Fame and Misfortune

Summary -- Severus and Hermione enjoy tea at Madam Puddifoot\'s and much more.
Chapter Fifteen –

She didn’t know which was more disconcerting -- watching her husband calmly sipping his tea or the gobsmacked expression on the other patrons’ faces. After Severus had caught her trying to implement her plan, Hermione had resigned herself that she would spend her days at Hogwarts until Lockhart was apprehended.

As she had approached Madam Puddifoot’s, she had experienced such a strong apprehension. But Severus had tightened his hold on her and the panicked feeling fled from her thoughts.

Setting his cup on its saucer, Severus stared at her in contemplation. His gaze was unsettling, but not unwelcome.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking a sip of her honeyed tea. “I wouldn’t know how to go about explaining myself to Harry.”

“Hermione…” Severus cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion. “Surely you realize how much I would miss you, should you ever leave…”

His fingers flexed on the table as though he were restraining himself from touching her.

“I am truly sorry, Severus,” she said as she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Turning his hand under hers, he entwined his fingers with hers. “It was a foolish plan, Hermione. Although your scheme was honorable, clearly you can see the fatal flaw in it. Lockhart would search the ends of the earth for you…as would I. In your effort to protect those you care for, you would have been endangering them even more. You are his obsession. He would torture anyone whom he believed to be your Secret Keeper.”

His words sent a creeping shiver through her already chilled body. Her husband was right. In her effort to justify the plan, she had ignored that little logical voice in her head and had listened to the louder voice -- the brash Gryffindor part of her -- which was clamoring to go after Lockhart.

“The next promise I extract from you shall be iron-clad,” stated Severus matter-of-factly.

Feeling heat infuse her cheeks, Hermione studied their interwoven fingers and caressed the callused pads of one of his fingers. “What did you mean when you said the promise was null and void?”

Instead of answering her question straight away, Severus picked up his cup and sipped his tea. His dark eyes never left hers, the look in them sending a sliver of excitement to her very soul. He set down his cup and a small smile curled his lips. “Since I was the ‘injured party,’ I am not honor-bound to keep my end of the bargain.”

--

Truthfully, his end of the bargain had been overrated at best. Yes, he had wished for the opportunity to court her, but had he really needed to? Hermione was more than amicable to the idea of the courtship. In fact, judging by her thoughts, she was hoping for more.

Her frustration would be endearing to him if it weren’t for the fact that he wanted her to the point of madness. Unlike her, Severus could remember the molten heat of her cradling his cold heart.

A fairy, dressed as Cupid, flew between them and made to shoot them with an imaginary bow and arrow. Waving the annoyance away, Severus sighed. He wished to tell her of his love for her, but Madam Puddifoot’s was not exactly conducive to the mood. In fact, the setting was positively revolting.

“But your end of the bargain was to court me,” Hermione replied, her eyes widening in realization.

Yes, theirs was not a traditional courtship, but it was the closest thing to one he could muster under present circumstances. What his wife was just now realizing was the intent of his promise. He had essentially promised not to pressure her into “more” than she was ready for.

Now, all bets were off. A seduction was in order in the very near future. Just not tonight. Severus still adhered to the philosophy that when they did make love – it would not be tainted with fear. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it.

--

Their outing had been brief but productive. After tea at Madam Puddifoot’s, Severus had taken her to Honeydukes Sweetshop. Her suspicions had been confirmed. Her husband was trying to fatten her up. He had bought her some sugar quills (to make up for the fact that she had been unable to buy a new quill at Scrivenshaft’s), several Licorice Wands, some treacle tarts, and a box of Chocoballs.

As they walked through the halls of the dungeons, Hermione smiled. She was going to have to alter her exercise regimen. Sex is exercise, she mused, her lecherous grin growing wider.

Reaching the door to their living quarters, Severus removed the wards, placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek, and tried to back away. “I must check the other wards,” he explained, staring at where her hand clutched his arm.

“Can’t it wait,” Hermione purred in what she hoped was a seductive tone, running her other hand up his arm and resting it on his shoulder.

“Hermione,” replied Severus, her name on his lips a husky whisper of reluctant consent.

She leaned into him, pressing her soft breasts against his hard chest. Turning her head up for a kiss, Hermione closed her eyes.

--

Feeling like a reprobate, Severus’ eyes drifted closed and he skimmed his lips over hers. “We can’t.” Her breath was invitingly warm against his cheek.

Her eyes opening wide, the young witch pouted. “Why not?”

Her need was a tangible ache, reflected in the cinnamon pools of her eyes. “You’re afraid, Hermione.”

“Of you?” she asked, perplexed.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, Severus willed himself to walk away from her. But he couldn’t move. It was as though he were rooted to the spot, a plant, begging for the rays of warmth. How could he explain what he wanted? What he needed? He wanted their “first” time to be something memorable for her, not tainted with fear.

“Please, Severus,” his wife pleaded. “Please make love to me.”

Her request was one he could never refuse. Pushing through the front door of their living quarters, Severus devoured Hermione, praying for the stamina to bring his wife to climax. As they danced their way toward the bedchamber, they tore at each other’s clothing, each excited moan and gasp of approval spurring him on.

She was voracious, pulling his robe and shirt off and going for his trousers. Her movements were desperate and tinged with fear. He covered her hands and stilled her progress. He needed her to know. He needed more than the physical release she offered.

He needed for her to know how much she meant to him. He needed to tell her that he loved her. Shoving her navy blue robe over her shoulders, Severus growled with needful hunger as the words that he longed to speak lodged in his throat.

Her robe pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of it, revealing her Muggle jeans and black sweater.

Waving his hand toward the bed, Severus summoned the candles in the room to light. His resolve was weakening as his flesh begged for her touch.

Writhing against him, Hermione suckled his pulse point and mewled as he plucked her nipples through the cloth of her sweater.

A light in the corner of the room flashed, drawing the focus of his attention from his wife’s affections. The Mirror of Truth gleamed expectantly as if it were calling to him. Hermione’s hand grazed the growing bulge of his trousers, momentarily distracting him.

“Gods, Hermione,” his strangled cry echoed off the dungeon walls. No matter how hard he tried, words failed him. Love was such a simplistic word. It did not suffice. There was so much more to his feelings for this woman. Closing his eyes, Severus’ head lolled backwards as he gave himself over to his virgin wife’s ministrations.

Fisting his hands in her curly chestnut hair, he just couldn’t bring himself to pull her away. I love you, he chanted in his heart, the compulsion one he welcomed. Her hands roamed freely, tugging on his trousers. She slid a hand past the buttons and caressed his satin rod.

Logic and desire collided, and Severus grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. She was disappointed, judging by the inarticulate growl that erupted from her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered, trying to wrap one of her legs around him. “I need you.”

He gazed over her shoulder, rocking against her. The reflection of their intertwined bodies called to him. The Mirror was the answer. He would use the bloody bane of his existence to show her his feelings.

With strength only the most dedicated possessed, Severus pried his young witch’s body from his. She could not mask her frustration – a frustration that compelled tears to her eyes.

Guiding her toward the Mirror of Truth, Severus watched as his pale half-naked form appeared. His trousers hung low on his hips, the dark hair of his pubis peeking over the cloth. Her breasts begged for his touch, the gentle ridge of her nipples straining against the cotton of her jumper.

They were a direct contrast of one another, the light of her soul standing next to his dark essence. Pulling her in front of him, he stared at her reflection and wiped her tears away. He wrapped his hand around her waist and splayed his hand over the curve of her stomach. Briefly, Severus wondered if he would ever feel his child move in the warm cocoon of her body.

His reflection mimicked his movements, yet the expression on its face differed. It arched one of its eyebrows questioningly and stared at its originator quizzically.

Placing a gentle kiss on her flushed cheek, Severus glared at his doppelganger. It would figure that the menace would pick now to clam up. “Tell her,” he growled as he nuzzled the delicate shell of his wife’s ear.

The reflection’s demeanor sobered. “He loves you.”

Hermione’s mirror image smiled, taking Severus’ breath away. It was a knowing smile, one that showed him her acceptance.

Turning her head sideways, Hermione’s moist eyes met his. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” replied Severus before crushing his lips to hers. She yielded beneath his touch, welcoming his passion. He reached for the bottom of her jumper, but Hermione pushed his hands gently away.

Stepping back, she took the hem of her black sweater and pulled it over her head, revealing the creamy expanse of her lace-covered breasts. With a sneer, his wife tossed her jumper at the Mirror of Truth, strategically covering the upper portion so that they were truly alone.

He was painfully aroused. Closing the small gap between them, he made to kiss her, but teased his virginal bride with a soft caress of her lips. “Hermione,” whispered Severus so softly even he wondered if he had spoken her name. “I need you.”

--

His dark head bent and he nuzzled the tops of her fleshy mounds and his fingers thrummed her pert nipples through the material of her bra. “Then take me.” Her answer was a strangled groan.

Her husband knelt in front of her as though he could no longer support his own weight. He peeled the layer of flimsy material away, freeing her voluptuous globes. “Not yet,” he growled, burying his face in the valley of her breasts and inhaling sharply.

Only when he began to suckle her did she begin to mewl. Darts of burning pleasure moved through her and she shifted and tried to ease the ache between her thighs.

“Yes,” he hissed between nips and licks. “Burn for me as I burn for you, Hermione.”

With sure fingers, he unbuttoned the top of her jeans and pushed the material over her hips. The scrape of his roughened cheek against the soft skin sent tremors of pleasure darting through her body.

The dark-haired wizard chuckled when she moaned. The denim material hung on her thighs as Severus leaned into her in an effort to maintain her balance. Gently, he lifted one of her legs and pulled her trainer and sock off. Then he repeated the process and kissed his way up her body.

“Please,” she whimpered as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She should be nervous, but the licks of desire Severus inspired eased any trepidation.

“Patience,” he cautioned before capturing her lips in a heated kiss. Sliding one of his hands toward the crux of her thighs, Severus moaned as he touched her heated core.

Closing her eyes, Hermione jerked in his arms, craving more of Severus’ touch and needing her husband to join with her. She needed to stoke the embers of his passion for her into a raging fire.

With a seductive smile, she dropped to her knees and tugged his trousers down to his thighs. His protest turned into a groan as she took his thick length into her mouth.

“Gods, Hermione!” he groaned, fisting his fingers into her hair.

Hermione growled in frustration as she suckled the silken flesh. He was like a granite statue, unable to move or breathe. The taste of his readiness seeped from him and she lapped at the liquid greedily.

With a strangled hiss, Severus pulled her to her feet and completed the struggle to free himself of his boots and trousers. His frenzied movements swelled her feminine pride. His restraint had dissolved.

Feeling the edge of the bed at the back of her knees, she sat down. Gentle hands pushed at her shoulders, coaxing her to lie down. Hermione lifted her hips in encouragement as he yanked her jeans and knickers off.

His dark eyes were wide and glassy, and instinct guided him to claim her.

His invasion was swift and shocking, his girth stretching her inexperienced passage. His eyes widened and locked with hers as he stilled within her. There was no pain, no discomfort, just a feeling of fullness.

“Forgive me,” rasped Severus as he held himself above her.

--

Silently cursing his miserable existence, Severus tried to pull away. He’d done it again! He had hurt her!

Locking one of her legs around his buttocks, he stayed in retreat. Confusion marred the delicate curve of her brow. “Please,” she pleaded huskily, moving against him in seductive invitation.

His will held no sway over their union and he knew then that he could never leave the warm depths of her body until she met her release. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured, half in agony, half in bliss. “Please forgive me.”

“Nothing…to…forgive,” she panted, awash in sensation. The fear that had taken hold of him dissipated and he sent a silent, thankful prayer to the Gods for him wife’s resilience.

Her velvet channel cradled his erect flesh as he began to move slowly, letting his lover adjust. “Hermione,” he gasped, needing to feel her reach nirvana. He owed her that much.

Gathering her close, Severus carried Hermione with him as he rolled onto his back. He didn’t think it possible, but their connection deepened and his wife keened.

A passionate blush covered her body as she sat astride him and basked in the glow of their connection. Nudging his thumb between her exposed folds, Severus caressed the swollen evidence of her excitement.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the sight and feel of her climax, the way her body gripped his, the way her blush burned brighter. Her orgasm heralded his, and Severus flooded her welcoming orifice with his seed.

She collapsed on top of him. Only the sound of the replete lovers could be heard. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity.

Hermione tried to climb off him, but he held her in place, unwilling to give up their intimate connection.

Realizing her struggles were fruitless, Hermione settled around him and placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. “I love you, too.”

--

He felt insatiable, as though he was twenty years younger. Having tested the depths of their desire, they rested. Thankfully, it was Sunday, a good day for a lie-in. Other than the continued threat of Gilderoy Lockhart…

Severus closed his eyes and sighed, his spirit content, yet restless. When he faced Lockhart, Severus would carry out the sentence the Aurors had failed to. Not only will he never remember his wife, that ruddy bastard won’t remember anything about his own bloody existence.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a small moan next to him. Hermione nestled closer, seeking his warmth and stoking the familiar reaction. He cupped the weight of one of her breasts and teased the nipple between his fingertips.

Hermione sighed, but kept sleeping.

“I love you,” he murmured against her shoulder, damning his stupidity. It was easy to say it when she was sleeping. It was a phrase he had long forgotten, buried deep within one of the many traumas in his childhood. As a child, lessons had been taught – lessons where sentimental rubbish were abhorred and shunned.

His lover wiggled against him, her bum against his erection. The urge to take her gripped him and he scowled. Muscles he hadn’t even known existed protested. Even the Dark Mark on his left forearm ached. If he were sore, surely she was. They would rest today, he resolved. Tonight, she was his.

Trailing his hand along her rib cage, Severus cradled the curve of her stomach. He could tell the moment she woke for the pattern of her breathing changed into a husky shudder. Hermione arched her back and stretched like a lazy lioness.

“Good morning,” whispered Severus as his hand traveled lower. Brushing her silken curls, he chuckled at her response.

“Again?” she groaned, yet opened for him anyway. “You know, for an older man, you certainly are virile.”

Kissing her shoulder, Severus pulled her toward him. “Thankfully, I have a young witch to attend to my every need,” he retorted cheekily.

“Attend to your needs?” Hermione pretended to be taken aback. “How archaic!”

His wife leered at him as she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Even though his sex was swelling with intent, Severus denied himself the pleasure of seeking comfort. Instead, he smacked her bum playfully and laughed when she shrieked in protest. Maneuvering her off him, he got out of bed and stretched.

Under hooded lashes, his young witch observed the flex of his muscles. He held out a hand to her. “Bathe with me,” he said, his voice seductive.

Grabbing his hand, Hermione stood and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I thought you would never ask.”

--

Chewing her sandwich thoughtfully, Hermione smiled. She was so deliciously sore. They had missed breakfast due to their excursion in the bath. Severus was sitting next to Dumbledore, deep in conversation with the headmaster.

Stealing a glance toward the Ravenclaw table, Hermione smiled nervously at William and Allison. She owed them a big apology, and an explanation to Professor Flitwick as to her involvement in such a devastating hit on House Points. Both students looked down suddenly.

“Would you please stop glaring at William and Allison?” asked Hermione without even looking at Severus.

“They are fortunate I did not punish them further,” he replied before sipping his tea and turning his attention to her.

A loud hiccup and the sound of clattering dishes interrupted their brewing argument. Everyone in the Great Hall turned their attention to Sibyll Trelawney as she clumsily mopped up her spilt drink.

“There, there now,” Dumbledore soothed the nervous witch as he Vanished the contents of her beverage from his robe and the table.

In a daze, the seer rose and walked round the staff table to the center of the Great Hall. She gazed out the window, seemingly enjoying the sunlight.

“Sibyll?” Hermione could hear the concern in the headmaster’s voice.

Trelawney stiffened and grabbed her chest as though she were having some kind of fit. Her voice was low and raspy as she spoke. “The cycles of time as past, present and future. The corrupt spirit shall invoke primeval rites. The face of death, on its belly crawls. The lion shall conquer the Gorgon. What is believed lost will return in time.”

A chill consumed Hermione, her lunch churning in her stomach. She may be a flake ninety-nine percent of the time, but Sibyll Trelawney’s prophecies had ways of becoming reality.

*****

A/N – As always, many thanks to my beta readers, Kathy Rose and Larilee. Larilee lended a very valuable hand in this chapter. You all are awesome. Thanks to all who have reviewed. There are no more prewritten chapters. So, the updates may be every other week. On the bright side, the end is near. Yeah!