching her fingers closed into fists. "Please..." she said, and then again, because it seemed no other word could form, "please..."

"Miss Granger," he said hoarsely, his voice rumbling softly into her ear, "say my name."

She fought to make sense of it, to bring forward the words. "Profe..."

"Severus... call me Severus."

She moved beneath him, fighting through the quiver of her desire, trying to make sense of his words. Why was it so difficult for her? Why couldn't she just say it? Just because she heard it echo in her mind in a dozen other voices, why was it an issue, and why now, when it was so little to ask?

When his hair brushed her face, her shoulder, she tunnelled her fingers into it and inhaled the scent of eucalyptus and spearmint and smoke and turned her mouth to his ear and whispered, "Severus..."

He jerked within her, plunged deeply, and it became a chant, an incantation of deepest desire and need and finally, fulfilment, that word, that beautiful word, "Severus, Severus, my Severus," timed with each stroke, each pump, each plunge, until she was gasping it and weeping it, and still, still, her lips wouldn't stop, her voice couldn't stop.

Because he wanted her to say it.

And she couldn't refuse him.

Wouldn't refuse him.

Ever.

XX

He'd never heard his name before.

Not like this.

Not like she said it.

It was silk sliding across his skin.

It was air to his lungs, moisture to his parched soul.

It grounded him to the warm earth in a way that he had never been before, a way that felt safe and protected.

It ignited flames in his blood and sent him soaring.

All from hearing his name...

The way she said it.

It was more than the breathless hoarseness of her passion, much more. It came from deep within her, from her heart, from her very soul, and she spoke it with such... he couldn't bring himself to use the word. It sounded as ridiculous as the idea she'd brought forward of them being soul mates.

Fools and lightweights bandied words like love around as if they meant something.

He was neither.

But neither could he deny that no one had ever spoken his name the way she did.

And if she kept on, if she didn't stop, he would break open.

And so he stopped her with his lips on hers, and absorbed her breath, her moisture, her earth and her fire straight into him, like the most dangerous of drugs...

And when he came up for air, saw her cheeks streaked with tears.

And panicked.

"Bloody hell. I hurt you. I told you we shouldn't..."

"You didn't hurt me," she said breathlessly. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"But...you're crying."

"Don't be absurd. Just calm down..." She stroked the side of his face like she was gentling a fucking horse, and fuck it all, it was working. The tension eased from him as she continued, "I'm not hurt. I'm happy. I'm just...happy."

"You cry too fucking much."

"Yes," she sighed, nuzzling his cheek. "I know I do. It's a weakness. But it doesn't mean I'm weak."

He snorted. "Far be it from me to ever call you weak."

She smiled, pleased. "In fact, my eyes feel so normal, I think you could take off the bandage."

"We will do no such thing." He forced himself to break out of her embrace, to leave those soothing hands and lips and heave himself up from the bed. "In fact, you have more potions to take before you sleep."

"Potions. Bah. I don't need any potions."

"Oh, then I can pour this contraceptive potion down the drain?"

She scowled and stuck her hand out. "Give me the potions."

He smirked and carried three vials to the bedside, but before he began giving them to her, he had to stand and stare at her, to run his free hand up her calf to her thigh, testing the supple muscles that formed her legs so perfectly.

"That tickles."

But she didn't twist away.

He covered one breast with the palm of his hand and felt her heart pounding beneath it, steady and true. She arched into his hand with a sweet sigh, and he had to lean over her and take another kiss, strands of her hair getting caught between their lips and neither of them caring....

"So happy," she repeated. "You make me so happy."

And he longed to remove the bandages and see her tea-hued eyes warmed in the afterglow of their sex. Instead he gave her the contraceptive, the taste potion and the healing potion, watching her lick them from her lips and wanting to let his tongue follow....

"Professor..." The way she ran her fingers through his hair and let her voice curl around her words was pure seduction.

"What now?" he demanded, cursing his own libido.

Her lips tipped into a smile. "Would you run me a bath?"

"Bloody fucking hell, you need to go to sleep."

"But we'll sleep so much better if we have a hot bath first."

With a snarl, he headed to the bathroom.

He didn't seem able to tell her no.

XX

She had annoyed him by giggling. She knew it; he told her so. But the healing potion had gone to her head and she felt... giddy.

And sharing a bath with him had brought out her giggles, since almost everything he did to her tickled.

She really hadn't meant to elbow him, but it was reflex, pure reflex, and his blast of foul language had sent her into more laughter and...

And now he was buttoning their shirt up to her neck as if that would somehow shut them off, her giggles.

"Insufferable chit," he muttered under his breath as she lay very still in an attempt to contain herself.

And of course, there was the fact that when she had settled back against the pillows, the bed had felt so heavenly every single muscle in her body had sighed and settled in for a long, luxurious sleep.

She felt the bed dip as he joined her.

"We don't want you tossing and turning. I'm going to have to charm you to stay on your back all night, and that will be much more comfortable for you if you're deep in sleep."

She sniffed the new potion he offered her and recognized it, of course. She'd certainly brewed enough of it. She opened her mouth obediently even though the last thing she wanted was Dreamless Sleep. She wanted sleep with him holding her, with her stirring and finding his arms around her and feeling his breath ruffling her hair and skimming her skin....

She sighed and opened her mouth and allowed him to pour it in.

And then the mattress shifted again, and she realised he was walking away from her.

And she leaned over the other direction, mentally crossing her fingers that he wasn't watching and spit the potion out.

By the time he came back she had slid one of the pile of pillows to cover the wet spot and had nestled down more deeply for sleep. And proved herself right...she certainly hadn't needed it...by dropping into a most pleasant dream as soon as his body curled against hers and his chin nestled on her shoulder and his hand cupped her breast possessively....

XX

"Severus?"

She didn't want to wake up. She wanted Professor Dumbledore to go away and leave them alone, and why would he be in their quarters with them in bed...what if they'd been actually having sex? She sighed deeply and rolled her head to the side...

And felt Professor Snape rearrange her head and felt the magic settle over her more firmly as his spell braced her neck.

He took such good care of her, such sweet care of her: he was really so sweet....

But he was gone. Where she'd been warm, she now was chilled. She needed him back, needed her bed warmer back....

Somewhere deep down she wanted to giggle again, but decided not to, because what if he worked out she hadn't swallowed all of his potion?

Which she didn't really need, because she was so sleepy....

"Severus, I need you in my office."

"And I told you I would not be available tonight."

"She should be in the hospital wing."

"She should be exactly where she is, Albus. Whatever you want can certainly wait until morning. This has been an extremely trying day..."

"I'm afraid it can't wait."

"If you fucking insist, then come through. We can talk here, but I'm warning you, I have no patience..."

"Miss Granger..."

"Is sleeping the sleep of the innocent under the influence of Dreamless Sleep Potion."

She wondered if she should speak up.

No, she knew she should speak up.

But... she also knew she wasn't going to.

It wasn't as if she would reveal any of their secrets, and if they'd just be quiet enough, she fully intended to sleep through it anyway....

XX

Fucking, fucking hell.

He leaned over her once more. Her breathing was slow and steady, her lips gently parted in sleep. She'd stirred at Albus's Floo call...which surprised him no little bit...but had sunk back into the arms of Morpheus soon enough.

He stood up and almost knocked Albus over.

Albus, who was leaning in and squinting at his wife as she slept.

He stood taller, blocking the view, and swept one arm toward the darker area of their quarters with mock grace. "After you," he snarled.

He sent the chairs sliding noiselessly and, after a moment's hesitation, took her floral monstrosity for himself, meeting Albus's amused smile with a glare. "Proceed."

The smile faded. "Severus..."

He remained silent, forcing the old man to continue without encouragement.

"Time is growing short and there are things we must address." Albus shifted and reached deep into a pocket to fish out a sherbet lemon. "Would you care for...no, I suppose not." He popped it into his mouth and stared at Severus, and for a moment the years fell away and he was the kindly Headmaster who had soothed the much-abused young boy Severus had been, the Headmaster who poured healing unguents in the form of praise and comfort into his young heart.

He felt a lurch of familiarity, of need, even as he resented the old man's ability to return him to that vulnerable state.

"Severus, you have had to prove yourself to Tom again and again in ways too dreadful to consider and it has been the price we've paid...yes, we, even though I realize it is more difficult for you to endure than for me to witness...." He sighed.

Severus shifted and refused to meet the old man's eyes. He could put up with most anything, but Albus in a maudlin mood pushed him to the limit.

"And I've anticipated that as time grew short, he would give you ever more difficult tasks to perform in order to prove your loyalty. Time is officially very short, indeed, my boy," he said with a wry smile, "and I know what task you've been given, Severus. I know."

"And your point is?"

"I know you. I know you so well. And I know that even as we speak you're scheming and plotting a way to trick him, to make him believe you are doing his will even as you avoid that final task."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"It is a disastrous thing!" Albus leaned across the space that separated them. "Do you think I don't know what he's asking of you? Do you think I haven't seen this day coming and dreaded it? Do you think I didn't know the day would come when you'd have to kill..."

"Silence!" Severus hissed, his blood running cold. "Do not speak it!"

"I will speak it, my boy, and I will make myself clear. You will not shirk this task. You've grown complacent and are taking Tom's affection for you for granted at your peril...at all our peril. You think you can fool him, but Tom is not a fool! Do you think he doesn't suspect your regard? Do you really think it hidden so well that he can't see it, after all these years of diving into your memories any time that he wants? And if you dare...if you dare attempt to trick him, he will know, and he will kill you. And if you die, our cause is lost. Lost."

"Don't be ridiculous! There are ways, there are always ways..."

"To forfeit all the gains we've made over the past two decades? To make your sacrifices worth nothing? To throw it all away on some misplaced loyalty..."

"Misplaced!" Without even being aware of his own movement, he was standing, looming over the old man, his fingers flexing with the desire to...

He shook himself free of the need to silence that voice, to close off that throat. How dare he? How dare he!

And then Albus was standing, his hands on Severus's shoulders, his eyes warm with compassion. "Did you think I didn't see this coming? Did you think I haven't prepared for this time? Do you think I haven't known the sacrifice that would be demanded of me?"

"Sacrifice." His mouth was dry. "Demanded of you?"

"Severus, I have always known that the day would come when Tom would demand that you kill me."

"And...and that's what you're telling me to do?"

"We have no choice. If you don't, you will die. If you die, our cause is lost. Harry is lost. The future...is lost."

He shook his head numbly.

"I wouldn't ask this of you if there were any other way. You have to know that."

How could he stand there, his voice so filled with compassion, and speak inanities? How could the old man be so blind?

"I've lived a long life, but more importantly, I've planned for this...you won't be left without resources, and when the Final Battle comes, you will be standing where you need to stand to help Harry..."

He had to stop the flow...stop the flow of words, stop them before his rage got the best of him. He grabbed Albus's wrists and forcibly removed them from his shoulders, fighting for air, for words of his own..."

"Albus, he has not asked me to kill you."

Albus was startled. "He has. He must have. He's set you the final task..."

"Not to kill you."

The old wizard was, for once, totally perplexed, and then, concerned. "Severus, if he hasn't, it's because he doesn't trust you..."

"Oh fucking hell, Albus, he trusts me! Never you doubt that. He trusts me to do his bidding no matter what it is, and I wish to hell he'd told me to kill you because I could do that this moment in a heartbeat, you insufferable old bastard! It's not you I'm to kill, it's..." The words choked in his throat, hard and solid, and he found himself unable to continue.

"No," Albus said. "Surely not... It makes no sense. He lives in fear of the prophecy; he wouldn't dare attempt to circumvent it by..."

"Not Potter!" He squeezed his eyes shut against the horror, the reality of it now that he was putting it into words. And as words, they almost didn't exist, as he could barely force them through his lips, and they came as a whisper, "Miss Granger."

"Severus, what have you done?"

Startled, he met the flat blue gaze, the rigid anger.

"Why did you marry her? Why did you bring this down upon us? Why did you choose this moment to go against me?"

"It's too late for that!"

"Indeed, it is." How quickly the old man's voice went from compassion to cold fury.

"You think so little of me, I see. Perhaps you'll feel better when you know that I have received concessions from him. That she is safe from all but me and that I am being allowed to use poison rather than a public... event."

"And these concessions comfort you, how?"

"You think I don't have potions at my disposal that will mimic death? Don't insult me by underestimating me!"

"And don't underestimate Tom! You think he doesn't expect just such trickery, if trickery there is to be had?"

"I can do it. I can manage..."

"To doom us all."

"You don't mean...you aren't telling me I should..."

"I can't tell you anything, Severus, except that the future of the wizarding world is in your hands. You forfeited your own chance at a future when you took the Mark and betrayed the woman you loved..."

"I didn't know..."

"And you now have the opportunity to redeem yourself, or to doom us all."

There wasn't enough air to fill his lungs, enough strength to support his body. He collapsed into the chair...her chair, her ridiculous chair...gasping.

"How much simpler, if you had allowed me to arrange things for her. How much easier your conscience would be. You've already ruined my plans beyond repair, Severus. You have no choice."

He felt the hand, the gentle and hated hand, touch the top of his head.

He shook his head, partly in dismay, and partly to dislodge the hand. "You can't mean this."

"I'm sure when given time to ponder the ramifications... I'm sure you'll do what you have to do."

He heard rather than saw the flare of green and the Headmaster's exit.

Cold, so cold... when had the dungeon grown so cold?

His hands trembled with it, and shivers rocked down his spine.

He needed her.

He needed her.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else could matter.

He staggered to the bed, collapsed on the edge, reached out to touch her cheek with icy cold fingers.

"Miss Granger," he whispered. He had to tell her, had to reassure her, to comfort her.

Still, so still.

Almost like death.

Except that she was warm, so warm, the only thing warm and alive in his world, and careful not to move her head or tilt her body, he wrapped himself around her and rested his cold, wet cheek against her breast and clung to her until the shudders had stilled and the nightmare receded.

But when dawn crept over the Eastern horizon, he still lay awake, listening to her strong, even breaths and the life that beat in her chest, steady and true.

His.

His Hermione.