Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.

A/N

Before reading the next insttiontion of BLooDL, I\'d like to recommend you this nice little parody one of my more enthusiastic flamers wrote, called: \"Mowing Weeds\". Yay! I\'m a celebrity!

You can find \"Mowing Weeds\" here: http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/story.php?no=23934

Chapter 22 – The Slaughtering Knife.


\"And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.\"

-- Genesis, 22:2. KJV.


It had been a beatiful day – one of those days that made the child almost suspicious, whilst pleasing her fundamental sense of beauty. The sun was rising high in the sky, shining in the many puddles that covered the road. It was goldening their water until they looked like thousands of mirrors spread upon the ground, dazzling the toad that was hopping from stone to pool to stone in order to cross the road.

The other children were heading in front of her. Their footsteps were printed on the rich, brown earth; their loud, cheerful voices drifting behind them, leaving a route she could track later. Therefore, she felt it was all right for her to halt for several moments in order to observe the toad, surprising as it was to see the nocturnal animal roaming out of its shelter this time of the day.

It was a chubby, clever looking creature – a suitable depiction of Liu Hai\'s three-legged toad companion: Ch\'an Chu. The amphibian was a relatively small example of its spcecies, with dark, almost black skin.

Some hardly visible red lines, arching above the toads beetle-like eyes like eyebrows, identifyed it as Na Dubh-Puinsean. The black poison. The magical toad, the girl knew, was called after the dark colour of the poison produced from the poison glands behind it\'s eyes, and was extremely rare. Ancient wizards used to spread its poison on the tips of their wands ahead of battle, cococt hallucinatory compounds using a single drop of the night-black liquid to assure hazy visions of the future.

Hazy visions of the future, the child mused, assuming she could in some way ensure that no permanent damage would be caused to the brain, sounded really cool. Severus would probably know something about that. Or have something about that in one of his books, always considering that he probably wouldn\'t cooperate with such a scheme.

She heard a splash, and her eyes were immediately attracted to the toad which was jumping into the nearby puddle, on its way to the other end of the narrow, dirt road. The girl gave the toad a last long look, noting to herself the direction in which it went as well as any landmarks. She then rose to her feet, dusting off her robes, and jogging lightly, turned to join her schoolmates, already some hundread feet ahead of her. She didn\'t notice the five men in the black robes and the white masks hidden among the trees, and would have probably just marked them as a crazy Wizarding version of the KKK had she saw them. Her mother would have probably told her she was rather accurate.

* * *

Danu Goldenberg, teacher at the Hogsmeade primary school, Apparated near the Hogwarts grounds at eleven thirty am, her face white with worry. Her quickened step became a hasty run as she crossed the green lawns and hurried up the marble staircase and into the entrance hall. None of it was reason enough for Auror Paddock to urge a search of Mrs. Goldenberg, but she didn\'t have time to be angry at his inconsiderate approach as she raced to the dungeons and into the Potions class, which that young woman well remembered from her own schooldays. There, she located Hermione Granger standing in front of a full attentive class, lecturing peacefully about the twelve uses of dragon blood.

\"Miss Granger!\" Danu breathed heavily. \"I must have a word with you. Now.\"

Frowning at the unexpected interruption, Hermione Granger dismissed her class at once. Offering a seat to her child\'s teacher, she conjured a glass of fresh pumpkin juice and seated herself in front of the panting woman. \"Is everything all right?\"

\"I\'m sorry to say it is not,\" Danu answered, gratefully gulping the cool, sweet liquid. \"Aubrey has been missing since eleven fifteen this morning. She did not return from a journey we made to the outskirts of the village. She might just be missing; perhaps she has even appeared at school by now, but you can never be sure about those things nowadays.\"

The Potions teacher nodded. \"The Floo in the primary school is kept regularly open, right?\"

\"Yes, Miss Granger.\"

\"Very well,\" Hermione said. \"So the first thing we\'ll do is confirm whether Aubrey is there or not.\"

Danu Goldenberg looked at the younger witch. Hermione Granger\'s usually flushed cheeks were colorless and her pupils slightly widened, but aside from that, she looked completely calm – a composed mask of self-restraint.

Grimly, the two women exited the potions class, and began making their way to the Headmaster\'s office, where the only Floo in Hogwarts open to the outside world was located.

\"Who was on the journey aside from you and the children?\" Hermione asked.

Danu, understanding the question, had described in full detail the trip\'s security arrangements.

\"How come you didn\'t notice my daughter was missing until after you came back to the school?\" A hint of accusation stained Granger\'s soft, high-pitched voice.

The teacher sighed. \"Aubrey is a curious child; she likes to check on things she sees. She might have gotten carried away-\"

\"-And it was your duty to take care that she didn\'t,\" Hermione cut across what Mrs. Goldenberg was saying, her voice cool and restrained. She stopped in front of the Headmaster\'s office before Danu could apologise for her lame wording and explain that she wasn\'t trying to lay the blame upon the child\'s shoulders.

\"Ice Mice,\" Hermione barked.

The scowling gargoyle jumped aside, exposing the spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore\'s office.

The spacious room smelled – as Danu remembered from her one-time visit at the place – of Lemon Drops and tangy metal, from all the small machines the Headmaster used to collect and which adorned the many shelves of his office. Dumbledore, consisting of all his grandfather-like niceties, was seated in his usual place behind the huge, claw-footed mahogany desk. The Headmaster seemed uncharacteristically serious as he asked his secondary Potions teacher what the problem was. Miss Granger was short and to the point with her explanation, and soon enough, both of them were kneeling in front of the enormous fireplace, sticking their heads into the flames, which turned green. There was no good news to be had from the Hogsmeade Primary School. Aubrey Victoria Granger had still not returned.

* * *

A dark, brown bird, with golden head and no white at all under its magnificent wing coverts, glided through the open double doors and into the entrance hall. Its eyes, as well as its beak – short, dark, and hooked with yellow cere – were cruel and wicked. The bird\'s wings, when it spread it in order to glide on the last gust of wind that came from outside, were almost eighty five inches long. The Golden Eagle, or in its scientific name, The Aquila Chrysaetos, scanned its surroundings with its telescope sharp eyes, ignoring the angry glares it received from a noisy group of Aurors scattered below it. The three men and two women were trying to get a better view of the somewhat swollen envelope which was attached to its left claw, arguing about ways to remove and anti-jinx it. Making a graceful loop, the bird floated into an arched hallway, and then dived all the way into the Hogwarts dungeons.

* * *

Severus Snape was working in his private lab, doing his best to decipher the DNA scan result of an Indian Naga snake. The sheet he was now holding was produced by the bloody Muggle machine Hermione had made him purchase- a personal computer! Merlin\'s balls! How those things had changed since his university days. It was a blasted thing, Snape decided, and a damn useful one.

Seeing that Voldemort as a human being was almost invulnerable after he had slowly extinguished every trace of humanity in order to assure his immortality, it seemed to Snape, and several other experts as well, that the best way of deflecting the Dark Lord\'s shields was to find a way harming his reptilian aspects.

Spying had left Snape very little time for research, and so he focused his efforts on what he knew best – potions. Now, having more time to think and contemplate his steps, he found himself experimenting with some of the Muggle sciences he thought he had given up years ago. It appeared like he had much to catch up with. Hermione was enthusiastic about introducing him into current Muggle science. Together they were covering years of rift, digging into Genetics, Materials Processing and Structure Characterization, Cell Biophysics, Nonlinear Physics of Complex Systems, Computational Quantum Chemistry and so on, until Aubrey had interrupted, demanding they explain what they were fussing about. If only she were several years older, the girl could have probably helped them find a way defeat the Dark Lord.

Aubrey was still a throbbing, old wound, and Snape assumed she would always remain one. The more she became his own, the stronger the resemblance grew: the more painful was the acknowledgement. She was a strange, delicate pain, pulsing along the counters of long sealed memories. Perhaps she was the epitome of another kind of childhood, but even so, there was no escaping the bitter memory of his own early years. The tulips will always be too red and too vivid for the eye to stand. The grass always too fresh and too green. Hermione could prattle as much she wanted about diverse psychology, but he, Severus Snape, really didn\'t like children. With one exception – his own. This was not to say things became easier. Just the opposite.

Scowling, he was disturbed out of his reverie by a loud scratch on the door. Annoyed, he pointed his wand, watching the door open and a large, impressive bird, gliding into the room. The Golden Eagle, a fat envelope attached to its leg, swept with a flutter of wings to the upholstered sofa where Snape now sat, and staring at the Potions Master with its big, yellow eyes, outstretched its claw, for the letter to be untied.

Recognizing the beautiful Aquila Chrysaetos, Snape\'s face paled at once. He reached for the long envelope, casting one, then two and three charms in order to reveal the presence of any dark magic and deflect any possible curse. There appeared to be none.

The envelope – made of rich, thick paper – contained some soft, fluffy substance. Snape\'s lips were a thin line of resolution when he opened the letter, pulling out a brief note, written on a similarly fine, expensive paper.

Small, wormy, reptilian letters. Quick, yet indecisive quill strokes, written in black ink. It looked like bird\'s droppings. Voldemort\'s handwriting. A muscle in his jaw clenching, Snape forced himself to read it.

\"Such beautiful tresses. She begged me not to cut them.
Lord Voldemort.\"

Sickened to the stomach, though not completely sure why, Snape turned back to the envelope he had left lying on the sofa. Turning the envelope upside down, he shook it a little. For a brief second, firelight shone in a moonlight coloured ripple – fire locked in ice. Then the spark had subsided, and Severus Snape was left staring at the ten inch-long braid that was his daughter\'s pride, lying on the floor of his private laboratory.

* * *

Her head was throbbing. Soon enough, Hermione was sure, she\'d begin to hear voices. She was fucked up. So thoroughly fucked up. First the diagnostic charm results, than that. This wasn\'t the time. So totally, totally not the time. And she was so absolutely fucked up.

The hellish, literary circularity- she would have thrown it into the bonfire of the Samhain night, dancing around the whirling flames, her arms dripping with the innocent blood of her all her un-christened babies. The Goddess of the narrative deserved no less. Oh God, how much she wanted to strangle the tall, willowy witch, who so sweetly, in such a helpless, feminine manner, told her what a curious child Aubrey was, and oh, their security arrangements were so strict and meticulous, she really didn\'t know how could the child simply disappear.

It was just impossible.

Or wasn\'t it.

She simply had no idea. She must be back at the School by now. Surely Aubrey, such curious child, she was, had been carried away by something interesting she saw, then realized she was lagging behind and hopped back School. Then why wasn\'t she fucking back at the bloody school?

The rational part of Hermione\'s brain told her there was no point in using any of the Unforgivables on the teacher. Mrs. Goldenberg\'s shame seemed to be torturing her better than any of Hermione\'s wand work might have done. But she needed some physical, or magical, whatever release. For the first time in her life, Hermione found herself empathizing with Severus\'s habit of deducting house points as a way of releasing tension. There was no time for it now, however. She had to keep Severus informed. Hermione ran to the dungeons, shoving students out of her way, hardly keeping from falling down of the more tricky staircases. In her haste, she almost didn\'t notice the obvious notching signs on Snape\'s laboratory\'s door – and wouldn\'t have noticed them in the first place, unless the door itself was open, which was, in itself, surprising.

Slowing a little, Hermione entered the lab, scanning its sterile, partly-lit spaces in search of Severus. He was nowhere to be seen. Hermione breathed heavily, still panting from the effort, and called his name. \"Severus? Professor? Are you here?\" No answer. Then a small, strained movement at the edge of the room, near the burning hearth, caught her eyes. Half hysterical by now, Hermione stumbled into the wide, over stuffed sofa. She felt the sharpened edge of the upholstered furniture stab her belly, causing a wave of nausea to rise in her. Her sight was losing focus when she saw Severus crouching in front of the fireplace, holding a thin, golden braid in his large, calloused hands.

\"What is it you\'re holding?\" she heard herself whispering.

Snape inclined his hand towards a piece of crushed paper that was tossed on the sofa. Hermione leaned over to pick it up, opening and smoothing the parchment with shaking hands. Her voice, once she tried to speak, was caught in the hideous trap of rage and terror that had been formed in the bottom of her throat. She tried again. \"W…why…\" the words were coming harsh, sore and painful. As if they were burnt skin she was trying to pill from the back of her throat. \"W..Why…my b-baby?\"

Snape didn\'t speak.

Hermione closed her eyes, helplessly blinking away a tear that trickled down her face. \"S-Severus, p-please talk t-to me. I need you t-to talk t-o m…me.\"

Still, there was silence. She could hear herself sobbing, as if from outside. Oh God. How much she needed him to hold her right now, and the bastard was simply seating there, staring at that creepy piece of hair… shaking. Oh God, Oh God. Oh God.

Forcing these transparent strings that held her limbs together, to loosen up, Hermione felt her knee caps unlock. She collapsed on her knees beside the sofa, her hands spread on the cold floor in order to support herself, and began to make the short, yet impossibly long way, toward the man who was crouching in front of the fire. Snape was cold and unmoving when Hermione finally reached him. His fingers were closed around the small braid, his hand clenched into a fist, but aside from that, he could have been a marble statue. Hermione didn\'t mind. As long as she could wrap her arms around him and cry like a maniac, all of this really didn\'t matter.

Later, she remembered that somewhere during the time they sat together like that, Severus\'s erect form had softened a little, and he hugged her, resting her head against his shoulder. He didn\'t utter a sound: it was not his way, and there was no need to, as Hermione had been sobbing and wailing enough for the two of them – for that was her way. Only when the flames turned green and Dumbledore\'s head appeared in the fireplace, did she quiet for a moment.

\"I have just received a message from the Burrow,\" the older wizard reported to them shortly, his face bearing a grave expression. \"It appears that Virginia Potter had gone for a quiet visit on her mother shortly before she is due. She and Molly were the only people in the house at the time. Molly was murdered, while Ginny had been kidnapped.\"

Hermione gaped. \"Sweet Jesus.\"
veruverus, after being silent for more than an hour, arched an eyebrow. \"Sweet Jesus indeed. I trust Potter has been informed?\" he asked Dumbledore.

The Headmaster nodded.

Snape lifted the small, delicate braid he was holding all this time, moving his thumb along its fairy-wing soft length. \"Very well. Voldemort knows he cannot put his hand on me, nor can he touch Potter. That\'s why he chose secondary, easier targets. His intention is to use Aubrey and Mrs. Potter as bait, and for that, he has to keep them alive. I don\'t give a damn about Virginia Potter but my child is coming home. I hardly believe I can do that without Potter.\"

He bent his hand, reaching his index fingers to lift Hermione\'s chin. \"I need to go and talk to Potter,\" he murmured softly, leaning to kiss away some of her tears. \"I promise to come back to you as soon as possible.\"

Hermione nodded.

He turned to Dumbledore. \"Albus, please take care of Miss Granger here while I go and talk to Potter.\"

\"I\'ll be honoured to take care of Hermione,\" said Albus, offering his handkerchief to Hermione who quickly blown up her nose. \"There, my dear.\"

Supported by Severus, who helped her to her feet, Hermione Flooed to the Headmaster\'s office. Dumbledore had been there to support her from the other side, quickly leading her to an armchair he had conjured. Snape, who Flooed to the office seconds after, had only delayed to kiss Hermione goodbye, before Flooing to the rebuilt cottage at Godric\'s Hollow.

* * *

Harry James Potter, holding his infant son, was sitting on the striped couch in Hermione\'s living room at Hogwarts castle. His three-year-old daughter\'s dark head was resting in his lap, while his elder daughter, red haired but bespectacled like himself, was reading one of Aubrey\'s fairy tale books. His twins, looking rather devious and rather resembling the two late marauders after which they were named, were sitting in front of the mantunchuncharacteristically quiet. Hermione, who sat on the other sofa, was tiredly resting in Severus\'s arms, as if seeking protection from the cruel world that had stolen her baby away from her. The silence, she noted with a frail edge of her consciousness that kept working for some unknown reason, was growing heavier by the minute. For Hermione\'s utter surprise, it was Severus who opened his mouth to speak.

\"The resemblance is remarkable,\" Snape commented quietly, inclining his head toward Lily Potter who sat on the green and white striped sofa, reading a book. \"She is an exact copy of your mother.\"

Harry lifted his gaze from the toddler he had been holding, staring at his former Professor with surprise. \"Do you really think so?\" he asked eagerly. \"Some people tell me they look a lot like each other, but there is actually no one now who remembers well enough…\" At that, Harry blushed (Hermione was slightly surprised that a man nearing his thirties could still blush like that, and then reminded herself, that after all, it was Harry Potter they were talking about) then lowered his gaze. \"I\'m sorry,\" he mumbled.

Snape shrugged. \"Think nothing of it.\"

Harry, Hermione noticed, had now bent to pick a biscuit from the saucer she placed on the low table, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly. Yes, she remembered Harry\'s sweet-tooth, Harry\'s infamous incapability of refusing food whenwas was placed in front of him; a memory of years of deprivation and neglect. Harry\'s children, Hermione noticed as well, were all a little plump, all looking like naturally thin children who had been given a lot of food, in order to compensate for the hole in their father\'s belly, which would never be filled. Once again, Harry lifted his gaze, this time looking at her and Severus, as if measuring the concept of his former friend and his former teacher together. \"Ron…\" he began, stammering, \"Ron, he had…told me, you told him you were… you know… unwillingly…\"

Underneath her, Hermione felt Snape stiffen. She placed her palm on his chest, signing to him that she wished to be the one to handle this issue. \"It\'s a long story, Harry, and it will be told some other time, once our loved ones are back.\"

Harry nodded. \"All right. It\'s been a while,\" he said quietly, rocking his son.

Hermione agreed. \"Indeed, it has.\"

Snape snorted.

\"Severus,\" she cried angrily, \"if I wasn’t such a total wreck right now, I would tell to keep your nasty suggestions to yourself. Seeing as I am wrecked, please try for once to be considerate and not share your charming commentaries with rest of us.\"

The bastard had merely sneered.

\"Good.\" Hermione sighed. \"I\'m with you Harry.\"

The younger man didn\'t seem to be much more responsive. \"Dunno,\" he shrugged his shoulders. \"It\'s kind of strange situation. I am so tired and bereft. We should outline a tactical move and all I can think of is when she might be coming back. Rose and Arthur won\'t fall asleep without their Mummy singing to them. I cannot fall asleep with half of my bed empty.\"

Hermione reached for the recent handkerchief she had been using, this time one of Snape\'s stock – the one Dumbledore had given her was completely soaked up by now – and blew her nose loudly. \"What did she used to sing to them?\"

A genuine smile lit up Harry\'s face. A smile that reminded her of the thin, misplaced boy she had seen on the train so many years ago; his eyes wide with wonder, hardly able to process the fact he was allowed into all this magic. \"Some old Wizarding lullabies. I remember sitting by Lily\'s cradle fascinated the first time she sang them. It was… magic.\"

Hermione smiled as the word hit an exposed nerve in her mind, sending waves and waves of images. From her childhood in the clean, well-lit suburb, learning to ride on bicycles, with her father running behind her down the leafy street; taking care she would not fall and injure herself, to her youth in Hogwarts; she, Harry and Ron, managing a snowball fight in the snow; concocting Polyjuice Potion in the girls\' toilets. Going with Viktor to the Yule Ball; kissing Ron the second time- the time she actually began to see stars. A sunny afternoon with Ron and Harry, just after they have began their seventh year, staring at the sky. Aubrey- her first smile, her first steps, talking, joking, materializing into a thinking, interacting human being. Then Severus, too complicated for trying to repeat in words- the sex, because it was sweet and searing and sometimes frenzied and he could make her feel deprived while actually having him as no other man did. Severus, because the deprivation of the desert would always exist along the intoxicating revelation of cool, fresh water. Because it would always be magic. Looking at Harry\'s eyes, Hermione saw the same knowledge reflected behind the thick, heavy lenses. \"Would you sing me one of those lullabies?\"

He smiled. \"You know I have the voice of a crow, but…here\'s one of my favourites.\" Blushing a little, Harry cleared his throat, caressing baby Arthur\'s soft cheek with his thumb, and began to sing.

\"A golden haired witch
Had one day trespassed
The mievouevous fairies
Unspoken, well hidden realms

How fair she was, this witch,
The fairies silver-molded hearts,
Were craving for her gold woven tresses.

Mischievous creatures, o\' greedy fairies,
They had misled her then to Loch Awe.

Thus they wove the witch\'s hair,
Silver and gold
And sweet fairies smiles,
Into the bright trail of the moon upon the water

And when dawn rose
And sun kissed the morning\'s dew from the grass
The golden haired witch
Was gone, lost in the loch
And with her
The mischievous fairies were gone too.\"

Harry was partly right: he was never meant to sing. But his voice carried such sincerity and feeling that by the end of the song, Hermione face was wet with tears all over again, and buried in Snape\'s chest.

Harry, who was doing his best to keep up a pretense of serenity for his children, was speaking to her softly. \"That\'s all right, Hermione. Professor Snape and I will be getting them back, I promise you.\"

She nodded silently, encouraged by Harry\'s words, and also, by Severus\'s reassuring embrace.

Harry kept speaking. \"Do you think me and the children could stay here? I don\'t want to go back to an empty house.\"

\"You\'d be welcome,\" Hermione said, giving him a weak smile. \"We\'ll conjure some extra beds, and of course there\'s the sofas and Aubrey\'s room. Come, I\'ll help you put this lot to bed.\"

Snape had gently released her from his protective grip, watching Hermione as she moved to pick up Lily Potter who had fallen asleep with the fairy tale book on her knees. Crouching, she took the redheaded girl into her arms, and carried her to Aubrey\'s room.

Thus, a bit by bit, the Potter children were put to bed, tucked in, kissed and sang too, with Snape\'s towering figure in the background being enough of a threat to stop an endless stream of questions about their mother –when it could not been avoided otherwise. Only then could some serious conversation be managed.

Acknowledging both of the men as being key figures in the fight against Voldemort and therefore much more informed than herself, Hermione laid on the bed, resting her head on Snape\'s knee, and carefully listened to the two of them talking.

Harry, sitting on a conjured seat near the fireplace, was the one to begin. \"What do you reckon would be Voldemort\'s motives in making this move?\"

Snape frowned, tapping his lower lip with his index finger. \"We have less information than I would have liked, but from what we know, I would say the dark Lord knows we are getting stronger and believes his best chance is to tempt us into striking now, when we are not yet ready. He thinks he can do so by kidnapping two of the people who are closest to the highest ranking personnel on our side. The immediate meaning of this is one- we should ignore this provocation.\"

Hermione stiffened at once. Harry\'s features froze. \"That is not an option.\"

Snape glared at him. \"I know, you idiot boy. Why do you think I\'d be summoning you, if it was that an option?\"

Harry took a calming breath. \"What are our other options?\"

Snape snorted. \"Not many. One option is finding my daughter and your wife\'s whereabouts, sneak in there and get them out. Those kinds of plans work only in bad Muggle films. The second option is going to the Ministry and wait for Fudge to do something – which is just as useful as the first option, but will not feature in any Muggle film, only in the Daily Prophet, which is much less convincing if you ask me.\" Severus was silent for a moment, and then continued. \"Third option- open war. Attacking Riddle House and Malfoy Manor on two comparable fronts. Risky, but plausible. Once you command it, there will be no capable Auror left in the Ministry. That should give us enough human resources. You would lead one front, Macmillan and Shacklebolt will take the other. If we\'re lucky enough, we\'ll find them alive and this will be the end of Voldemort\'s reign of terror.\"

Harry was chewing on his inner cheeks. \"What about Shacklebolt\'s son?\"

Snape looked him in the eye. \"Fuck Shacklebolt\'s son. This is my daughter you\'re talking about. If you want to live up to your Gryffindor ideals in delivering the woman you love to her certain death, that is fine with me, but I will personally put you under Imperius- you, and the rest of the Wizarding World, before I\'ll let you abandon my daughter. And do not be mistaken Potter, my Imperio is much, much stronger than the Dark Lord\'s. But aside from that, let\'s drop this disturbing issue for a moment to talk about something much more pleasant: morality. Bet you never heard of morality from a Slytherin. No wonder, it\'s really not in our range of expertise. Thus Iit- it- I am not one to talk about morality, my hands are stained red by the blood of my victims. But what sort of a man is it, who abandons his loved ones for the sake of an ideal, a flesh and blood woman for the sake of a concept, somebody else\'s boy for the sake of his own wife, what kind of man that is, to speak about morals, I do not know.\"

Harry\'s head dropped. \"I don\'t know if you\'re right, Professor,\" he said at last, shaking his head. \"You were always better than me on those things. I can\'t argue with you now. But I\'m going to summon the Council and we\'re going to war by the end of this weeven ven if the only reason we do it is because we both just want to see them alive.\" He inhaled, rising to his feet. \"I wish I could feel that at least I\'m morally right. I feel somewhat better that you do. I\'ll be with my boys. Goodnight, Professor, Hermione.\"

Snape nodded, while Hermione bade Harry goodnight, watching the Auror\'s crouched back as he exited the room, and quietly, closed the door behind him. It was not Harry the child, nor Harry the boy, who she had remembered from her youth. He was still an innocent, perhaps in a way that only those who had been tainted from the start could be. And he was literally collapsing under the responsibility he was carrying, now that the one stable support he had been counting on all along was brutally removed. Nevertheless, Harry, who had always been a master of contradictions, was radiating power and authority: even when he was broken.

\"A penny for your thought?\" Severus\'s long fingers, the place where they connected to the palm of his hand always slightly reddened and sore for his skin being over-sensitive, entwined in the wiry locks of Hermione\'s hair.

\"He\'s changed,\" she answered quietly. \"He\'s no longer the boy I knew.\"

Severus seemed to be amused at her observation. \"I quite agree,\" he told her. \"Unlike the boy you once knew, this man actually thinks before he spurts into action.\"

\"You\'re cynical when every other man would have been sober and at least attempted some kind of serious response.\"

Snape chuckled. \"Well, I am not every other man, now am I?\"

Suddenly cold, she crawled to his lap, nuzzling her way into Severus\'s body like a lost cub. Fumbling, Hermione reached between their bodies, adjusting herself so she could rub his cock through the heavy cloth of his robe and jeans. Sex was safe, just like poetry, only it was theirs, creating their own symbolism with their own bodies. She wasn\'t sure what that was, with Snape looking at her with those big, enigmatic eyes; his erect, dripping red cock being the only piece of exposed flesh aside from his pale face –and herself, wriggling out of her jeans and pants, with her upper body completely clothed, leaning over him. Perhaps it was fucking. Perhaps it was comforting. Perhaps it was making love.

\"Fuck me,\" she pleaded with him, rubbing her dripping folds against the length of his erection.

\"No.\"

Hermione cried in frustration, allowing the dripping tip of Snape cock to circle her clit. \"Comfort me.\"

He shook his head. \"No.\"

\"You bastard.\"

Taking him in her hand, she inserted about two inches of the pulsing cock into her body, clenching her vaginal muscles around its highly-sensitize end. Heightening and removing herself from him, Hermione looked at her lover\'s face once gain. \"Make love to me.\"

She saw the tip of his tongue, peeking out of his mouth for a single second, to wet his dry lips. \"No,\" Snape voice echoed in her ears once again. \"I won\'t make love to you. But I\'ll make mercy to you. Now come here.\" And with that, he gripped her hips, and buried himself in her warmth.

* Na – the. Dubh – black, dark. Puinsean – poison. Gaelic.

* Indian Naga – In Buddhism and Hinduism, Nagas are a race of semi-divine snakes with great powers. (And thanks to the HP lexicon).