Retiring from the Board

Guard... Check... Mate

By Bambu

~o0o~

Chapter Six: Retiring from the Board

The CRACK of a double Apparition echoed in the foyer of what had once been Perenelle Flamel's cottage and whose current ownership was the subject of much roundabout mental perambulation but with no resolve. It was as undecided as the course of the undefined relationship between the Potions master of Hogwarts and his former student. Indeed, as far as Snape was concerned, deciding which of them held the title to the cottage was immaterial in the face of Hermione's referring to it as home. He was still reeling from the ease with which she'd told her best friend that she was 'taking Severus home,' as if it was an everyday occurrence or something that she'd discussed with her friends. It had never before occurred to him that she'd talked about him with her two closest compatriots. It should have, especially after she'd admitted to having made the arrangements for his medical care with Harry, but it hadn't. He continued to have difficulty imagining himself as an integral part of her life.

Considering his trepidation, Hermione's straightforward declaration had been a trifle unnerving and yet had been ripe with such promise that Snape had been filled with a bubbling wellspring of unnamed anticipation. It was the same unidentified emotion he'd felt on more than one occasion, and all in relation to Hermione. It was more than the peace, contentment and underlying sexual tension that had radiated between them for the several weeks before his hospitalization. And it was more than the eager, twining hope that had burrowed into his conscious mind and refused to be banished in the face of every pejorative he threw at himself: old, battered, antisocial, poor, ugly, unlovable, undeserving.

The feeling persisted, given weight and density by the irrefutable evidence that every time he'd awakened these past few weeks, Hermione had been curled up in her transfigured, squashy chair at his bedside. He feared that the unnamable emotion could be called happiness or love.

The tall, former spy stood in the entry of the cottage, Hermione at his side, and looked round the clean room, taking in the fresh flowers on the table, the aroma of lemon polish, and Hermione's unique fragrance blending and harmonizing into the perfume he now thought of as home. He closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance, marking the distinct aromatic scents and the fact that the polish had an underlying hint of beeswax.

Snape had grown so accustomed to her slightly bossy, determined and fierce protection of him during his hospitalization that he missed the cue of her nervousness. When she dropped his hand and avoided his questioning eyes, the anticipatory bubble in his chest began to deflate.

"Do you need a lie-down? A bite of something with more taste than institutionalized food? To rest in the sitting room?" Her voice was a bit strained as she rattled off a series of other options available, including sitting in the garden.

Snape narrowed his eyes and watched her expressive face for a hint of what had altered her from the enthusiastic woman in his hospital room to the one now babbling inanities at him. After several weeks of essentially cohabitating with her, following a short few months of powerfully intimate interaction, added to the number of years of her passing through his life in more than the normal, impersonal student/teacher interaction, he had come to know her quite well. The corner of her lower lip was caught between her incisors, and the parity of color between teeth and bloodless flesh gave him the last bit of evidence he needed to understand.

His heart pounded and the bubble re-inflated to its former size.

It wasn't that he was particularly obtuse when it came to accepting Hermione's affection, rather it was a circumstance beyond his knowledge. Never in his life had he engaged in a liaison of any enduring affection and intimacy. What he'd shared with Hermione in the past, short four months had been more profound than any other relationship in his life. He'd needed the continuing, unexpected, illustrations of her affection in order for it to sink into his conscious understanding. It was the fact that what was happening between Hermione and him mattered to her... greatly.

Almost triumphantly, Snape processed the information that his subconscious mind was dragging into the forefront of his brain, and he recognized with sudden clarity that Hermione was as uncertain as he.

Snape stepped in front of Hermione, her head jerking up, their eyes met... and locked. He dropped his voice to a growly purr, "And what would you like to do first?"

Eyelashes flickering, Hermione took a breath, "I want to make sure that you are all right. Please tell me what you want?"

He watched her carefully, the slight trembling in her arms, the rapid, panting breaths, the dilation of her pupils until her eyes were almost as black as his own. He gathered the gossamer strands of his dreams, and uttered his heart's wish, "I want to lie down..."

He raised a large hand to cup her face, and his hope took flight as she leaned into his touch, "...with you..."

Her breath caught and held as he delicately fingered the jagged scar at her jaw. The flower of his desire was an unfurling bud. "...upstairs in our bed."

"Oh." It was whispered on a puff of air, Hermione's eyes drooping closed as she leaned further into his touch. "I wasn't sure you still meant it."

"I have meant everything I have said to you since the night we met in front of the Mirror of Disenchantment." Snape leaned toward her, his forehead resting against hers. He felt the flutter of her lashes against his face, and, here, in this sanctuary that had been his, and then hers, and now, he hoped with every recuperated part of his body, theirs, he dipped his head for a taste of her. A brief, chaste, caress of his lips against her petal-soft skin.

He felt her sigh, and her answer was illuminating.

"Me, too. I've been so afraid that there wouldn't be a later... or that you wouldn't want me."

The wizard who'd been called 'greasy git,' and 'bat of the dungeons,' among many other pejorative terms, started at her voiced insecurity, and understood that it matched his own. They truly were well-suited to one another. "As have I, Hermione. You will have other opportunities. You are young to be shackled to a man such as me."

The flash of anger in her eyes was instantly gratifying to his hopes, and ignited his physical desire to consummate their union.

Hermione's chin tilted upward, out of his fingers. "Don't you know that I'm not interested in other 'opportunities,' Severus? I want only you."

He almost growled as he kissed her again, their passion spreading to a full, lush blossom of yearning, need, and impending fruition. This time, their kiss was demanding. Snape's tongue swept across her teeth and upper palate, the sensations so stimulating that Hermione shuddered in his arms, and he felt the instant tightening in her breasts through the thin material of her summer dress.

In the most primitive of drives, survival and perpetuation of the species, promise and invitation had been accepted. Snape broke their kiss, and led her upstairs, the contact between the palms and fingers of their hands humming with arousal and awareness. It was magical.

They entered the larger of the two upper rooms, the one that had been his bedroom, and where she'd slept during the few months she'd lived in the cottage. The broad bed had been freshly made and flower petals were scattered on the coverlet. Candelabras flared to life the moment they crossed the threshold, perched on small bedside tables, and a tray of mineral water and two glasses graced the small table under the window overlooking the back garden. It was unabashedly romantic and the intent unmistakable.

Snape's thin lips stretched into a smile and his heart hammered in his chest. He began to burn with a fierce need... the sun to her bloom. This was nothing like the hex of the Dark Lord's. That burning had been with malicious, malevolent intent to kill. This fire in his veins was an entirely welcome heat, and Snape's nostrils flared as he inhaled the rich, heady aroma of the petals and Hermione's own enticing musk.

Her voice caressed him, "You said if there was a 'later' and if I still wanted you that you would sleep with me. It's 'later,' and by some lucky twist of fate we have both survived, and I still want you. In fact, I... I want you more now than I did before." She left him at the threshold and crossed to the left side of the bed, and turned to look at him.

He stared at her, at the unbelievable gift she was offering him... herself. Her hair fell below her shoulders in a thick, lush tumble of curls, and he irrelevantly thought that Titian would have luxuriated in painting the rich hues highlighted by the sunlight arcing through the leaded window panes. Hermione couldn't have chosen a more unintentionally seductive dress than the one she was wearing. The buttercream color complimented her skin and the sunlight was obviously conspiring with her. The golden rays of afternoon backlit the thin cotton material, revealing that she wasn't wearing a petticoat and that her legs were slender and slightly spread.

Need blazed through Snape with a ferocity he was unaccustomed to, igniting sparks between every synapse in his body. He crossed the bedroom in three long strides to pull Hermione tightly against him, one hand threading through her thick mane of hair to cradle her head in his palm. Desire kindled in his groin and he was growing erect with each thudding heartbeat. Hermione was completely pliable in his arms, the unfurling bloom, ripening, opening to her lover, the sun, and he tilted her head to one side, revealing her throat and the red ridge of scar tissue that she'd been so unselfconscious about showing at St. Mungo's.

As he lowered his head to savor her, he murmured, "Do not be mistaken, Hermione. I want you... today, tomorrow, and later... much later."

His lips found her roughened skin and he traced the scar that had brought them together. He followed its path, laving a molten trail from her ear -- inhaling her aromatic fragrance – across the ridge of tendon, feeling the rapid throb of her pulse, circling her throat to the scooped neckline of her summer dress.

She moaned as he demonstrated that she was not grotesque in his eyes. Her hips tilted against his, her desire naked upon her face and in her whimpering moans.

Snape's blood was thrumming with the heat of his ardor, and he was harder than he ever remembered being. He was tired of the months-long foreplay and wanted Hermione badly. And he wanted her now. When he stopped laving her scar, Snape leaned his head back, and asked, "Have you..."

She blushed and nodded her head. "Yes."

Relieved that virginity wasn't an issue, Snape was pleased that their first time wouldn't be fraught with the fumbling and pain associated with breaching her maidenhead. He wanted to be inside of her... as quickly as possible. His erection twitched as he thought about burying himself deep within her... in one swift stroke. "Recently?"

"This morning," was her breathless reply.

Snape stiffened in her arms, and his voice was harsh. "This morning?"

Hermione tilted her head to look at him, her puzzlement obvious, and then she blushed. "I purchased the potion from the Apothecary at St. Mungo's. Are you angry that I planned this?" She began to pull away from him, but he held on.

"I am not angry. I am a bit perplexed. What potion did you purchase at St. Mungo's?"

Hermione's honeyed eyes latched onto his and she stood straighter in his arms, but didn't pull away, the blush deepened across her cheeks and in some recess of his mind he was amused to note that her ears flushed when she was embarrassed. He'd never noticed before. He drew his attention back to her words, "It was a monthly contraceptive potion. I realize that it could have been wishful thinking, but I really hoped that it wouldn't be."

His audible sigh of relief triggered a cocking of her head, and her intelligent mind correctly put the clues together. Her voice rose a couple of octaves, "What exactly were you asking me? Have I had sex before? Am I a virgin?"

His abashed look was all she needed to draw the final conclusion, and Snape, almost exultantly, realized that she had learned to read him very, very well.

"Is it a requirement, Severus? Are you?" The irritation in her voice was suddenly replaced by dawning comprehension. "You thought I shagged someone else this morning? You utter pillock!

His head snapped up and his lips thinned. "Pillock?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, pillock. You insinuated that I'm a slag, and I should probably hex you for that... or for giving yourself so little credit. Severus, why would I want to shag anyone else when the only man I have thought about, dreamed about, fantasized about for months is you?"

Her declaration was as effective at rendering him inert as removing boomslang skin from Polyjuice Potion rendered it ineffectual, and left him speechless.

Hermione smiled at him, her anger seemed to have evaporated. "No, I'm not a virgin. I haven't been since the holidays during fifth year." She interpreted his grimace, "No, it's not someone you know, and it hasn't happened since. I... I liked it at the time, but my last invitation was... erm... rescinded when he saw the scar on my chest."

Snape narrowed his eyes at this revelation. He remembered what she'd said in front of the Mirror of Disenchantment that night, months ago, and his anger toward whichever young wizard had been so cruel wanted an outlet. He knew many subtle and creative hexes which would have a rather deflating effect on a young wizard. "Who was it?"

Hermione leaned in and brushed his lips with hers. A spark of heat from the contact reignited Snape's need, his protective ire dissipated, and his erection strained against its cloth prison.

"It's no one important. I hadn't wanted to try again for a long time, but I do now... so very much."

He kissed her.

The brief diversion hadn't deadheaded the bloom of their mutual desire, and their tongues met without preliminaries of chaste, closed mouthed kisses leading to a tracing of lips requesting entry. This was a hungry, feral twining of tongues in an effort to get as close to one another as possible... inside one another would be preferable. The kiss intensified until they needed to breathe and Snape's recuperated body was trembling from exertion.

Hermione stepped back from him and pushed him onto the side of the bed. "As much as I want you and want this, I will not jeopardize your recovery."

"Are you always this bossy?" he asked with a bite to his tone. He was frustrated. She was right, and his stamina wasn't quite what he'd thought.

Hermione's lips curved into a smirk that was almost worthy of a Slytherin. "Only with those I love, Severus."

He sucked in air, blood pounded in his ears. She loved him. He growled and grabbed her waist, pulling her roughly between his spread thighs.

"Do you mean that?" he demanded fiercely, as if nothing else in his life had ever mattered as much to him... except surviving to hear what she'd just said.

"Of course ."

Her eyes shone and her sincerity was obvious. Snape's heart lurched, and when she said yes, a great smile broke across his features, stretching muscles that had been unused for years.

"Well?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered and leaned forward to nuzzle the valley between the peaks of her full breasts. They were far too enticing to ignore.

Hermione raked her fingers though his long hair, as she'd done frequently during his stay at St. Mungo's. "Yes what, Severus? Yes, you're a virgin? Yes, you love me? Yes, you want me to continue being bossy?"

The banked heat in his limbs flickered to life, and her teasing only fueled his increasing arousal. "No, I'm not a virgin. Yes, I love you," his black eyes flicked up to hers, and held her gaze, even as his fingers began to unfasten her dress, "and, yes, I want you to continue being bossy with me... in private."

"I love you, Severus." Her dress fell from her shoulders, slipped down her arms and caught at her hips. She was a partially opened blossom, petals stretching outward on the edge of full display: lush and vibrant. Hermione ignored the gathered material at her hips in favor of wrapping her arms around Snape, and he felt himself muzzled by the soft skin of her torso and the silken feel of her shimmering, diaphanous Muggle bra.

He inhaled her scent and groaned into her skin, and, in one swift move, he leaned forward, forcing her body to step back. He stood up, a limber, tall man who'd, at long last, and entirely unexpectedly, found his heart's desire wrapped in wild hair, a brilliant mind, and a loving heart. "I love you, Hermione."

Her answering smile rivaled the incandescence of the sun, and she halted his movements as he worked his way through the fabric of her dress, searching for the remaining buttons. "Let me."

He desisted, his throat dry. He'd never expected her to be so forward, but it stood to reason. She was a Gryffindor and it was in her character.

Bottom lip plumped to either side of even white teeth, enormous eyes latched onto his, Hermione deftly released the remaining buttons, dropping her dress in a puddle on the dark planks of the floor. Snape had seen her in various states of undress before, but the intimacy of those moments was far different than the fiery tension that was building between them now.

As the peony blossoms, layers and layers of petals unfurling to reach out to the warmth of its lover, offering itself in a magnificent presentation of color and fragrance, so, too, did Hermione display her most private self as she removed her sheer underthings and lay down upon the petal-strewn duvet, unfolding before the heat of Snape's gaze in a magnificent offering of herself.

Fantasy verged on the cusp of reality, and Snape accepted Hermione's offering. Indeed, he could do nothing else... he was entirely captivated by her. His eyes traced the livid, ragged line of Malfoy's curse scar as it wrapped around her body, bisected by the silver white line of Dolohov's properly healed attentions. She lay open to Snape's sight, unflinching, although a hint of insecurity lurked deep in her eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, and in one fluid movement, he was lying atop Hermione, rolling them over, his mouth fused with hers, and the fragrance of the bruised flower petals underneath them assailed his senses.

His only coherent thought was that she was naked in his arms... and she was his. Gods, she was his.

When the kiss broke, Hermione leaned up, and Snape stared at her greedily, his eyes once more tracing the scar tissue on her chest, thanking Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort for their prejudice and avarice which, in turn, had led to the fateful alteration of his life's course.

Suddenly Hermione blushed and turned her head, and Snape remembered her fears. He brought one hand to her damaged breast, cupping its full weight, his forefinger and thumb met in a circle, to clasp her ragged, ruined nipple between them. Her head turned sharply and she met his eyes with wonderment and hope. There were tears sparkling in her eyes and Snape knew that it would be a long time before she believed that he found her beautiful. But he would make it a priority... starting now.

Snape leaned upward, bracing himself with one arm, his mouth found her nipple, and he laved, suckled and rolled the distended, distorted tissue until it reacted and Hermione arched into his attentions. He continued to suckle, while his right hand traced the ragged scar, from beneath her breast, across her ribs wrapping around her waist and hip, to where it ended, in the dimple of the small of her back. He realized that when Lucius cursed her, she must have rolled on the floor in an effort to get away from the impact. The result had been a spiraling slice, and it had been a miracle of timing that had kept her alive.

At the realization of how close he had come to not knowing the wonderful woman she'd become, to not surviving to have this willing, loving witch wriggling and moaning on his lap now... he tightened his hold. He released her sluggishly responsive nipple and looked into her eyes. They were black and her lips were full and inviting.

"I need you, Hermione." In some ways the admission was more profound than expressing his love for her. Snape needed her at the most primal of levels and with the most noble of intentions. He threaded his hand through her wild hair, cupping her face with one, trembling hand.

Hermione's reaction was immediate. Her fingers flew to the buttons of his black linen shirt, shaking as they unbuttoned it while she muttered, "...So long... it's been so long." The fabric slid to the side, and Hermione took small detours, mapping each of his scars, new and old.

She leaned forward, her hips sliding backwards, the friction causing Snape's erection to throb insistently. He growled with impatience as Hermione began to trace his scars with her tongue, flicking, laving and leaving moist trails between the remnants of his career as a spy. Her fingers fumbled with the last few buttons of his shirt, sight unseen.

Snape reveled in the sight of Hermione's wild hair cascading across his pale chest, her delicate face, the spray of freckles dark against the porcelain of her skin and the pink tongue licking his own tortured flesh.

He plucked a stray, crimson petal from her hair, fingering its supple texture. When her fingers began to unfasten his trousers, Snape released the flower petal to help Hermione. The bruised petal spiraled from his fingers, to land neatly atop the mound of Hermione's pale cotton dress, an areola flushed crimson with arousal and desire.

Seconds later, Snape's trousers and pants fell to the floor in a discarded, careless heap. The time for foreplay was past and when Snape pulled Hermione atop him once more, it was as naked lovers, skin-to-skin and soul-to-soul. A soft sigh escaped Hermione's mouth as she straddled him, his tensile strength stroked by the damp curls of her pubis. She delicately traced the scars on his chest with one hand and her scars with the other. Their eyes met, brown-to-black: open, vulnerable, loving.

Snape shuddered at the significance of the moment. If he had his way, neither would ever have another lover. The yearning to possess, mark, and claim her was stronger than he'd ever felt it.

As their eyes locked onto one another's, Hermione wrapped a hand around his erection and, with a subtle shift of her weight and hips, she guided him to exactly where he longed to be.

In the one swift stroke he'd imagined, Snape sheathed himself deep within Hermione's tight, wet, birth canal. As she moaned and began to rock and rotate her hips, Snape realized that birth canal was exactly the right appellation for her fist-tight depths, because he and Hermione were participating in a ritual that was the birth their union. When she dragged her fingernails across his nipple, leaving the linear marks of a claw, he forgot about the philosophical or metaphorical significance of euphemisms and let his senses overtake rational thought.

She was a glorious sight, her hair a wild corona of mahogany and bronze, her slender limbs learning his body, hands teasing, hips rocking with him deeply embedded within her. They were one, just as he'd hoped in the inner recesses of his mind. Merged... unified... One. Snape watched, fascinated by the physical mechanics of their coupling, and he bucked into Hermione, causing her to moan.

She arched her back in such a manner that he sank deeper into her than before. His right hand wrapped around her hip, the rippled, red scar tissue a ridge under his palm, and he guided her rocking movements in time with his thrusts. She bent her head to capture his lips in a ragged, panting kiss.

With his left hand, Snape reached for the conjunction of their dovetailed bodies. He was on the verge of culminating his most cherished wish, and Snape would use every scintilla of cunning he'd garnered throughout his life to make and keep her happy. His dexterous fingers, slightly calloused but capable of great delicacy, sought the pulsing nexus of Hermione's pleasure, threading through the interwoven brown and black curls to seek their goal. When found, the small nodule of flesh was damp and slick with the effluvia of their combined, imminent release. Snape rolled and tweaked the tiny protrusion of flesh, and Hermione began to whimper. He mentally smirked, feeling ridiculously proud of himself for having such an effect on her, but his mouth was far too occupied with Hermione's tongue to form the expression.

Hermione began to tremble, internal muscles fluttering around his hard shaft as he thrust into her. She was close to orgasm, and the tightening in his groin signaled his own impending climax. Snape would do his damnedest to see that they came together this first time. He would never give her cause to leave him. He stopped the teasing of his fingers and his movements became more purposeful. With his other hand, he pulled on her hip, almost slamming her onto him, and he heard her breath hitch. He was seconds from orgasm when he flicked her hooded pulse point.

Hermione convulsed, her back arching, her voice crying out his name. The force of her release spasmed around his erection and triggered his own release. He gasped her name and flexed his hips, shuddering with the power of his climax. The blossom had been spent in the fiery heat of a sirocco, the petals blown into the wind.

A bundle of warm witch collapsed against Snape's chest, her hair tickling his nostrils and his lips as she buried her face in his neck, her chest heaving. His breathing was rather ragged, and together they caught their breath. Their skin glowed with the sheen of sweat and the aromatic fragrance of sex, mingling with the floral scents of roses and Hermione's personal fragrance.

After several moments, in which lassitude began to spread throughout Snape's body, Hermione lifted herself from his prone form, and she reached for her wand. It was discreetly placed at the foot of the candelabra on her bedside table, the wooden length snuggled next to his ebony wand (it had been pocketed in the tattered, bloodied remains of his Death Eater cloak for weeks until Hermione had retrieved it for him). She cast a cleansing spell on each of them, and banished the remaining, bruised flower petals before wrapping herself around Snape. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder and sighed. Within moments, Hermione was asleep.

As exhaustion overtook him, Snape couldn't remember ever having felt so content. Not even the shared moments in the sitting room, or the entwining of their hands in hospital, or even her rationed kisses were comparable. Now, in this moment, Severus Snape was at peace.

When he awoke several hours later, Hermione was spooned against him, still deeply asleep. He wondered how long it had been since she'd slept in a bed. As far as he knew, she'd remained at the hospital every night since he'd been conscious enough to realize that she was at his side. From the attitude of the hospital staff, she'd been there long enough before that point to have made an impression. He smiled... an easy, indulgent smile. Hermione had told the hospital administration that she was his wife in order to stay by his side. They'd bent the rules and bowed to her demands.

He nuzzled her hair and wrapped his arm more firmly around her. His long fingers explored the puckered scar that swirled around her body. Inexplicably, he was fond of the scar; it was the reason he'd found her that night in the dungeons, the reason he'd changed his strategy, altered his alliances, and, in all probability, the reason that he was now alive to reap the bounty of his compassion and Dumbledore's betrayal. He snorted soundlessly. In a very twisted way, Albus Dumbledore had been the matchmaker that had led to Snape's greatest source of joy. He sobered as his fingers found the bisecting junction between curse scars, just above the swell of her left breast. He traced the spot, lightly, mentally comparing the differences between a scar that had been allowed to heal properly and one that had illustrated how disposable Hermione had been to Dumbledore.

"'X' marks the spot."

Her whisper startled Snape, and he tightened his hold, drawing her close. She wriggled her bum up against him, and his desire flared to life, stirring in his groin.

"Yes," his voice was a velvet purr, long fingers traced the cross. "This is my spot."

"Yes, it's your spot, right above my heart."

She started to turn in his arms, but he held her in place, rocking his hips against her bum, shifting his position, so that his right arm, which had been trapped beneath her, had more freedom of movement. He bent his right elbow and his right hand was able to cup her breast, his fingers tugging on the thickened dark cap of her areola. The scar tissue was denser than her unblemished skin, but it yielded to his fingers' lovemaking.

Hermione arched, her head thrown back and he suckled on her earlobe. Her hips began to rotate in an enticing, bewitching manner. His erection slid effortlessly in the valley between the cheeks of her bum, and his left hand slithered across the satin of her skin, up over the ridge of bisecting scar, and down to the dampening curls at the apex of her thighs.

Almost without thought, Hermione separated her thighs, and Snape pulled her left leg up and over his legs, opening her to him. He bent his left leg to hold her in position.

Her guttural moan went straight to his erection and it twitched... hard, aching, ready.

She tried to turn again, and he growled, "Stay."

Her voice trembled and he heard the longing and the uncertainty. "I don't know... Severus, I've never done it this way."

"Then you will learn and enjoy it, Hermione." And he bit her neck, leaving a small, open cloud pattern of his uneven teeth behind. She gasped and writhed in his arms. He smirked where she couldn't see him, and his fingers continued their dual assault. She began her deliciously titillating whimper once again.

Snape was throbbing with the urge to drive into her. The next time Hermione wriggled, he rocked his hips and his erection nestled between her spread thighs, her curly pubic hair tickling his sensitized shaft.

Lifting his left hand from Hermione's damp curls, Snape spread his fingers, "Accio wand!" The fourteen-inch ebony length flew obligingly into his hand and he muttered a quick charm over Hermione. Her weight was halved, and he dropped the wand to the floor, shifting their positions. With her weight lessened, he had more freedom of movement with his right hand, and it explored the smooth skin of her labia before rolling her pulsing bundle of nerves dexterously between his fingers.

"Aaaahhh, Severus, I'm close," she panted, and instinctively reached for him, her fingers wrapping around the head of his leaking shaft.

Her lighter weight was easier to manipulate, and Snape was able to position her without removing his right hand from its task. She was moaning and whimpering, and with each sound, Snape's erection twitched. He was so engorged, so ready that he knew release was imminent, and he guided the angle of her hips, plunging deep inside her. Hermione was wetter than the first time, and he groaned as they found their rhythm within a few strokes.

His hand returned to her damp mons, circling, pressing and tweaking. She moaned and writhed, and her fingers remained between her legs, above the nimble workings of his fingers, stroking his erection as he sheathed and unsheathed from her core. It was an extra stimulation he'd never experienced before, and it heightened the sensations of his building orgasm.

"Gods, Hermione... I... you... this is..."

"Perfect," she purred.

Hermione's voice was deep and dark and Snape reacted instantly, increasing the pace of his hips, thrusting, pistoning into his willing witch. Blood pounded in his ears, a rapid beat in time with his heart, and then he was there, at the pinnacle, the second before shuddering bliss. He thrust one last time, rigid in his release and he gasped her name.

He was almost so consumed by the elation of his climax that he missed the telltale quiver signaling the prelude to her orgasm. He remembered her previous reaction to a bit of direct, forceful stimulation, and pinched her hooded nodule of flesh. Hermione shrieked and spasmed around him. "Sev...rus!"

This time, they didn't fall asleep. This time, they lay in post-coital languor and spoke in hushed voices.

Snape put all his hope, his dreams for a future, into one rather halting question. "Hermione... will you..." He cleared his throat, "I take it that you will stay... here... with me?"

Hermione turned in Snape's arms and he felt the gentle touch of her fingertips as she delicately traced the parallel lines of the scars on his face. She interspersed speech with kisses, "Yes..."

Kiss... Breathe... Snape's lungs filled with air. His fear had been for naught.

"I will..."

Kiss... Smile... Snape's heart pounded beneath his breastbone. It appeared that he might get his dream after all. Her leg wrapped around his.

"Stay here..."

Kiss... Snape's throat tightened. She was everything he wanted, in the home he loved. Her arm reached around him, stroking up and down his spine.

"With you."

A more lingering kiss... It looked like later was going to be now. She pulled him as close to her as possible, their cooled skin flush against each other, her uneven scar tissue pressed into him.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

With a breathless groan, Snape covered her mouth and swallowed anything else Hermione intended to say. He didn't need to hear another word, and he reveled in the blatant expression of her affection... no... of her love and intent.

After they broke their kiss, Snape realized that his eyes were full of moisture... of unshed tears. He hadn't cried in years... not since Perenelle Flamel had given him a home.

Hermione cupped his cheek tenderly, her own eyes brimming with liquid saline. Then her fingers once again traced the newly healed, parallel scars on his cheek.

"I love you, Severus. I don't ever want to leave."

His voice was choked with the intensity of the moment. He was no longer the greasy git of the dungeons. Instead, he was the wizard who'd survived a brutal crucible and had come out the victor. "As do I you, Hermione. I don't ever want you to leave."

"Nor I, you. I don't want you to go back to Hogwarts. Must you?"

"I think, my love," and he nuzzled her neck, a thrill at using the endearment tickling its way up his spine. He was feeling rather fatuous, an emotion he'd never expected to feel or enjoy. He placed lazy kisses along the scar that had brought him his greatest treasure... her. "...that we shall have the opportunity to enact the plans we have so tentatively made over the past two months. I will plant my potions garden, and you shall have your roses, irises and daffodils."

She smiled radiantly at him. Then Hermione pulled Snape from the bed for a bath, claiming that she had to oversee his efforts since this was his first day home from hospital. He smiled at his beloved and thought that he had been luckier than he'd ever imagined, and that disenchantment didn't always lead to despair.

Sometimes it brought delight.

~o0o~

Finite

Los Angeles, May 2005