Augury & Ardor

Vignettes, Part I


“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Hermione asked.


“It was unrelenting torture. I’d be hard pressed to choose between another encounter such as that or the same amount of time subjected to the Cruciatus Curse,” Severus muttered in disgust, not bothering to lift his gaze from the newspaper. “At least I was able to partition my mind when Voldemort was torturing me. The incessant chatter of your friends is inescapable.”


Hermione laughed and straddled her husband’s lap, crushing his paper. He lifted an eyebrow at her impertinence, but bracketed her hips in his hands to hold her there.


“You did very well for an old curmudgeon,” she whispered, wriggling her bottom against him. “And if it were not for one of my friends positively doting on Sepharus, we wouldn’t be alone right now…”


“I can just tolerate Potter these days, but that Weasley boy is lucky I don’t hex him, the way he looks at you with those calf eyes.” He studied her, his gaze probing. “And speaking of Weasley, his mind is as accessible as it is uncluttered. Why didn’t you tell me he’d put his hands on you while I was in St. Mungo’s?”


Hermione hesitated, surprised at his knowledge and unsure how she wanted to address the topic. While he didn’t seem angry, she knew he could be livid and appear completely unruffled. “Stay out of my mind unless invited, if you please,” Hermione rebuked when she realized he was prying for her memory of that encounter with Ron. She bit back a grin at Severus’ irascible expression even as he respected her request and stopped nosing about her mind. “It wasn’t important enough to share,” she concluded simply.


His hand slipped up under the hem of her jumper and closed over her breast, massaging it in a perfect imitation of Ron’s fumbling caress that night at the Order. She laughed and leaned in to kiss her husband’s lips. “You aren’t jealous of him, I hope.”


“Not jealous, but I can dislike him for having tasted your lips first,” Severus replied, wrapping his free hand around the length of her hair so she couldn’t move.


He couldn’t get enough of her mouth – enough of her body – enough of her. Even when he sated his desire, he’d find himself wanting to be inside her. It was only when they were joined that he found true respite from the ever-present gnawing hunger for her. “I want to be inside you,” he breathed.


She gasped against his mouth and his lips curled. He loved the ready sensuality of her nature; it was a delicious counterpoint to her sharp, inquiring mind. They’d spent many sleepless nights tapping that sensuality since she’d unexpectedly arrived at Spinner’s End; he expected many more to come if his unabated and rampaging libido was any indicator. When it came to their lovemaking, there was no question that she was satisfied. It was when they weren’t in bed he worried about her feelings. “Tell me,” he demanded.


Hermione’s mouth curled in perfect imitation of his as she nipped his lips. After three months, she’d learned some important points about his character. As arrogant - as abrupt and testy and demanding – as he was, at times he could be endearingly insecure. She knew exactly what he was asking for because he demanded it on a daily basis.

Moving her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “I love you”. His hand on her breast stopped parodying Ron’s and his long fingers teased along the skin at the edge of her bra.


“Again,” he murmured against her neck, his fingers delving beneath the fabric to tease her nipple.


“Severus…” His name, meant to be an admonishment, became a whispered appeal released on a trembling breath.


“Tell me, Hermione,” he insisted.


“I love you.”


He purred ‘yes’ against her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut, realizing what she was in for. He was in what she referred to as his ‘professor mode’, where he remained detached during their lovemaking while, all the while, driving her insane. It was when he was feeling needy and most vulnerable that he reverted to this domination and while the sex was earth shattering, it hurt to know he questioned himself.


“Severus,” she said, gasping as his fingers teased and feathered over her nipple without respite. “Can we talk a minute?”


“No,” he said, his teeth languidly charting the column of her throat. “I’ve suffered enough chatter today. All I want to hear, now, is the sound of your moans.” He elicited one from her as he tugged her sensitized nipple between his fingers. “Yes,” he crooned with satisfaction at the sound. “That’s what I want -- that and my name on your lips -- screaming it, sobbing it.”


“Severus,” she gasped as he leaned her back so his mouth could follow the same path as his hand. “You know I love you --”


“You’re allowed to say that, too,” he murmured, the brush of his lips against her breast startling a series of gasps from her, “but nothing else.”


“Severus,” she began again, trying to divert him from his relentless seduction.


“Shh, don’t make me hex you,” he whispered, his mouth closing over the pebbled nub to suckle it gently.


He stripped her of her clothing and caressed her, teased her and stroked her, watching with deep satisfaction as he brought her to orgasm with his teasing fingers. As she gasped and cried out in ecstasy, his mouth caught hers. He kissed her like a man dying of thirst, sated by an oasis in the desert, leaving her breathless and unable to speak.


Then, he shifted her from his lap to lie on the couch and his mouth was a brand on her neck. She writhed under his touch, burning with desire and gasping for air. When his dark head descended between her legs and he split her with his tongue, she cried out and arched from the cushions, her fingers convulsing in his hair.


Again, he brought her to orgasm until she was sobbing out his name. It was when she was nearly faint from the physical roller coaster ride he’d taken her on that he stripped from his clothing and entered her. She whimpered at the sensation, every nerve ending in her body so sensitized it was almost painful to be touched. When she came the third time, a throaty scream escaped her and she arched as if touched by a live electrical line. She’d read of la petite mort, but had thought it was a product of fiction; the force of her climax, however, had her skirting the edge of consciousness and proving the rumors true.


His gentle, insistent kisses coaxed her out of the near swoon, minutes later. “Hermione?” he asked, his eyes concerned as he studied her face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”


She wiped her eyes, surprised to find them wet. “I’m not here against my will,” she whispered, reaching up to frame his face in her hands. “You don’t have to force me to respond – to make me want you. I love you.” She studied his face and kissed the grim line of his mouth. “Why can’t you accept that?”


Instead of answering, he searched her eyes for a long time. Then, he stretched his arm over the edge of the couch. His wand jumped from the pile of clothing on the floor to his hand and he muttered, “Speculum Recolo”. He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so they could both see their reflection in the ceiling.


“That’s why,” he said, jerking his chin at the mirror. His voice, as he continued, was thick with disgust. “Look at me, Hermione.” He waited while she obeyed, and then stroked a hand down her neck. “Now, look at you.” His voice had softened considerably, and her heart leapt at the emotion in it. “You’re young, beautiful and full of light. You have the potential to do – to be anything. I’m old, ugly and permanently marked by a rash decision. I’ve spent my life moving in shadows, living a deception and eschewing the company of others. I’m too old, too fixed -- too impatient and stubborn -- to change.” He laughed, but the sound was edged and dark, as if something poisonous and awful were caught in his throat. “Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you could want me.”


“I’m not beautiful,” she argued, turning her eyes from his reflection to his face as she caressed his jaw. “I’m bushy haired and my front teeth are too big.” She shushed him when he opened his mouth to speak. “You’re not old, you’re mature. You’re not ugly, you’re arresting. I don’t care about the Mark and I don’t want you to change. I fell in love with all of you - your selflessness and your bravery – yes, you are --” she insisted when he seemed about to protest, “but not just with those qualities. I also fell in love with your impatience, your sarcastic wit and your stubborn nature. I don’t just want you, I can’t imagine life without you.”


When he merely held her gaze, unconvinced, she traced his lower lip. “What do you need from me to believe that?”


He held her eyes for a few more moments before he rose and pulled on his trousers. His purposeful manner stilled her and she waited patiently as he left the room. When he returned, he moved to the fire, lowered the cauldron to its flames and began mixing a potion. She lay there watching him at his craft until he brought her a cup.


Hermione looked down into it only to raise surprised eyes from its contents. She had suspected he was brewing Veritaserum, but the potion he’d handed her was a completely different color. “Is this what I think it is?”


“The fertility potion,” he confirmed, his expression guarded. “Except it should be more palatable now that I have access to a broader stock of components.”


She knew Severus loved their son. Although he didn’t play Pat-a-cake or Peek-a-boo type games with him – didn’t tickle him or make faces at him to make him giggle – he doted on him. He read to him constantly and spent hours lying on the floor helping him build with blocks only to smile indulgently when Sepharus knocked the structure over. He’d patiently helped their son take his first steps and often took him along when he was gathering components for potions. There were times she’d find them lying side by side just staring at each other for long stretches of time and would feel a pang of jealousy at their evident bond. There was no doubt Severus was a devoted father, but it still stunned her to realize he wanted another child.


It wasn’t that she was averse to the idea of adding to their family, but she hesitated to drink without knowing his mind. “You want another child?”


“Yes,” he replied, his eyes moving from the cup to her face. He paused and she could see he was considering his words before he continued, “I want you pregnant now that I can touch you with impunity. I want to caress you and feel our child moving beneath my hands. I want to be involved this time. I don’t want to merely hear you humming to the baby, I want to rest my head on your breast and feel the vibration. Those nine months you were pregnant with Sepharus are lost, I know…but I can have some of them back this way.” He hesitated and she could see he was struggling against his nature to give voice to the rest. “You were forced to marry me and forced to have my child. I need you willing, Hermione; don’t do this unless you want the same.”


“Give me the cup,” she said on a dramatic sigh. Raising it, she gave him a patient smile. “If you’d been paying attention, darling, you’d have noticed I haven’t been taking any precaution to keep from becoming pregnant since I returned to you. If you’d been listening, you’d have heard in my very willing positive cries, these past few months, the affirmative answer that was wrung from me, unwillingly, on our wedding day.”


His mouth curled and his eyes warmed as she tipped the cup and drained it. With a grimace, she swallowed the last mouthful and thrust the cup back at him. “And for future reference, I do not like the flavor of coconut! Now, come kiss me and tell me you love me. You’re not the only one in this marriage that needs reassurance.”


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


“Where’s Sepharus? Surely not napping.” Shampoo lather sluiced over her shoulders and breasts as she eyed her husband in surprise.


“I took him to visit Potter,” Severus replied, his eyes and hands already moving over her as he crowded her back against the shower wall.


“You took him?” She was visibly stunned.


“Yes.” His tone was a mix of impatience, desire and wry amusement. “Time is at a premium and, as such, pride had to bend to need.” One hand glided over her distended belly as the other supported the small of her back. “You may well go into labor today.”


“You may well make me go into labor today,” she replied, when his hand dipped lower and teased at the juncture of her thighs. There was no real censure behind her words, however, and she smiled as his head lowered and his mouth covered hers.


There were two types of men, she’d concluded – those who were intimidated or repulsed by a pregnant woman and those who found them sexy. Her husband fell firmly into the second category. Since the moment she’d announced they’d conceived, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. His lovemaking, however, had changed along with her body. He was tender and attentive, lingering over small details like exploring the backs of her knees and the curve of her shoulder as they made love, almost as if the life growing inside her somehow gave him permission to be gentler.


“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her ear, sending a shiver coursing through her that had nothing to do with the cooling water.


“Stretch marks are all the rage these days,” she agreed, her tone wry.


In response to her self-deprecating remark, he dropped to his knees and trailed his mouth along the same course the water took – along her own series of dark marks. “Battle scars,” he murmured, chuckling at her hiss of disdain, but not the least dissuaded from his course.


As she’d suspected, the contractions of her orgasm, some time later, precipitated labor. The Snape family welcomed its newest member eleven hours later.


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


Severus stirred and began to sit up only to have Hermione still his movement with a hand on his bare chest. “Let me.”


“Will she ever sleep through the night?” he muttered, his tone too sleepy to be truly acerbic.


“We can hope,” Hermione replied wearily.


“You’re sure you don’t want me to go?” he asked, watching as she pulled on his black robe. Her black robe; she’d appropriated it long ago.


“You know she settles best for me,” she said, smiling slightly at his sour look. “Unless you’ve learned a Charm to produce breast milk, it’s best I go.”


“She can’t be hungry,” Severus grumbled. “She ate only an hour ago.”


“It’s a comfort thing,” Hermione replied, belting the robe and lingering as she admired her husband. The top sheet was slung low across his hips and the pale skin of his lean torso shone like pearl in the moonlight. “I shouldn’t be long if you can stay awake . . .”


“I wouldn’t dream of closing my eyes,” he replied, his tone going from irritated to pleased seamlessly.


In their daughter’s room, Hermione picked up the fussing infant and cradled her close to her chest. “Such a lot of noise from such a little package,” she crooned, smoothing the baby’s raven hair. “You’re going to have to learn to sleep longer than an hour at a time or your mother will lose her mind. . .”


At her breast, the baby fixed her with dark eyes and suckled contentedly until, inevitably, she fell back to sleep. Placing the tiny bundle back in the cradle, Hermione leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “See you in an hour,” she whispered wryly before tiptoeing off to spend some time with her husband.


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


“Muh-mee!”


Severus swore softly and sat up in bed, pressing Hermione back as she made to sit up, too. “You can’t keep catering to this nonsense,” he said resolutely, raising an eyebrow at Hermione’s imploring look. “I’ll go make sure she still has water, her pillow hasn’t fallen to the floor or a troll hasn’t wandered into the room.”


Hermione lay in bed listening to her husband’s soft voice speaking firmly to their four-year-old daughter. When he returned and slid into bed, she cuddled up against him, throwing one leg over his. “What was it this time?”


“Sepharus had more chocolate frogs than she, today.” Although he tried to sound disgusted, she heard amusement in his voice.


“And what did you tell her?” Hermione asked.


“I told her she should have thought of a way to get her brother to give her one of his frogs instead of whining about it later.”


“Severus!” Hermione admonished on a soft laugh.


“What’s wrong with encouraging her to pursue what she wants?” Severus asked, his hand sliding over her thigh to caress her bottom. When she opened her mouth to reply, he murmured, “That was a rhetorical question,” and quieted her with a long, searching kiss.


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


“She’s taken her brother’s good copper cauldron,” Severus said, his tone crisp and disapproving in the silent room.


“He’s barely used it since Harry bought it for him,” Hermione defended half-heartedly, glancing over at their daughter’s back. Although the seven-year-old girl had obeyed her father and walked to the corner to stand, her arms were folded and her posture spoke of defiance rather than contrition.


Their daughter’s voice, when she spoke, was neither petulant nor whiney; it was flinty. Her stare never left the wall and her posture never changed as she defended herself. “Ceramic cauldrons are for babies. Besides, I didn’t take Seph’s cauldron; I borrowed it.”


“Without permission,” Severus replied evenly. “I’m not raising my children to be common thieves.”


Hermione experienced a tug of empathy as she watched her daughter flinch. Although Severus didn’t recognize it – he and his daughter were too alike – his remark had cut the child to the quick.


“He said I could borrow his things anytime I wanted!”


“Cerridwen,” Severus warned, his brow lowering.


“I did, Father.”


Everyone turned, even the slip of a girl quivering with wounded outrage, to look at Sepharus.


Although only nine, the boy cut an arresting figure. He was tall and lanky, his wild lion’s mane of hair cut close to his head to keep it tamed. His black eyes, coupled with his Roman nose and easy smile, however, were the most compelling point to his features. He was handsome without being pretty and arresting without being intimidating.


At the moment, his white teeth flashed against his pale olive skin as his eyes rested on his sister. “You did clean it out well like I asked, I hope?”


Cerridwen flushed. “The potion is drying in it now, but I’ll Scourgify it until it’s clean or use my own Galleons to replace it.”


“You may leave the corner to clean the cauldron,” Severus said to his daughter while raising an eyebrow at his son that spoke a wealth of disbelief. In response, his son merely smiled.


“Cerridwen?”


The girl’s light footfalls froze at her father’s voice. For a moment she stood, unmoving, but she bent to his steely silence and turned to meet his gaze. “Next time, you’ll seek your brother’s permission before liberating property from his room.”


“Yes, Father,” Cerridwen answered. She stood silently under his probing gaze until he nodded his permission for her to leave.


When she’d disappeared, Severus turned his son. “In the future, you’ll not encourage your sister to lie or steal.”


“Yes, Father,” Sepharus replied obediently. At his father’s exasperated snort, he implored, “Don’t be cross with her. I do remember, once, telling her that she could borrow something from my room.”


“You’ll do well to remember your sister’s memory is not only keen but opportunistic,” Severus replied, although his voice had lost its edge. He studied his son’s face, struck anew that the golden child standing before him was a product of his making. Not only was the boy good-looking, he was gregarious, charming and possessed of a sunny and forgiving disposition. “Come here,” he sighed. When his son hurried over and threw his arms around his waist, Severus stroked a hand over his unkempt hair. “Go on, then, and go to her. I know you’re dying to comfort the little viper.”


“Severus!” Hermione breathed out, biting back a smile even as Sepharus ran from the room.


“I meant that in the most complimentary way,” he replied innocently. His smile faded and with a sigh, he shook his head. “Something must be done with her, Hermione, or she’ll run roughshod over everyone.”


“She’s too curious by half and driven to experiment to the detriment of my garden and the school’s,” Hermione sighed, “but she’s not malicious or truly sneaky. She’s just . . .driven. It wouldn’t have occurred to her that Sepharus wouldn’t gladly loan her his cauldron.”


“Driven at seven?” Severus snorted.


“You forget that she’s constantly in the gravitational pull of her brother’s charm. She just wants to prove herself to everyone. To me. . . to you.”


Severus lifted an eyebrow at the mild note of censure in her voice. “You’re too easy on her.”


“You’re too hard on her,” Hermione countered, insinuating herself into his arms. She gazed up at him, waiting patiently for him to unbend. When he relaxed and sighed, she wound her arms around his neck and nipped his chin. “You can’t expect her to be like Sepharus. She’s an entirely different personality, and as such, needs to be handled differently. Sepharus has always been easy-going. What he couldn’t charm you into allowing, he went along with. It pleased him to please you. Cerridwen wants to please you, too, but it’s difficult for her to subvert her own will to do so. When you were sharp with Sepharus, he’d climb in your lap and demand affection for reassurance you loved him. Cerridwen withdraws when chastised, sure she’s unloved and unforgiven until you or I show her differently. She’s never been as sure of herself as Sepharus. . .”


“So, I’m supposed to go in there and apologize for reprimanding her?” he asked in disbelief. Whereas Sepharus was easy – an open book -- his daughter was a mystery to him. She was quiet, self-possessed and watchful on the best days. On her worst, she was peevish, demanding and resentful.


“No,” Hermione replied, feathering a kiss along his jaw to his ear before whispering, “You’re supposed to go in there and let her know that, while you disapproved of her actions, you love her.”


As was the norm, Hermione’s soft cajoling melted his reserve and he agreed, albeit reluctantly. Grasping her chin, he tilted her head. “Tell me,” he demanded, tracking his thumb across her lower lip.


She smiled indulgently and pressed herself against him. “I love you.” He opened his mouth to speak, and she knew from experience once had not satisfied him. “I love your stubborn, fractious nature,” she whispered, pressing up on tiptoe to kiss his lips as they began to curl, “and the fact you fight it to please me.” He murmured her name and pulled her hips to fit against his when she nipped at his lower lip. “I love the fact that, after all these years, I still get weak and breathless at the thought of you inside me.”


He let out a rumbling sound of pleasure as her mouth moved over his jaw and throat. Then, he smiled, smug and self-satisfied, as he palmed her breast through her blouse and she gasped in pleasure. “Severus,” she breathed out, “surely there’s some errand the children need to take to Hogsmeade.”


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Author's Notes: I put the author's notes down here so as not to spoil my own story! ;)

For those curious, "Cerridwen" is the name of a Celtic goddess -- the keeper of the cauldron of the underworld in which inspiration and divine knowledge were brewed. She's also referred to as the Mother of Poetry.