Jehane Desrosiers

Chapter 15 -- Hippogriffs in Love

Hogwarts under Headmaster Snape was a different, but equally fine, school. Academic requirements were more rigorous and some of Dumbledore’s pets found new outlets for their dubious talents. Professor Trelawney was gone within six months, landing a soft berth writing prophecies for Witch Weekly. Moaning Myrtle was somehow relocated to a public restroom in a wizarding national park, becoming something of an attraction herself, and dear Professor Binns was laid to rest at last and replaced by a very sharp and scholarly lady with a talent for instruction and the dew of life still upon her.

Severus was only a month into his headmastership when Tilda’s youngest sister Elspeth, a Prefect of Hufflepuff, came to consult with him about a Hufflepuff – Slytherin conflict that could no longer be contained by the four prefects involved. She was a perfect emissary to the new Headmaster, as she had grown more familiar with him than most by hanging around the stables with Tilda. Severus surprised me by inviting her to our rooms instead of his office to talk it over. After serving tea, I retreated to the bedroom, eavesdropping for later advisement purposes.

He determined that the matter had grown too large for student governance, and he asked her to let the Heads of Houses address it.

Then came a pause in which I imagined the epic struggle within. Finally he said grudgingly, “You’ve done a fine job with this, er -- Elspeth. Your approach was correct and you came to me at the right moment.” I held my breath, wondering how she would take it.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said cheerily. “That means a lot to me.”

“All right then,” he said. “Go on. I said I’d take care of it.” He turned back to his desk. She stood for a moment.

“Good job, Miss Squires,” he intoned irritably. “Have I said enough?”

She smiled. “Pushing off, then. Thanks, Professor Snape.”

No one had thought he could do it. The Board of Governors had a secret contingency plan. Yet within the first year he unfolded into a stern, forbidding yet scrupulously fair disciplinarian who managed the school with immense dedication if not tact. What my wishes and efforts had not done, his own integrity accomplished; he understood his duty as the growing of young souls and knew that ridicule and rejection would distort them. I suppose another way of saying it was that he put himself and his inclinations aside in order to serve.

The students, especially the sixth and seventh years, showed surprising tolerance and encouragement of Severus’ efforts to take up Dumbledore’s mantle. All “greasy git” talk dried up; I suppose those old enough to register the subtle signs of his grief were moved to overlook his failures in the struggle to remake himself.

For the first time I witnessed the intense focus Severus must have brought to his part in the war. His commitment to the battle for Hogwarts was composed equally of pride and desperate fear of failure, and during that first year he ate, slept and breathed the management of Hogwarts and his role as Headmaster.

Sometimes he overlooked me, but I saw how success could be the saving of him, and put my hurt aside. At other times I could not put my hurt aside. And still we stumbled occasionally into that sacred, strange and perilous place between us, the wellspring of our understanding.

One night in May a monitoring spell I had placed on the stables went off while Severus and I were getting ready for bed. The receptor, a conch shell on the mantelpiece, resounded with furious crashes and the sound of splintering wood.

“Listen,” I told Severus. “When Guy and I had a female in heat and Protecteur kicked out the stall door it sounded like that. I’d better go down.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said, rebuttoning his shirt.

“You really don’t need to. It’s probably nothing. I’ll just go check.”

He ignored me, taking up his wand.

It was a beautiful night. Stars were strewn across the sky like a handful of glittering sand and a crescent moon smiled down. No one was about. The day had been warm and traces of it still lingered, breathing up from the damp earth. As we approached the stables, I saw that indeed, the back of Protecteur’s stall – the outer wall of the building – had been kicked through. For a moment I feared that some creature had broken in, rather than the reverse. Then as we came in view of the pasture we spotted Salazar, our young male. He acted strangely -- jumping, then coming up short as if on a lead, turning in a little circle, all the time squawking and shaking his head. He seemed in a frenzy to go forward, yet restrained somehow.

Then we saw Protecteur.

He was approaching a female in the middle of the pasture. A wild griff. She was unusually large and clearly in heat, presenting by kneeling on her forelegs and pulling her black tail flirtatiously aside. Each time he came close, she leapt up and away, teasing.

Salazar was driven wild by the smell of her, but knew better than to approach a female claimed by a dominant male.

“Don’t get close,” I urged.

“No.”

The female again presented to Protecteur, her fleshy hindquarters shivering as she stamped her hooves impatiently. He came around behind her and began to mount, but she lost her nerve, twisting away from beneath him. As we watched, his enormous glistening penis slowly extended from its sheath and a few pearly drops ran down its length.

I felt a little weak and leaned against the fence. It seemed indecent to be aroused by this, but I couldn’t look away.

She ran a short distance then circled back. In a passion of attraction and indecision she knelt and rocked her hindquarters side to side, then turned and hissed at him, beak wide, as he approached. Protecteur pranced, his hips thrusting involuntarily in his excitement.

The restless dancing movement of her flanks begged him to overcome her fear, and I waited, sure he would find a way. He studied her.

Now Protecteur faced her and reared, intimidating her with his size and authority. She slashed at him, but he caught her beak in his own. I had never seen a griff do this. He pressed it down until she lowered her head. She gave a mating cry – a high, frustrated keening like a boiling kettle. Protecteur pushed her lower, then released her beak and quickly placed his foot on her neck, forcing her forequarters to the ground.

Anticipating him, she planted her hoofs, then stood still, quivering, her swollen labia opening like a black flower. I found myself pressing against the fence post. Protecteur kept his foot on her back as he circled behind her, sashaying awkwardly on his hind legs, rampant penis bobbing.

I glanced sideways at Severus. He leaned forward clenching the fence rail, breathing hard, upper lip beaded with sweat. So.

It took a very small movement to make the suggestion. I put my forearms on the fence, bringing my chest lower, and backed against his hip bone.

He responded instantly, stepping behind me and grinding his cock against me with a moan. I braced myself and pushed back. He ran his hands up my hips and under my tee shirt to roll my nipples between his fingers. The throbbing between my legs grew more intense and I rubbed him with my arse, feeling his hardness and eliciting a grunt of pleasure.

Protecteur had his forelegs up on the female’s wing joints and was frantically stabbing, trying to penetrate her. She was so eager that her jiggling threw him off the target. Her shrieks of desperation sent shots of arousal through my body as Severus rubbed my breasts roughly. He pressed them against my chest and my panting pressed them back into his hands. He yanked my shorts down and swirled his robes around us, reaching forward to cup my mons, gasping at the wetness on his fingers.

As soon as he touched my clit, waves of contractions washed through me, my breathless cries alternating with the mare’s shrieks. His hand followed as I backed against him. Then he supported me, arms around my waist, as I caught my breath.

With a triumphant eagle screech, Protecteur drove home, sinking his length between the female’s rounded flanks. Severus yanked me to him with a sound halfway between a growl and a shout. His hand fluttered behind me as he unbuttoned his fly, then he grasped me tightly by the hips and took me with a single thrust.

I braced myself against his strokes and sobbed at the pleasure of being filled. He paused for a moment to slow himself and find a rhythm. Locking one arm around my waist he brought the other hand around to trace small circles around my most sensitive spot. He knew just what to do, and I began to build to it, whimpering . He thrust in a regular, workmanlike pattern that told me he was holding off, letting himself build slowly.

Another screech from the pasture and we looked up to see Protecteur pumping hard, flanks contracting, eyes glassy. The female had laid her head on the grass and was pushing back, her talons digging in, mating screams transformed into low growls of effort and pleasure.

Suddenly Protecteur bent and grabbed her wing joint in his beak. Straining, he pressed her down through series of rapid powerful strokes that nearly knocked her over. He paused, shaking, then gave one final thrust and threw his head back with a strangled whistling cry.

“Gods,” Severus gasped. And then --

-- laid his body over mine pulling me up tight by my waist and crotch and seizing the back of my arm in his teeth. Holding me in his jaws he dealt me two fierce thrusts that knocked me against the fence, and came with a muffled shout. The white hot climax that ripped through me was not what I’d expected and had everything to do with his teeth and the hard possessive way he held me.

*****

It took us quite some time to return to ourselves, still more for me to put Protecteur and Salazar back in the stable. We spoke very little, held by the intensity of our experience. Severus performed a repairing spell on the stable wall. The bay mare stayed in the pasture, and I hoped now that Protecteur had claimed her, Salazar would have the sense to leave her alone.

It was past two when we went back up to the castle. Severus put his arm around me as we walked, a sign that he felt especially close. I sighed happily.

As we finished preparing for bed, he came up behind me with a “Tsk.”

“What?”

“Your arm. Look.” He turned me toward the mirror. Blazoned on the soft skin was an unmistakable purple circle of tooth marks.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, getting out his wand.

“No,” I said, laying my hand on the white skin of his forearm where once Voldemort had branded him. “Leave your mark there.” He stopped, locking eyes with me.

“If you don’t want to – “ I said.

“Oh, but I do,” he said, advancing on me, eyes glittering. He took me by the arms, squeezing the bruise almost painfully. “My Jehane.”

I stared at him, inviting. “Maybe you’d like to put your name right here.” And I pulled down my shorts again. This was a self I hadn’t known, released by and belonging to Severus, and I felt a dizzying exhilaration.

He looked at me hard. His pupils were dilated. Stepping back, he took his wand from the bedside table, bringing it into use position. He turned me round. The tip left a trail on my skin. Large snakelike S. Icy scrawl. S again. Twelve letters in all, glowing cold, like melted silver across my left buttock.

“If I were a younger man,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I would show you graphically, right now, how far that line of thought would take you.”

“Maybe tomorrow?,” I said weakly.

And it was barely tomorrow when he did.

*****

“Class dismissed!”

Severus strode into the paddock, ignoring the goggling fifth and sixth years and grabbed me by the wrist. I was surprised out of speech.

“You and you, stable the animals,” he barked at the class, dragging me toward the Forbidden Forest. He had never interrupted my teaching before, yet I hadn’t the impression of a dangerous emergency. “What --” I asked, but he gave no answer. I stumbled a little, keeping up with him.

The Forest was dark, even in early summer midday, but Severus entered without hesitation, taking a barely distinguishable path knotted with roots and overhung with briars. “Duck,” he said, ducking, and I heard the thin whisking of thorns through his hair. I could barely see. He clutched my wrist; I thought of going into town with Papa, safe as long as he held my hand.

The path took several turnings, growing narrower and lower. We crouched, walking single file with our heads down, my hand on his back. My eyes adjusted -- light shadow and dark shadow, but nothing of the sky. He stopped abruptly and squatted. We were in a tunnel of briar hedge about four feet around. I kneeled, suddenly aware of the scratches on my arms and neck and the singing excitement in my blood.

“Through there,” he whispered, his breath a soft touch in my ear. A dark hole between the trunks. “Go first. I’ll follow.”

I flopped onto the soft forest floor and crawled, using my elbows and toes. A branch poked close to my eye. I tucked my chin and led with the top of my head.

Some animal must have used this way and I hoped I would not meet it coming out, but soon enough I was pulling my shoulders through and crawling free. I heard Severus rustling behind me.

It was a deep clearing like the bottom of a well, and on the ground was an arrangement of sticks in a messy sunburst pattern. With a gasp, I recognized it. A hippogriff’s nest. And there, in the center, the leathery mottled egg, big as a watermelon and -- was it? -- yes -- undulating slightly. About to hatch.

“Severus,” I breathed.

“Yes,” he said, brushing himself off. “If my timing is correct, it should see you within the hour.”

He stood casually, hands on hips, as if waiting for the assembly to quiet down before beginning his remarks, but the coolness of his posture could not mask the question. Did I like it? Did I like his gift?

“Sweetheart,” I said, taking his hand. His fingers laced eagerly with mine. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Mm? Good, then.” He smirked a little, looking down at the nest. But his hand was warm and soft, and he did not let go.

We settled together on the rotting leaves, waiting quietly, and a peace stole over us. Someone must be minding things up at the school, I thought, for Severus to sit so calmly.

After a long, comfortable time I said, “You planned this.”

“Yes.”

“You tracked her.”

“Yes, of course.”

“How did you know what to do?”

He gave me a sideways glance. “I have been listening to you for the last four years. I’m not completely self-involved.”

“You used a scrying glass?”

“Yes.”

“And she --?”

“Obliviated. I sent her off this morning.”

I nodded with satisfaction. This was the standard approach for obtaining foals in the wild. Having some of Protecteur’s hair for use with the glass must have made it easier to find the egg.

It was squirming vigorously now and rocking as the struggling foal strained the material.

“It’s the best gift I’ve ever had,” I said, leaning against him.

Severus sniffed. “Not as much as you deserve,” he said stiffly. There was a faint tearing sound; he stood swiftly and stepped into the dark at the edge of the clearing. I leaned forward.

A small hole had appeared at the top. The tip of a beak thrust through, then receded. More squirming, and the hole tore a bit more. A long pause, while the creature rested. Nature guided this process; the hole must be large enough before the foal poked its head out or it might strangle. Now it rolled over and a gray toe caught at the edge of the rent. A second tear appeared, giving the opening three flaps.

The first time Guy and I had seen this, the mare had been a pregnant wild griff, brought to us with a broken wing. We had kept her secluded in a friend’s unused pasture so that she could nest undisturbed. She healed faster than expected and deserted the egg one day when we arrived to tend her. We sat for hours in the field as it gradually ripened to hatching, Guy talking softly and rubbing my back as if I were a foal myself.

A bolt of grief passed through me. I would never see him again, never feel the warmth of his brilliant smile, never hold his stubby hand, never watch him at a party, telling stories and touching people on the arm, then coming back to me. He would never come back to me, never.

Yet I loved Severus with all my heart. What kind of person was I?

A wet, pinfeathered head thrust through the opening and I fell forward on my elbows. Its eyes were squeezed shut, the yellow egg tooth gleaming at the end of its beak.

“Ssss, sss, sss. Hey, hey, little bird,” I crooned. “Here’s your mama.” The big head wobbled on its scrawny stem then plopped forward. The foal rested again, chin on the ground. Its little nostrils flared with effort. It began squirming from the shell with wings, claws and feet, working its way out like a person shucking off a sleeping bag. Here were the pinny folded wings, like the unwanted part of a chicken dinner. The thick coat of its hindquarters was patterned in wet swirls; in the dark of the forest I couldn’t make out the color. It wiggled once more to free itself, kicked the wrinkled shell away with an irritated gesture of the hoof.

“Sss, sss, sss, little hippogriff,” I called. I leaned over to check. “Severus, it’s a filly!” She worked her legs underneath her, as if to signal her independence before she placed herself in my care.

Then she opened her eyes.

They were milky gray, like most newborns’. She kept perfectly still, sweeping my face until her gaze came to rest in my own. I held my breath. What was happening in her mind right now could happen only this once and forever. She was becoming mine.

Some hippogriff trainers believe that a similar thing occurs with them simultaneously and I felt it, as if we entered each other, a joyful vertigo. Her head swayed, her dark pupils tracking me as she painstakingly rose, first onto her eagle talons and then, awkwardly, her spindly legs. She managed to get halfway up before they folded underneath her and she sat abruptly. The mystical moment was broken and I laughed. Severus’ hands touched my shoulders.

“Let’s take her home,” he said.

“Severus?”

“Yes.”

“Her name is Fidelita.”

“Fidelity. A critical virtue,” he said evenly. I turned my head to kiss his hand.

He drew a packet from his robes and expanded it with a word. It was a sling, the very design that Guy and I had developed to carry newborn griffs . This one was dark green with black trim. I drew a breath in admiration.

“You think of everything,” I said.

“Indeed.” He helped me settle it over my shoulder and across my back and together we nestled the still-wet foal inside, folded up as if she were back in the egg. Then he took my hand and led me out of the forest.