Just You Wait
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
9,744
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
9,744
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the HP fandom and I make no money from the fanfiction
Just You Wait
This story is rated NC-17 for explicit consensual sex between a married couple, and mild BDSM themes. Thank you to Camilla, Drusilla and Serpentina for their comments and inspiration, Lauren and Pigwidgeon for their betaing assistance, and Pigwidgeon for giving me permission to write this sequel (available on FF.net at http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=870964 ).
Chapter 1 - The Calle
On The Street Where You Live
Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was looking for his wife. The irony that she was the last person he would ever have imagined marrying (and vice-versa) was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that he had met her (as an adult woman) at this very house, and that at the time, she had been married to its chief resident, Harry Potter.
Over the preceding two years, in what most Hogwarts staff members called The Coup, and Sirius Black called The Big Switcheroo, Severus got Potter's wife Hermione, and Potter got...well, a much-needed dose of humility, really.
It could have been very public and very messy, but was in fact a quite private and civilised hand-off. Harry Potter, the Minister of Magic in this time of true peace, had surrendered his spouse with grace and alacrity, allowing Hermione to marry Severus in a quiet ceremony at Hogwarts almost a year ago.
Since then, the Snapes had been living and working happily (though not always harmoniously) at Hogwarts, and Harry had continued his mandate as Minister, with only superficial adjustments to living single.
The night that Severus met Hermione Potter (and fell in love, between him and the wall), was the commemorative celebration of the 15th anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort. Now, almost exactly two years later, the occasion was more jocular: England finally winning the Quidditch Cup. In the past, for an event such as this, Severus would have begged off with ill-grace; as it happened, he could have had a very valid excuse for missing this particular affair, having been invited for the preceding weekend to an international conference of potion makers in Barcelona. In the past, he would have stayed at the conference for the last interesting speaker, exchanged a word and maybe a handshake with the one or two Potions masters for whom he had a modicum of regard, and apparated directly to the gates of Hogwarts (or to his home), and then to bed.
Now, with Hermione working at Hogwarts and living with him, he could still theoretically do exactly that. But for one thing. Ah, that one tiny detail that ruled so much of his waking world...that which brought him here, directly from Barcelona, in his hated dress-robes, to literally the last place on Earth where he'd wish to be at 9:30 on a Sunday evening...
His wife.
A word he would have bet his eye teeth he wouldn't be saying in regard to his own marital status if he lived to be 300 and woke up one morning with Gilderoy Lockhart's face and Bill Weasley's charm.
A word that was a danger to his composure, had already demolished his sovereignty, and whose representative [manifestation] still made his hands tremble, his throat close, and his belly flutter with unaccustomed butterflies. Not to mention the almost intolerable effect she had on his loins. Even now, standing in the circular driveway outside the Manor, the ache of unfulfilled lust was almost debilitating. The notion of waiting, unsatisfied, until she was ready to leave this farcical gathering, was insupportable. But then, he had no intention of waiting...
But for her, he would be at home right now, warming a snifter of brandy, serene and alone and lonely. Logically, he should be there anyway, awaiting her in comfort. As it was, his impatience was so acute that he couldn't even wait the two hundred-odd minutes it would take her to extricate her from company and come to him.
So here he found himself, in uncomfortable attire, in a hated situation, in the home of an erstwhile rival (if that wasn't imbuing Potter with a little more leverage [influence] than he deserved), so that he could enjoy the companionship of his dearest a few hours earlier than he would have if he'd gone straight home.
With A Little Bit of Luck
Minutely adjusting his dress robes, Snape advanced on the Manor. This event would be, if anything, more egregious than that of two years ago. Ah, but the diversions would be very different...
Chapter 1 - The Calle
On The Street Where You Live
Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was looking for his wife. The irony that she was the last person he would ever have imagined marrying (and vice-versa) was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that he had met her (as an adult woman) at this very house, and that at the time, she had been married to its chief resident, Harry Potter.
Over the preceding two years, in what most Hogwarts staff members called The Coup, and Sirius Black called The Big Switcheroo, Severus got Potter's wife Hermione, and Potter got...well, a much-needed dose of humility, really.
It could have been very public and very messy, but was in fact a quite private and civilised hand-off. Harry Potter, the Minister of Magic in this time of true peace, had surrendered his spouse with grace and alacrity, allowing Hermione to marry Severus in a quiet ceremony at Hogwarts almost a year ago.
Since then, the Snapes had been living and working happily (though not always harmoniously) at Hogwarts, and Harry had continued his mandate as Minister, with only superficial adjustments to living single.
The night that Severus met Hermione Potter (and fell in love, between him and the wall), was the commemorative celebration of the 15th anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort. Now, almost exactly two years later, the occasion was more jocular: England finally winning the Quidditch Cup. In the past, for an event such as this, Severus would have begged off with ill-grace; as it happened, he could have had a very valid excuse for missing this particular affair, having been invited for the preceding weekend to an international conference of potion makers in Barcelona. In the past, he would have stayed at the conference for the last interesting speaker, exchanged a word and maybe a handshake with the one or two Potions masters for whom he had a modicum of regard, and apparated directly to the gates of Hogwarts (or to his home), and then to bed.
Now, with Hermione working at Hogwarts and living with him, he could still theoretically do exactly that. But for one thing. Ah, that one tiny detail that ruled so much of his waking world...that which brought him here, directly from Barcelona, in his hated dress-robes, to literally the last place on Earth where he'd wish to be at 9:30 on a Sunday evening...
His wife.
A word he would have bet his eye teeth he wouldn't be saying in regard to his own marital status if he lived to be 300 and woke up one morning with Gilderoy Lockhart's face and Bill Weasley's charm.
A word that was a danger to his composure, had already demolished his sovereignty, and whose representative [manifestation] still made his hands tremble, his throat close, and his belly flutter with unaccustomed butterflies. Not to mention the almost intolerable effect she had on his loins. Even now, standing in the circular driveway outside the Manor, the ache of unfulfilled lust was almost debilitating. The notion of waiting, unsatisfied, until she was ready to leave this farcical gathering, was insupportable. But then, he had no intention of waiting...
But for her, he would be at home right now, warming a snifter of brandy, serene and alone and lonely. Logically, he should be there anyway, awaiting her in comfort. As it was, his impatience was so acute that he couldn't even wait the two hundred-odd minutes it would take her to extricate her from company and come to him.
So here he found himself, in uncomfortable attire, in a hated situation, in the home of an erstwhile rival (if that wasn't imbuing Potter with a little more leverage [influence] than he deserved), so that he could enjoy the companionship of his dearest a few hours earlier than he would have if he'd gone straight home.
With A Little Bit of Luck
Minutely adjusting his dress robes, Snape advanced on the Manor. This event would be, if anything, more egregious than that of two years ago. Ah, but the diversions would be very different...