Damnation of Memory

Title: Damnation of Memory
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, Violence, Adult Situations
Summary: DH-EWE: With every generation, a Dark Wizard rises. Hermione Granger has survived one. However, after nearly thirteen years, a dead man returns to inform her that she must fight again, and this time, Harry Potter will not be the one to save the world from madness.
Author's Notes: This is my 1st full length SS/HG fic and my second 1st person POV fic. Please note that not every detail is canon, including the canon floor plan of Grimmauld Place. This chapter is also unbeta’d, so please, pardon the mistakes!




Damnation of Memory - XIV






I had killed before. I had never used the Killing Curse, but there were plenty of other ways to kill another human being. It had never been intentional, I had never wished to kill, but I had.

During the War, I had caused several to die. During my years as an Auror, I had caused more to die. Killing was not something that settled well in my mind. No matter the reason, I could never justify being responsible for taking a life. That was, until Severus Snape reappeared. I knew I had burned one man to death, and I was repressing the remorse. However, Ron’s words rankled me. Was I going to be convicted of killing out of self-defence after all? Or had I murdered someone else without realizing it?

The attack in Islington had been so swift that I had not even raised my wand before Severus was pulling me away. I had not seen Percy killed, I had not seen much at all. The attack at Castle Neroche had me casting and running, but I did not think I had killed.

The darkness was moving faster than we were. The attack in Helston and Islington had been proof that whoever was ordering the agents knew of my involvement. It would have been an easy deduction. I had been the one to bring new information of the Knights of Walpurgis to light. They knew of Fannie’s involvement, somehow, and Horace’s. They knew about Aberforth, and were searching for him as well.

I feared for the others. We they also having men follow them, attack them? I hoped not.

Sleeping and waking had become painful to me, and when I woke, I did not know how much time had passed. The sky was still overcast, and the grey light was the same through the room’s window than when I fell asleep.

I was alone. I rose, feeling that my ribs had been healed, and then seeing that the bruises were almost gone, I knew that either Severus had performed some strong healing magic or much time had passed.

Setting on a side table near the door was a pile of clothing, new underclothing, Muggle denims, a soft blue camisole and a knit black jumper. Beside the clothing was a brown canvas backpack and inside were my dragon hide clothes. Harry’s leather jacket was missing. I found my wand and holster under the canvas bag, along with a letter.

I did not dress, but stood in the room in dirty underclothing, snatching up the letter. It was not from Severus, but Harry.

‘H and S, warrant issued for arrest on the charges of murder. Ministry moving to charge H with murder of one Hardy Bowles in Islington and manslaughter in Helston—Islington charge unfounded, credibility of witnesses questionable. R.B.W. on the move with assistance of DI agents. MLE has suspended me pending investigation, cannot be of more help. P.P. might know more, wedding postponed. P.I.W. body not recovered, only evidence was severed right foot, sound oddly familiar? W. family speculative of death, suspicious of R.B.W. Father W. and daughter are cooperative, keeping silent. P.F. in Ashbrittle, G.G. with her now. MacLaggen new head of DI, pressuring MLE, Minister purports no comment. Prophet silent. Move swiftly, R.B.W. on your trail. He is being used, beware. Regards, H.J.P.’

I burned the letter in my hand, grimacing. I had to let the message sink in before I drew any conclusions, and so, I bathed. My hair was filthy, dirt washing out in black soapy suds. I threw my under garments into the lavatory bin, and dried my hair without the aid of magic. I dressed, finding the clothes to fit perfectly, and used some Charms to clean the bed clothing.

I knew I had not murdered in Islington, and was surprised I was being charged at all for the death of the agent in Helston. Harry’s letter came too late as Ron and the agents attacked perhaps the day or two days before.

‘…severed right foot, sound oddly familiar?’

It did. As did Percy’s words about MacLaggen. I was not sure what to believe.

Ron being used…I believed that much. I rubbed the towel over my hair until it was as unruly as it had been when I was a girl. No matter how much time would pass, I was doomed to have a mess of wild waves and curls. I wondered sometimes if my hair would be a handsome silver or plain grey when I got old.

I sat on the edge of the bed, absently drying my hair, thinking of Harry’s letter, which was now fine ash on the floor. Harry being suspended, pending investigation, worried me. After nearly thirteen years, Harry Potter, the Boy Who was Triumphant, could do no wrong. It was an irritating fact that was now in doubt.

A knock on the door startled me and I glanced to duvet, where I set my wand next to me.

“Mrs. Prince?” a muffled female voice called from the other side of the door.

I dropped my towel over my wand and rose. Opening the door I found a middle aged Muggle woman with a small tea service balanced on one hand, her hand poised to knock again. At the sight of me, the woman smiled. She had a kind face with wrinkles about her mouth and eyes, her long graying hair piled on top of her head in a bun. She was shorter than I was, which made her very short indeed.

“Your husband suggested I bring up something hot after he left this morning. You’re looking a good sight better than yesterday…”

I feigned a smile as the landlady twittered on about how strangely cold the weather had been, how handsome my ‘husband’ was, and how doting. I answered at the appropriate places, commenting on how nice the inn was and how much better I felt. Finally, I had the small service on the side table next to the brown canvas bag, the door shut and locked.

There were a few small sandwiches on the service, which I ate quickly. I sat in a chair near the window, drinking tea in silence. I had asked only one question, where was my ‘husband’ this morning?

The landlady had answered that he had walked toward Stoke-sub-Hamdon. I frowned into my black tea. Severus was looking for the next marker without me.

Toward the late afternoon, I turned on the radio in the alarm clock setting on a stand between the windows before the foot of the bed. BBC Somerset was the default station, and I listened to the programme, disinterested. By five o’clock, I switched the radio off.

I paced the room, considering casting a glamour on myself to go down to the pub to find something to eat, but then realized the landlady had seen my face. I chewed on my thumbnail. I was growing concerned.

It was growing dark outside the window over looking the road, and I had finished in the lavatory at approximately six when the lock disengaged on the door and Severus stepped into the room. I wanted to rebuke him for leaving me for so long, but his glamoured face was grave.

He doffed his coat, then his boots as he sat on the bed. As I moved about the room, I could see the blisters on his feet.

“I could not find the marker…”

Drawing his wand, he dispelled the glamour and began tending to the bloody blisters on the ball of his large, pale feet.

“Are we not in the right place?” I asked, sinking down into the chair near the window.

“I’m not exactly sure. I destroyed the marker at Staple Fitzpaine… I brought us here out of quick assumption and panic. What I saw there made me assume Ham Hill. Perhaps the marker has been moved…”

I licked my lips and moved to the canvas bag, withdrawing the shrunken Codex from my trouser pocket. I drew my wand from the back pocket of my denims and resized it, opening it to the sketch I had made. I passed the open book to Severus who hesitated before taking it, his eyes not moving higher than my hand.

“Fermat’s spiral?” Severus asked, a finger tracing the ink over the map of Somerset County I had magically adhered into the open pages. I nodded.

“It is not exact. Other spirals did not seem to work. The Archimedean was too simple, the Golden Spiral too general…”

Severus began tracing our path from Ashbrittle, Wellington to Watchet.

“The markers are placed in no uniform locale. Churches built over pagan sites, ancient hill forts, buried under yew trees in graveyards…” Severus trailed. “I searched Ham Hill and the village. There are other places to look.”

Severus passed the Codex back to me, and finally met my eye.

“How are you feeling?”

I closed the book and tossed it toward the canvas bag, stepping back to sit in the chair again. “Better. The clean clothes helped…”

Severus turned his face away. “You found Potter’s letter?”

“Yes.”

“We can only spend the night here before moving. If we cannot find the marker…”

“You said there were other places to look, if not we move on to Bridgwater.”

Severus’ shoulders slumped, his hands resting on the edge of the bed on either side of his legs. “It is not so simple. Without the markers, we are off the path. Not to mention, we were attacked at Staple Fitzpaine. It will be sooner than later that we are found again.”

I had not gotten so far in my thinking as to wonder how we were tracked to Castle Neroche.

“They could not be so certain of their path, Harry surely would have said something in his letter.”

“Did you notice the date?”

I had not.

“It was dated three days ago. Much could have happened since then.”

I rose, “You cannot believe that you had been so careless as to let them track you taking me to Ashbrittle?”

I had moved across the room to stand before Severus, whose dark hair fell about his face, obscuring it in a curtain of darkness. He chuckled darkly.

“It is fascinating that we are calling them ‘they’ and ‘them’ now. I suppose it is for lack of a better name.”

I sighed and reached to switch on the lamp next to the bed, breaking the settling darkness. In the light, Severus hair gleamed like liquid dark, and I had an urge to bury my fingers into the lank strands.

“I don’t think we were tracked. However, since Potter’s letter, he could have been interrogated, or Goyle captured with Fancourt. Potter wrote that he was to be investigated. Only he, Goyle, and Fancourt could know where we were heading.”

I fell to my knees before Severus, grasping his knees. “We are going about one-way blind. Is there some way we could…”

Severus shook his head. “I found that letter slipped under the door. The landlady told me that she found it addressed to the occupants of Room 3, The Masons Arms, Montacute, Somerset. There was no name, and it had appeared in the letterbox outside with Muggle mail. And unless you have some Floo Powder lining your pockets, we have no way of communicating with the others.”

My fingers dug into the fabric of Severus’ trousers. “We’ll have to go back,” I mumbled, my vision distant.

“No.”

Severus’ tone was sharp, and it startled me to look up into his face.

“We find Aberforth, follow the path along the labyrinth, and do what we must to keep ‘them’ from accessing the prison of Merlin. That is our duty.”

My lips trembled. “Why us?” I asked in a whisper.

Severus’ hands moved to cup my face, much as Harry had done when telling me that the responsibility was on me because I had inadvertently aroused the notice of some elusive Dark figure.

“I was born to suffer,” he whispered. “That was my lot. You, however, were born to something far more beautiful.”

My eyes widened. How could he say something so fatalistic? How could he know such a thing? His very words made me think of the half hour of death I had experienced.

“Rubbish,” I whispered. “Fighting and nearly dying is not beautiful, especially when I am not sure what I am fighting for.”

Severus smirked. “Neither of us do, yet we are.”

We had only known the madness of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the danger it entailed. What did I care about old tales and legends, Merlin, Nimue? What did I know about the power of an ancient wizard and what effect it would have? Yet, I followed and fought next to Severus Snape, because I did not know what else to do.

Danger was sweet, and the ache I felt in my body was real. The death was real. The danger was real. Even the odd spark in Severus’ eyes was real.

“Why are you looking at me as if I were…?”

I had not realized I was gazing at Severus’ face in any other manner than to study. He still cupped my face, and as he began to draw his hands away, my own hands stopped him.

“The first night,” he began, “when you kissed me at Grimmauld Place…”

He did not finish, but his lips pressed tight together, squeezing out any blood that might colour his face. His eyes told me tales, like picture images flashing in quick succession in those black depths. There were pictures missing, but the story was clear.

This man knew nothing of real love or companionship. Even if he could not remember Lily Potter, the little girl he grew up with in Sheffield, he could remember the ache of loss. The hatred, the pain, the humiliation, the ache, the guilt, and the sacrifice were still imprinted onto his soul. No amount of memory loss or modification could erase Severus Snape’s darkness of soul or natural derision for the things he could never understand.

“Kiss me.”

I blinked as I allowed Severus’ hands to slip to my shoulders. I could only stare.

“Kiss me,” he repeated, his voice taking on an authoritarian air.

His hands moved to my throat, his fingers fitting around my skin. He did not tighten his grip, but used hit hold to pull me toward him. He met me by bending down, his face only an inch from mine.

“Kiss me, Hermione,” he ground out.

The hint of anger sent a shock of fear through me. I had to submit. I wanted to submit.

His kiss was rough, passionate, and angry. I closed my eyes, but I knew he had not. His tongue forced its way into my mouth, his teeth nipping at my lips. I gasped as his hands tightened about my throat, forcing me to move lest I would not be able to breathe. I slipped into his lap, one arm holding me close so I could not escape, his left hand grasping my breast through my jumper.

I let him kiss me, wondering when his anger would wane. It did not, even as he lifted me into his arms to drop me on the bed. Anger forced him to pull off the jumper and camisole he had brought me that morning. Anger forced him to rip at his own clothes until he knelt over me in only his trousers, his knees planted into bed on either side of my denim-clad thighs.

I lay still. His mouth closed over my left breast, his hair brushing against my faintly bruised ribs. I, again, wanted to bury my fingers in his oily black hair, but did not. Such an action would denote tenderness, and I knew Severus did not want tenderness. He was too wrapped inside an anger I could not fully understand.

It was not me that he resented, it was the missing piece of his memory, of an obsessive love, he thought he once owned. I was his Lily Evans.

Shucking the denim off my legs along with my knickers, I was bared to his scrutiny. He said nothing, and did not touch me, but his eyes were like twin probes that travelled from my unruly hair on the pillow to my expressionless face. His eyes lingered on my breasts and the supple globes of pale flesh. The dark pink nipples were erect in the air and from his ministrations. Downward, his eyes skimmed over the swell of my belly to the dark curls between my hips to the hardening muscles of my thighs. I had once been a toned and tight woman with a younger body, but age and disuse had made me softer. There were scars on my skin, stretch marks, and in so many ways, I was more feminine at nearly thirty-one than I ever had been before.

The anger was still present, but it had diminished somewhat after his visual inspection of my body. Something softened in his gaze, just as his cock hardened, bulging at the front of his trousers. He did not move, but knelt over me, and I began to feel awkward, and cold.

I did not want to be his new version of a dead woman. I wanted to be me, in his eyes, not some ideal. An obsession, perhaps, but something more than that—I wanted to be one with him just as we were in my dreams. Loved.

I raised up to grasp his face, startling him out of his angry haze, and I kissed him. I hummed into his mouth. The anger was gone, but the passion remained.

Severus broke the kiss, pushing at my shoulders so that I fell back into the bed. His lips were pink with the kiss, and his eyes were wide.

“This was a mis—“ he trailed.

I had grasped the waistband of his trousers, tugging the button fly open. When my fingers wrapped about his cock, I had stopped him from finishing his statement. I ground my teeth together, knowing that I never wanted him to ever speak that word, mistake, ever again.

I had wondered if it had been a mistake that Severus Snape were somehow alive. I had wondered if it were a mistake that I wanted to be near him.

He took a tremulous breath, lowering to his haunches as I pushed at his trousers with my free hand, sliding them down his hips. Our previous, incomplete encounter had not let me see his cock or the dark thatch of curls that was the terminus of the line of hair down his chest. I had only felt his girth, but as I watched my own hand wrap about his cock, I found that he was large, but not intimidating. He was uncircumcised and I rolled my wrist to stroke, pulling the foreskin away from the purple head.

Severus mumbled something breathlessly as I began stroking his cock, and then grasped my face, pulling me up from the bed again. As I stroked, his erection grew, stretching the foreskin until I could feel the first indication of his orgasm dampening the space between my thumb and forefinger.

His kisses were peppered upon my face as he worked his way out of his trousers, his skinny bare knees parting my own until he knelt between my thighs. We fell together, my hand slipping from his cock to grasp his shoulders. Our kisses were frantic, moving over cheeks and jaws to throats and shoulders.

Severus seemed to try and touch or kiss every inch of my body and I could think of only one word.

Worship.

This was what my mother meant, perhaps?

His nose buried into the cleft between my thighs after kissing my ribs, the bruises, my belly and unattractive stretch marks, then my bony hips. He inhaled deeply, and a whimper was wrought from my throat. Nuzzling his nose into the course hair, I felt his tongue lash out. My back arched, my thighs spread further apart, and my fingers found his hair.

My clit, inner labia, vulva, vagina, all my female anatomy was tasted. The prod of the tip of his tongue made my fingers gasp his hair roughly. He did not make a sound, the tip of his tongue lightly tracing the bundle of sensitive nerves. I made a sound when his crooked teeth brushed against my clit. I said his name.

His eyes flickered up my body, and I could not discern whether he was scowling into my clit or smirking. Applying suction, Severus’ tongue flicked against me, and my eyes rolled back into my skull. Slipping a finger into my pussy, then two, I hissed through my teeth, my hips jerking.

Was I being punished or rewarded? With Severus Snape, one would never know.

His hand moved and the fingers thrust inside, producing a wet squelching noise, one that I saw with certainty delighted him as I watched him through my eyelashes.

‘She would only ever let me touch her like this…’

I groaned, sitting up on my elbows. I could see a memory in his eyes. It was like Legilimency, I realized, but instead of seeing directly into his mind, I could see, as if peeking in through a keyhole, into his eyes, but more than that, I could hear him. I do not think he realized I could hear his projected and intense thought, he was far too vulnerable, perhaps.

He did not know who ‘she’ was, but I did, and I hated her.

‘She would never touch me, no matter how I pleaded…’

His fingers curled upward, and the connection was gone. My world shattered just like it sounded in Ginny’s smutty romance novels, and I came.

Like a kitten lapping at cream, Severus licked and slurped. I was slightly embarrassed at the sound.

Embarrassment was replaced by need. The absence of his long digits made my pussy clamp, and I sat up just as Severus rose from his feast. I caught his jaw in my fingers, and with a moan, devoured his mouth. Our noses knocked, but it did not matter. It did not matter that his teeth were crooked, his nose hooked, his curtain of hair that brushed my cheeks was greasy. I had to show this man that I was not ‘her.’ I wanted to return the adoration and worship, not just because I hated ‘her,’ but also because he was alive, I was alive, and we were forced companions on the path to the unknown.

He grunted as I pushed him down to the bed, straddling his bony knees. Confusion was etched on his face, then shock as I mimicked his movements, kissing his chest, licking at the flat nipples over wiry pectoral muscles. My fingers traced the indentation of muscle and hip, brushing into that dark thatch of hair above his bobbing cock.

“You…” he hissed, but there were no more words. I had licked the head of his cock, grasping his sac, the light smatter of dark, course hair tickling the palm of my hand. I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose as my jaw opened, my tongue curling.

It was Severus’ turn to bury his damp fingers in my hair. The groan that was ripped from him was like the sweetest balm, sending shivers down to my sopping pussy. It was heavenly.

My nose was in that thatch of hair, my throat stretching and tightening. I had learned to control my gag reflex after so many years with Ron. I had learned to please him, being the overachiever I was, but in the end, to be fair, Ron had merely satisfied me. I wanted my head to explode…

I began the motions, trying different types of strokes or compressions of the flat of my tongue against the underside of his cock. I applied suction upon the head, and Severus began to mutter incoherently. I could only catch a few words.

“Sweet girl…goddess…love…”

It urged me on, squeezing his sac gently, fingers wrapping about the base. His thighs trembled and I could feel the blood course through his cock from my hold at the root. I began to taste the bitter precursor to ejaculate, and it thrilled me.

However, as the tip of my tongue played about the opening at the head, Severus rose up from the bed as if possessed, grasping my arms, and pulling me away. He pulled me up his body like lifting a child. His teeth clashed against mine, his kiss frantic.

We were breathless. I lay half on, half off of his body, my breasts pressed high upon his chest, my right leg wrapped about his right leg, his sticky cock pressing into my hip. His fingers brushed against my hair then my cheek. His face was flushed, his thin lips swollen handsomely.

Our eyes met for only a moment, and then Severus moved. He slipped from under me, and began kissing my shoulder blades, my back. I grinned into the pillow as he maneuvered himself to kneel behind me. His palms ran over my back to my buttocks and then, he lifted my hips so that I was on my knees.

His penetration was rough, his cock swollen, my pussy swollen. The discomfort lasted for only a moment as I rose up to my hands and pressed back. Severus growled, grasping the back of my hair and pulling me up. He ground something out between his teeth, but I could not hear well over my throaty yelp. The tip of his cock had pushed deep into my body, jabbing into my womb.

Teeth scored my throat before I was forced face down into the pillows. With one hand wrapped about my hip, Severus moved. There was nothing romantic or elegant about him. I could just see him out of the corner of my eye, my cheek pressed into the duvet. The lamplight gave him some colour, but his crooked teeth were clenched, his lips curled. However, it was his eyes that entranced me, the glow of life in the darkness.

My gasping breath blew pieces of hair from my face, but my eyes never left his face. The slick slide of his cock into my body turned into powerful thrusts. I was losing the battle to maintain a steady pleasure inside; the sensation was building into the inevitable climax.

I swore through my teeth, every sense filled with Severus Snape. The sound of his grunts and whimpers, the sound of flesh slapping flesh, the combination of sensations, the taste of his kiss and his pre-cum, and most of all, the sight of his sweat running down the side of his sallow cheek, the burning coals he had for eyes—I wailed my completion.

It did not end, however, even as my knees slid on the duvet and Severus followed me down, his hands moving to spread my buttocks. He straddled my thighs and in the tight space, he did not stop his pace. The sticky dampness of my pussy coated my bottom, just as my ragged breath between my face and pillow wet my cheeks.

Fingers slipped and trailed until I felt a nudge at my pucker. I jerked. The questing finger was gone. I heard him sigh between gasps. I was not ready, as much as I would have enjoyed the attention, I was far too lost, and the manner in which Severus penetrated me kept me from relaxing.

He faltered mid-stroke, and I moved. A tangle of limbs and of soaking bits of anatomy shifted until I had Severus on his back, his face gazing up at me with a mixture of hazy lust and surprise. I impaled myself upon him and he arched up toward me, his mouth open in a silent howl.

I rode him, ignoring the protest of muscles and the ache of bruising. I rode him, hair flying, breasts bobbing, my fingers digging into his chest to keep me upright. It was not enough, and with a quick hand, I grabbed his wrist, pushing his fingers into the engorged nubbin that was visible between my lips.

I stifled a cry was his fingers pinched and rubbed my clit, his other hand reaching to palm my right breast. I clenched my vaginal muscles, receiving the most beautiful whimper yet, my name laced upon the sound.

“Hermione…”

His voice was so smooth, so deep, that I could feel it in my womb, holding it there like some delight. I clenched again, and Severus was thrusting up to meet me, his jaw tightening, his eyes glittering like black volcanic rock.

“Goddess…” he gritted out between his teeth, and soon I was on my back, my knees over his shoulder, one of his hands about my throat.

Pummeling force moved my back up the bed until my head hit the metal frame of the top of the bed. I was gasping for breath, my hand clawing into Severus’ wrist. I was being thoroughly had—fucked, and I loved it.

Severus’ breath came out as rhythmic moans, every movement timed with his pounding heart. I could feel his cock throbbing inside me, much as it had the night in Ashbrittle, but this time, the throbbing seeped into me. He hissed and tried to pull out, but already he was cumming. I felt as if all the colours and light were muddling, dark to light, black to white.

I had tears in my eyes as I came for the last time, every fibre in my body thrumming with magic and heat. It was magnificent.

Severus held me, his hand slipping from my throat, his face obscured in my sweaty bosom. My legs slipped from about his waist to fell to the bed. I could still feel his cock hard in me, and slowly it softened the throbbing waning. I was sleepy, sated, and euphoric.

The man that held me, held me as if I were the only thing true in the whole world. I wondered if everything had changed. Would it be a mistake to him later?

I closed my eyes; tears trailing down the sides of my face. I prayed not.






In the early morning, I had to extract myself from Severus’ arms. He had pressed himself into my back as we slept on our sides, our faces pointed to the door. He did not rouse as I padded naked into the bathroom and took a shower. My hips and pelvis were sore as if bruised, but it felt much better than my back and ribs. I washed the dried cum from where it had seeped out of me and onto my inner thighs. I washed my hair again, thankful to be able to have hot water to do so.

I only took a few minutes to wash before coming back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. I found my wand under my discarded camisole, and cast a drying Charm on my hair. I dressed slowly, my sore ribs making it uncomfortable to bend down to the floor. I had only managed to put on my knickers and camisole, sitting on the edge of the bed, when Severus stirred, stretching like a large dark cat under the sheets.

“The Charm,” he muttered, his mouth dry from sleep.

I turned slowly. His hair was a like a black crow’s nest on the pillow, but he looked fine otherwise. There were pale red scratch marks on his bare chest, and a bruised bite mark on his left shoulder. I smirked.

“Contraceptive…” he mumbled before yawning.

I turned away and sighed softly. “No need.”

“Potion?”

I shook my head, my shoulders slouching. I felt Severus move in the bed, sitting up.

“We cannot… I…” he stammered between shorter yawns.

“I cannot have children, Severus,” I uttered in a near whisper.

I felt the bed dip, and Severus was sitting beside me, a sheet wrapped about his waist. I could feel his eyes upon me—pity.

“The odds of me conceiving are nil. I will not explain all the details. I miscarried several years ago and since then…” I trailed.

Severus said nothing, but rose, picking up his discarded clothes and with the sheet still wrapped about his waist, disappeared into the bathroom. I lay back down on the bed, tossing my wand on the bed stand, and curled into a ball.

Even if there was a possibility I could have children, I would have cast a Charm immediately after. As it was, I could not have children. I was surprised that I had even had sex at all. For years, my libido was almost nonexistent. My menstrual cycle had been off since the miscarriage and only recently was I back on some sort of pattern. I wanted sex, but as I listened to the shower come on, I knew I had only wanted it since Severus Snape returned from the land of the dead. I found it odd.

I waited for Severus to come out of the bathroom to see if we were to continue ignoring the fact that we had coupled. I wanted to determine his feelings, if it were to affect our movements.

“I’ll see to breakfast,” he mumbled, coming from the bathroom with his glamour in place.

I nodded.

He returned with a tray of coffee and sweet cakes. We ate on the bed, sitting across from each other, the tray in between us.

Severus spoke first, nearly making me spill tea down my front. I was still sitting in my knickers while he was fully dressed except his boots.

“Last night…” he began. “I don’t regret it.”

I stared at him, his eyes set upon the tray between us. I chewed on my cake slowly and washed it down with coffee. His eyes bored into the tray, and I realized that he believed I had regretted… He had ordered me to kiss him.

“You are the most infuriating man,” I grumbled, setting my coffee onto a saucer balanced on my knee.

Severus raised face, his brow knitted.

“You think so much is only about you,” I huffed. Severus’ eyes widened. “If I regretted it, I would have said so. If I did not want you to…to fuck me, I would have hexed your cock off!”

He looked lost, almost childlike. I sighed, but a smile began to form.

“You are brilliant, sometimes a pain to be around, but brilliant. I care for you, you silly ass!”

I rose from the bed, dropping the cup and saucer next to my wand and began dressing.

“You…care…”

I pursed my lips. I had said I loved him—in a dream. I was not sure if I ‘loved’ him per se, there were things I did love about him, but the man himself? It was hard to say. He was too rough; too much of everything to be loveable, but part of me wanted to love him so completely…

“We need to find the marker,” I said quickly. “And quickly…”

Severus’ face hardened, getting back on task. “Yes. I have a few places to look.”

I slipped into my boots, which looked stylish under the boot cut denims. “Let’s go.”



Severus held my hand when we left the inn, playing the part of husband and wife. The sky had begun to clear after so many grey days, and we walked down the road toward Stoke-sub-Hamdon. I carried the brown canvas backpack on my back, now carrying a bottle of water and a couple of wrapped sandwiches we purchased at the pub before leaving.

“The Priory and the church dedicated to St. Denis down the road… That is a place to start.”

Severus glanced up and down the road, and then with mighty pull, held me close. We Apparated.

The church was one of the more popular tourist spots in Stoke-sub-Hamdon next to Ham Hill. It was a peculiar church with ornately carved corbels and friezes, a favourite with historical societies and art historians in the area. The main draw was the Sheela na gigs, or abstract carvings of female figures with exposed vulva. There were two on the sides of St. Denis, among other fascinating ancient carvings. However, we found the churchyard empty so early in the day.

This was where we found that marker, set into the outer wall near the tower. It was half buried with turf near a drainpipe. Just like all the others, it was blue-grey stone, out of place with the ham stone that composed most of the village. The labyrinth design was clear, and again Severus ran his fingers along the circuit to the tiny figure.

“Excuse me?”

Both Severus and I rose from our crouch before the stone. Severus had drawn his wand but kept it hidden in his trench coat. His glamour was still in place, and with a swift step, he moved to stand before me. I frowned into his back.

“I did not mean to startle you,” an unfamiliar voice sounded, a male voice.

Severus visibly relaxed and took a step forward. “Is the church grounds closed?”

I peeked around Severus’ back to find an older gentleman in a tweed sports coat over a pair of ragged jeans. He was balding and he had a bad case of rosecea over his bulbous nose and cheeks.

“No, no. You’re just the first people I’ve seen today…”

Severus grasped my hand when I stepped beside him and I smirked.

“I hate to be forward, but, um… Would you happen to be Mr. Prince?”

Severus cocked his head, his glamoured face draining of what little colour there was. “Yes?”

The gentlemen brightened and began digging into the inner breast pocket. “You’re just as he described…”

I glanced to Severus and then back to the gentleman. Soon a letter was produced and handed to Severus. On the front of the envelope was the name S. Prince in ornate, flowing script.

“Thank you,” Severus muttered.

The gentleman smiled, revealing very yellowed teeth.

Severus released my hand to rip open the Muggle paper envelope. I let Severus read; only catching the name at the bottom.

“Sir, when did this letter come to you?” I asked, stepping toward the older man.

“Ah, I’d say almost two weeks ago. The fellow who gave it to me passed me a hundred pound note to keep it. He said that a ‘Mr. Prince’ would eventually come by the church—I’m a steward, ya see. So I hanged on to it, looking for a fellow with long dark hair, interested in the corbels and stones…”

Severus was still reading, his mouth tightening.

“Was the gentleman well, the one who left the letter?”

The gentleman nodded. “Well enough. He was older than my grandfather, miss, and spry to boot.”

I sighed. Aberforth Dumbledore was well two weeks ago…

Severus grasped my hand again, and leaning down, whispered into my ear. “We need to go, now.”

I made the rest of the conversation quick, and walked away from the church, still trying to thank the steward, never learning his name.

“He was being followed, but we are on the right path.”

We were walking quickly down the road, west from Stoke-sub-Hamdon. Severus had shoved the letter into his coat pocket and pulled me along by the hand. It was not the same as it had been that day in Hogsmeade for his fingers wove about mine in a manner that kept me near his side.

“Bridgwater now, then Highbridge. Your sketch was accurate enough. We must make haste…”

I did not question Severus as he cut into a field, whirling about each other in a strange dance until we fell together, disappearing from Stoke-sub-Hamdon.



TBC...