Augury & Ardor

Author's Notes: Well, here it is – the reunion between Severus and Hermione. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

I just wanted to let everyone know, this is NOT the final chapter. Before all is said, done, and explained, there will be twenty-three chapters posted. Thanks!
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Hermione patted her pocket in a nervous gesture. Rolled up and stuffed into her robes were the annulment and guardianship parchments. They felt far bulkier than they looked, pressed up against her as they were. She straightened her robes and then gave the pocket another unconscious pat.


Glancing over at Professor McGonagall, she attempted a smile that appeared more a grimace than anything else. Instead of receiving the scolding look she’d expected for her fidgeting, the older witch smiled, her eyes surprisingly gentle as they studied Hermione’s face. “Are you sure this is what you want?”


Hermione nodded and expelled a shaky breath. “There’s no other choice.”


Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow to indicate she felt differently, but refrained from commenting. Instead, as the Knight Bus careened through the darkening streets, she unfolded the special edition copy of the Daily Prophet someone had left behind and began to read.


On the front page, in huge, bold letters shouted the headline: DUMBLEDORE LIVES! with a photograph of the professor clad in his Wizengamot robes, smiling and waving to the camera. Halfway down the page, another headline, also in lurid type, read: Hogwarts Honey Hot For Potions Professor’s Passion: “I Was Willing”.


Looking up, Hermione met the curious gaze of a dark-haired witch whose almond-shaped eyes peeked over the same copy of the Prophet. Rather than blush or look away, Hermione raised her eyebrows in challenge before turning her attention to Sepharus, asleep in his carry seat.


Let the world gape at her if they liked. She wasn’t going to apologize or explain herself no matter what sort of rubbish the Daily Prophet speculated about her character. She’d had her say – had let the world know that Severus Snape wasn’t a monster – and that’s all that mattered.


Sepharus released a shuddering sigh as she adjusted the blanket next to his head. He tended to sleep with his head cocked to one side and, inevitably, ended up with hair even more wild for it.


He was out like a light, having played most of the day with Tonks, who generally tended to over-stimulate him. When they’d left, he’d cried bloody murder and only calmed when Tonks had fully changed her appearance as well as her hair color. Hermione smiled and brushed a finger along the curve of her son’s cheek. It wouldn’t be long before that diversionary tactic didn’t work any longer. She could tell by his penetrating gaze, this last time, he was beginning to catch on to Tonks’ trick.


The Knight Bus skidded to a stop and Hermione caught the handle of Sepharus’ seat to keep him from flying forward. When the dark-haired witch stood and made her way to the exit, Hermione pulled the seat up onto her lap to clear the aisle. Even so, the witch hesitated in front of her. Looking up, Hermione met her eyes, fully expecting some sort of rude comment.


“He wouldn’t remember me. I was in Hufflepuff,” she said, her voice belying her nervousness, “but we had Potions together during our last year. He helped me more than once when I was about to add the wrong ingredient to my cauldron.” The woman paused before finishing with more force, “I couldn’t believe it when they said he’d killed Professor Dumbledore. I knew there was a mistake.” With that, the dark haired witch gave a quick nod to Professor McGonagall and hurried down the aisle and out into the twilight.


When the bus took off, Hermione lost the pleased smile hovering on her lips and swore under her breath as she bumped into McGonagall. “Sorry, Professor.”


Professor McGonagall glanced over the rims of her glasses, clearly distracted. “According to the Daily Prophet, Albus and I are now an item.”


“Weren’t you always?” Hermione asked, pretending to be engrossed in reseating herself. Despite that, she felt the older witch’s eyes boring into her and had to fight to keep her expression blank.


“You think you’re clever, but you’re not as accomplished as your husband at hiding your emotions, lassy,” McGonagall snapped. Despite the crisp tone to her voice, however, Hermione thought she heard amusement in it as well. “And to think I used to believe this rag was a source of news.”


Hermione looked up at that and both witches laughed as the bus hurtled through the ever-darkening streets.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Do you want me to ask the bus conductor to wait?” McGonagall asked.


“No…” Hermione shook her head and shifted Sepharus’ seat to her other hand. “It’s only a wand flick away after all, and I’m sure you want to get back to the school before it gets any later.”


“Remember what I said,” the older witch replied, searching Hermione’s eyes. “You’ve got a place at Hogwarts, should you want it.”


Hermione nodded, straightened her back and stepped off the bus into the night.


“All right, Miss?” Stan Shunpike asked, his tone conveying his uncertainty at leaving her behind.


The cobblestone street was dark, but even without light it was evident the neighborhood was seedy. In the distance, an abandoned mill looked down on the crowded brick houses like a soulless sentinel. The homes, in turn, seemed to huddle closely together for support. Hermione’s eyes sought and found the door to the home she’d come to visit before returning to rest on the pimply-faced young man. With a smile that felt unsure even to her, she said, “I’ll be fine, thank you.”


The bus disappeared in a rush of displaced air, and other than the ratcheting call of crickets, she and Sepharus were alone in the silence of the dark night. With a last glance at the mill looming above, Hermione hurried to the door before her and used the knocker to announce her presence.


For a sinking moment, Hermione thought she’d come when no one was home, but then the door swung open and she was bathed in a sliver of welcoming light.


“Mistress Snape!” a voice squeaked with pleasure, and the door swung open farther. “Oh! We asked the Master when you was joining him, but he wouldn’t say. Come in. Come in! We is so glad to be seeing you!”


Hermione let herself be pulled into a small but tidy sitting room and smiled, blinking back tears at the warm welcome Purl and Bitsy gave her. She hadn’t realized, until that moment, just how attached she’d become to the house-elves over the months she’d been at Voldemort’s compound. They squeaked their pleasure at seeing her and were in near paroxysms of joy at finally seeing Sepharus, both elves wide-eyed with wonder as they gazed at the sleeping infant.


When they finally quieted, Hermione glanced around and asked hesitantly, “Is…is he home?”


“Master Snape is out for a walk,” Purl said, her tone indicating her displeasure at the fact. “I told Master Snape that it was late and he is still not well, but he is not listening to Purl. Master Snape said he was ‘perfectly fine’ and would ‘climb the walls if he sat inside another moment’.”


“Is there a bedroom where I can put Sepharus so he won’t be disturbed?” Hermione asked, looking around for the first time.


The sitting room into which she’d stepped was small, its book-lined walls making it seem even smaller. Still, the threadbare sofa, chair and table were clean and the lamp above them blazed with warm candlelight. While bare, the room had been arranged to appear welcoming.


“Give us your cloak, Mistress,” Bitsy said, with a smile. “I’ll make tea while Purl shows you where to put the young master.”


Hermione shrugged out of her cloak, removing the parchments and setting them aside before following Purl through the small, shabby home.


Ten minutes later, Hermione walked back down the narrow stairway to the sitting room. On the rickety table in the sitting room, Purl and Bitsy had set up a tea so lovely it looked out of place in the stuffy little room. Along with the tea, they’d made a plate of her favorite sandwiches. “This is lovely,” Hermione said in a choked voice. “Thank you, Purl. Thank you, Bitsy.”


The two house-elves curtsied and made to leave but Hermione took a step toward them. “Wait…I was wondering. Were you – were you there when Voldemort realized Severus had sent me away?”


Purl shook her head, her eyes vast and liquid as they met Hermione’s. “No, Mistress. Master Snape sent us away, too. We didn’t want to leave – oh, no! – but he ordered us to go to Hogwarts and stay and we had to go. We has to obey.”


Hermione nodded, completely understanding the house-elves’ sad looks. “At least it’s over, now,” she finally said, forcing a smile, “and I’m so glad to see you both again.”


“And we is happy you came, Mistress,” Purl said, her big eyes glancing around the room with obvious displeasure. “Bitsy and I, we has tried to make this house more homely for Master Snape, but he is not letting us change much. You can talk to him. You can convince him to --”


At that, the front door opened and slammed. Purl started and hurried over to retrieve her master’s cloak. “Master Snape, look! Mistress has finally arrived! We has made tea and sandwiches. Will Master Snape eat now?”


They both froze, staring at each other - Severus in surprise and Hermione, pinned by his penetrating, dark gaze as Purl hung his cloak. When he spoke, his voice was like a slap and Hermione dropped her eyes. “Leave us.”


Purl and Bitsy made quick curtsies and hurried from the room. The slow, resonating tick of a clock was the only sound to split the silence for a few moments. Then, he spoke again and his voice was modulated and even. “What are you doing here?”


“I came because I - I had to see you,” she stammered, all the words she’d prepared lost in the face of his stern expression. All her old doubts and fears welled up and threatened to overwhelm her.


“And now you have,” he said dismissively, making no move to join her in the sitting room. “If that’s all…?”


“No,” she said resolutely, refusing to allow him to intimidate or dissuade her. She’d say what she’d come to say even if he laughed at her. Even if he mocked her. “I came because - because I wanted to thank you…to tell you how much I appreciate the sacrifice you made for me and Sepharus --” She hesitated at his swiftly indrawn breath and the clenching of his jaw. He was as forbidding as she’d ever seen him, his posture rigid and his face all harsh, disapproving lines. Yet, she forged on. She had to; too much was at stake. “I had to tell you how sorry I am about what happened – how you suffered – and how I wish I could have helped you…” When he didn’t move and his expression remained as severe and withdrawn, she faltered. “I – I wanted to tell you how grateful I am – how much I admire you --”


“You admire me,” he mocked. His mouth slowly twisted into a sneer. “Well, now you’ve told me. You’ve discharged your debt and can leave.”


For a split second, she almost allowed his cool, detached demeanor to scare her away – to send her running back to the Order and her cold, lonely bed. All the months of worrying and yearning for him, however, stayed her feet.


“That’s not all,” she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat.


He raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her to impress him. With a deep breath, she lifted her chin and held his gaze. “I came to tell you that my testimony on the stand was my own – no one coached me.”


His fixed expression faltered slightly. Had she not spent months with him, she might not have noticed, but she seized on the flicker in his eyes as a positive sign and forged on. Without giving herself time to second-guess her actions, she reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse. “What I said was true. From the first, there wasn’t a moment you touched me that I didn’t feel pleasure.”


Another fissure in his forbidding expression gave her courage to move. As she continued to unbutton her blouse, she walked toward him. “There hasn’t been a day since you sent me away that I haven’t burned for your touch – that I haven’t wanted your hands on me. Your mouth.”


A wave of relief swept over her when he sucked in his breath and his eyes dropped to watch her peel out of her blouse. She quickly shrugged it off and unhooked her bra. His eyes jumped back to hers, searching and probing, as she continued, “I dream of lying with you and wake up aching and unfulfilled.” She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, emboldened by his reaction. While he hadn’t moved, his stance had subtly changed. He was paralyzed – stunned by her words and actions -- instead of frozen in icy rejection. “I haven’t slept a full night since we were parted. I wake up reaching for you and can’t sleep for wanting you.”


She stopped inches from him, her heart pounding. It had started out beating fast from trepidation, but as she approached him and gauged the velvet depths of his gaze, it pounded with fierce elation. He wanted her still!


“I came to tell you that. That I want you,” she whispered, reaching up to wind her arms around his neck. She could have almost smiled at his stunned inability to move had she not been dizzy with desire. Finally, after months of separation, he was warm and solid beneath her hands. Finally, she could touch him! His hair tangled around her fingers and she pressed up on her toes even as she pulled his head down to hers. “That I want you to make love to me.”


Her lips brushed his once and she gasped at the contact only to cry out as his arms encircled her, crushing her up against the length of his body. She cried out again, a soft moan of joy, as his mouth closed over hers and he was kissing her – tilting his head to better fit their mouths together.


Finally! was all she could think as his hand came up to cup the back of her head and hold it so he could delve between her lips and test the texture of her mouth. She swallowed his groan as her tongue met his and caressed its length.


For long, indeterminable minutes, they explored each other, shifting and changing position – bumping noses in their eagerness to rejoin – fingers tangling in hair and hands pulling the other closer. The only sounds in the room were soft, impatient noises of need and need satisfied.


Despite the fact he was crushing her in his embrace – that she could barely breathe beneath the bands of his arms -- Hermione pressed herself closer to him, reveling in the familiar scratch of his frock coat against her bare skin. They were joined at the mouth and that was good, but she needed him closer. She wanted to feel his skin. She wanted him inside her.


“Let me,” she gasped against his mouth only to have him silence her with another searching kiss. “Let me,” she insisted, pushing against his shoulders to give her room to unbutton his coat. “I want your skin. I want to feel your skin,” she panted, torn between that need and the mesmerizing pleasure of his mouth moving on hers.


A shudder racked him and his head fell forward, his mouth brushing across her cheek to her ear. He whispered her name, his voice ragged, and the same fevered tremor seized her as his mouth closed over her throat.


He gave her the room she wanted, allowing her hands to move between them, divesting him of his coat. It dropped between them and was trod on as he backed her toward the threadbare sofa a few feet away. As they went, she yanked the buttons of his shirt free, some of them giving beneath her clumsy fingers, some popping and bouncing along the floor. She’d managed to unbuckle his belt and was working the buttons free on his trousers when the backs of her legs hit the couch.


“No,” she moaned in protest when he pressed her back against the cushions. “I didn’t get to touch you. I want to touch you.”


“No.” He shook his head when she opened her mouth and stilled her argument with another long, exploring kiss. When he lifted his head he gazed down at her, his expression almost pained. “Not this time. I can’t…I wouldn’t be able to stand it…”


She studied his eyes a moment before nodding in understanding. “Then be inside me,” she whispered, pulling his head back down.


His hand fumbled between them for only a few seconds before he was pressing his weight between her legs and filling her. His mouth brushed over hers but his brow was furrowed in concentration as he joined them. As his hips slowly pistoned forward she nipped at his lips in agitation, her fingers curling in his hair. “Don’t try to make it last,” she gasped, wriggling her hips to illustrate her impatience. “Just take me. I need you.”


He groaned at her words and thrust his hips forward, joining them completely. She hissed out an encouraging ‘yes’ against his mouth before his lips ground down on hers, silencing all but the moans that occasionally leaked out between the seal.


His thrusts were almost brutal and she reveled in each one, her hips arching up to meet them, her fingers biting into his skin as she urged him on. He groaned out her name, half in question, half in warning seconds later and she responded with a ragged ‘yes’, telling him she was with him. Not to stop. Then, her eyes widened and she arched beneath him, repeating that affirmation over and over, each one more insistent than the next as he pulsed and swelled inside her.

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She awoke just before dawn the next morning, disoriented. The pillow beneath her head was lumpy and unfamiliar. The bed was unfamiliar. She wasn’t at the Order – she wasn’t at home. Pushing up into a half sitting position, she glanced around and saw Severus standing across the room, his back to her as he faced a small fireplace.


He was thinner, it was true, but it didn’t matter. She smiled at the dual emotions of serenity and desire she experienced as her eyes wandered over the musculature of his shoulders and back. After allowing herself the pleasure of studying him a few moments, she looked around the room again. He must have moved her the night before after she’d fallen asleep, curled against him on the confines of the couch.


“Come to bed.”


His head snapped around and he gazed at her long and hard. Then he turned toward her slightly and she saw he was holding parchments in his hand. “You’ve signed them,” he said simply, his eyes searching her face.


She sighed and pushed back the covers, realizing he was holding the annulment and guardianship parchments. Coming to her feet, she walked the distance between them, unconcerned about her nudity. “I did.” He was torn, she could see, between wanting to act on her unspoken invitation and discussing the legal documents. Stopping in front of him, she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. As was the norm when he wasn’t touching her, they were black and impenetrable. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”


Instead of answering her question, he probed her eyes. “You came to me willingly last night.” It wasn’t a question, but neither was it a statement. It was a guarded step onto uncertain ground.


“Yes, I came,” she replied, her mouth slowly curling up into a smile. “Very willingly.”


A corner of his mouth quirked at her sultry reply, but he wouldn’t allow her to distract him from his line of thought. “You’d stay with me? Remain married to me?” he asked.


“Yes,” she replied simply.


He continued to study her eyes. “You realize you’d be bound to me for life.” He lifted the parchments slightly. “I won’t offer you this opportunity again.”


She wound her arms around his neck and whispered against his mouth, “I know. Do I get to touch you now?”


She saw his hand move out of the corner of her eye and glanced over just in time to watch the documents float into the fire and swiftly disappear in the flames. Then he was lifting her, his mouth coming down to cover hers, and she closed her eyes, her head spinning as he intoxicated her senses.

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Later that morning, Hermione lifted her head from the lumpy pillow and gazed blearily over at Severus. He was seated in a chair by the fire and she frowned. Why had he left her? Was he brooding over his decision?


“Severus?” she asked, clearing her scratchy throat.


He turned and her heart skipped several beats before resuming its normal rhythm. In his arms, resting against his bared chest, was Sepharus. “He was crying,” he explained. Sepharus released a shuddering breath and his eyelids fought to open, but lost the battle.


After their pre-dawn encounter, Hermione hadn’t thought she possessed the energy to feel desire again so soon, but it slammed into her with the force of a freight train all the same. The sight of him holding Sepharus so carefully was like an aphrodisiac.


“I didn’t even hear him,” she said, her throaty tone no longer sleep-induced.


“I awaken easily,” he replied, his eyes darkening by degrees as they held hers.


“I remember.” Another surge of languor seized her. His gaze was full of dark promise – the same dangerous look that had frightened her all those months ago when she’d been inexperienced and didn’t realize she’d soon yearn to rush headlong into the unknown.


“He’s settled now.” Severus rose. “I’ll put him back to bed.”


She watched him walk from the room, her eyes drinking in the picture of her tall, lean husband gently cradling their sleeping son. Another punch of desire interfered with her heart’s rhythm, making her voice come out breathless. “I’ll be waiting.”


He reappeared in the doorway within moments, hardly giving her the chance to cast a silent Scourgify spell on herself before he returned. She met his eyes and waited for him to act. Despite the fact they’d come together twice since her arrival, they were still uncertain of each other. Their relationship was still new -- tentative.


When he joined her, stripping out of his trousers and sliding in beside her, he cupped her cheek and traced her lips, a gesture from their time before that squeezed her heart. Instead of leaning in to kiss her like she’d expected, he spoke. “I heard that you went into labor moments after I sent you away -- that you gave birth at the Order. Tell me about it. Was it hard for you?”


“It was difficult,” she admitted, “Molly gave me a potion, but it was one that took a while to work and I was already in hard labor by then… Molly and Tonks midwifed instead of risking a trip to the hospital.”


His fingers continued to idly trace her skin, moving across the column of her throat to feather over her shoulder. “My biggest regret in all of this is that I missed Sepharus’ birth.”


She studied his face a moment before offering hesitantly, “You could experience it, if you want. You could use Legilimency…extract the memories…”


The look of surprise that crossed his face was fleeting, but it had been there, nevertheless. His head dipped and his mouth covered hers. The kiss was a long, languorous exploration that left her melting and warm in his arms. “Take me there,” he murmured, catching and holding her eyes as his fingertips continued to tease along her skin.


Hermione thought a moment about where she wanted to begin and decided on the moment her water broke. Then, she nodded and searched his eyes, swallowing in frightened expectation at allowing him into her mind. She remembered how much Harry had hated his lessons in Legilimency.


“Relax.” His eyes were as warm as velvet and as fathomless as the sea. His fingers stroked over her arm and his voice was a silken caress. “It doesn’t hurt; I promise.”


Giving in to his probing was something akin to submitting to the feelings he’d awakened when he’d first taken her. It was a bit frightening giving over control, but surprisingly pleasant once she’d submitted. Then, she gasped in vivid recall as she stood outside number twelve, Grimmauld Place and her legs were bathed in warm liquid.

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In the bed, Severus drew a sharp breath as her memory suddenly burst into his mind with stunning clarity. The colors were vibrant, the sounds almost painful, and her feelings as richly layered and intoxicating as a fine champagne. She was holding nothing back. Fear and pain were predominant in the memory and he stroked his hand over her arm to remind her she wasn’t alone.


Between and interwoven with the pains of labor, he felt an ever-present worry and his breath stuttered in his throat. She had worried about him even as she entered into that frightening, unknown period of her life. He fought the urge to break eye contact and kiss her again. Instead, he cupped her breast in his hand and stroked his thumb over the nipple. She gasped and arched up into the caress and a smile formed on his lips. Even at that moment, she wasn’t immune to his touch. He hadn’t been able to be with her or help her then, but he could at least lessen the force of the remembered pain. He continued stroking and teasing her breast, eliciting gasps of pleasure from her.


“It was long, your labor?” he asked, at one point. Instead of answering, she raced forward in her thoughts and brought him to a room that was now illuminated by candlelight instead of sunlight. The pain she shared with him was something just short of what he’d experienced under the Cruciatus Curse and he felt her weariness and despair like a weight across his shoulders. She’d been afraid he was dead and afraid of her uncertain future.


He could feel the unrelenting pressure between her legs and the steely grip of each contraction as it gripped her body and wrung panting moans from her. Her knees jerked together in surprise when his fingers stroked down between her legs and he caressed her thigh. “Trust me,” he urged softly. “Let me help.”


With a gasp, she relived the strong contractions that preceded delivery as his fingers moved down to find her clitoris. She gasped again as he stroked over it, teased it, and then found an insistent rhythm. A wave of pleasure rode tandem with the force of a contraction.


“Push, Hermione,” the voices of her memory urged and she arched into his fingers as he slid them inside her. She moaned as heat built in her abdomen and pressure built between her legs. She was splitting in two as she birthed Sepharus and breaking apart as Severus’ touch brought her to orgasm. With a cry of triumph that encompassed both sensations, she arched from the mattress and shuddered from the force.


As she floated back to the mattress, his mouth found hers and he kissed her slowly. Deeply. He thanked her with a dozen different kisses, each one as diverse as a snowflake. The last one was a nip against the full cushion of her bottom lip as her eyes fluttered opened. She smiled up at him in delight. “Was it good for you, too?”


Her smile widened in surprise and pleasure when he laughed in response. Reaching up, she caressed his jaw. “I’d like to hear more of that.”


The small smile that had been riding his lips disappeared by measures and his eyes probed hers. “Why would you tie yourself to a man like me - a man old enough to be your father? Someone the world scorns? You know me well enough now to know I’m not interested in social niceties. I’m not concerned in winning the world’s approval. Choosing to remain married to me means you’ll share in my ignominy.”


She studied his face, a thousand different thoughts running through her mind; she hardly knew how to begin to answer his questions. He paused only a moment before continuing, “You had to know from our months together that I might turn you away, too. Why would you come here and risk rejection?”


Although her heart rate had leapt to a gallop, she didn’t hesitate. Even if he didn’t realize what he was asking for, she knew. She had to bridge this last gap – give him this last bit of herself. “Because I love you. It was either risk rejection or accept never being with you again, and I couldn’t accept that without a fight.”


His dark eyes flared with some strong emotion and she traced her thumb over his lips, gaining confidence with every moment he didn’t laugh at her words. “What’s more,” she said, as if they were trading conversation over a cauldron and not discussing the murky terrain of their strange relationship, “I think you love me, too.”


For a long time, he just stared at her with his depthless ebony gaze and she faltered, sure she’d gone too far – presumed too much. Then, in a dry, even tone he replied, “Yes, well…you always were an insufferable know-it-all, weren’t you?”


Relief washed over her, weakening her limbs at his implied admission. “Tell me,” she breathed out in amused exasperation, “I want to hear it.”


Again, he studied her for a long, silent moment before his lips curled in a slow smile. “I think not.” He gathered her in his arms and rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him. “No,” he repeated as if entertaining the idea again, “I think, instead, you should make me say it.”


Hermione pushed up to straddle his hips and study his smug expression. Although she tried to look put out, a smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “So, I finally get to touch you, do I?” she asked. She bit her lip in anticipation and shot him a sultry glance before applying herself to the enjoyable task at hand.


In the end, he not only said it, he spoke it in a tortured groan as she explored his body with all the eagerness she’d repressed for months. Then, he whispered it like a litany against her ear as he rolled her beneath him and made love to her slowly, demanding that she respond in kind.

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A/N: I wanted to reiterate, this is not the end of the story. There are three chapters remaining. Keep reading!