The Gift Horse

The Gift Horse The Gift Horse By Quillusion   Anti-Litigation Charm: JKR owns it all. I just borrow it and wipe it off before putting it away. Author's Note: This is the third and final installment of The Gift Horse, my answer to the Seducing Severus Snape Challenge on WIKTT. I hope everyone has enjoyed it- thanks to all who have reviewed it both on ff.net and by emailing me!! Rating: R for sexual content   Chapter 3   Midsummer night was always long, but for Severus Snape it was longer than he'd ever felt it to be before. All manner of religions were celebrating some feast or other, and he suffered through dozens of spiritual greetings as he made his way along Diagon Alley. This year, more so than any other Severus could recall in his adult life, Britons were celebratingir vir varying faiths as raucously as possible. The three months since Voldemort's final destruction at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix had been euphoric ones, and even Snape had been seen to smile once or twice in public.   Few knew of the reason for these small expressions of contentment, however. It was not, whatever public sentiment might have thought, in any way related to the fact that Snape himself had been the one to run the Dark Lord to ground. Neither was it because he had clearly saved the life of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Almost Didn't Live A Second Time, in the battle that had raged after Voldemort turned to fight. Or because Harry had graduated nearly a year ago and was no longer a constant irritation in the halls of Hogwarts- although that provided a decided improvement in both the situation and Severus's attitude toward it.   It might have had something to do with the resulting Order of Merlin, First Class, which was awarded to him by the Ministry of Magic, or the knighthood he'd received from Her Majesty in ry qry quiet ceremony, for services rendered to Britain and the wizarding world.   It might have, but it would not have been the entire cause.   No, Severus Snape had a secret.   He just didn't know what her name was.   He strolled down the crowded street as if window-shopping, stopping at Quality Quidditch Supplies to peer in the window- something which was much easier to do now as an adult than it had been when he'd been one of the smallish children crowding for a look at the newest broom model. He stood a few feet back from the window, easily looking over the inevitable crowd of childish heads jostling one another for staring room at the plate glass of the storefront.   The broom hovering in the display case was a beauty, he had to admit. It was sleek, with silvery twigs for a tail and a finish to its handle that vaguely reminded him of hematite. The fine lettering engraved into the end read Supernova. It featured the usual braking charm, fine-tuned precision handling, and a built-in Sonorus conduit to allow game commentary to be piped to the player riding the broom. There was also a safety- net feature which would automatically suspend the rider if he or she fell off and plunged more than ten feet down.   Severus snorted. Harry Potter will be riding this one within a week, he thought to himself. And if he isn't, he should be, considering the rate at which he falls off broomsticks.   Turning, he moved down the street further, browsing and idling along, and no one who saw him imagined he was waiting with more impatience than he'd ever waited for anything in his life.   Tonight was the night.   She was coming, and he would finally know who his Gift Horse was.   She'd come to him three more times over the last eleven months, three visits which came farther apart than he would have liked, but which came just when he needed them most. The last time had been back in March, just before the final encounter with Voldemort. She'd held him most of the night, and had kissed him when he left hurriedly in the pre-dawn darkness to answer Hea Headmaster's call to arms. He could remember their entire conversation as if it were a memory in a Pensieve.   "Severus," she said, her voice full of emotion. "Be careful. I know what this battle means to the world, and you can't know what it means to me- but I want you back safe."   He sighed. "If promising that I will come back would make it happen, I would do it," he said. "But there are no guarantees." He studied her for a long moment. "But I will not take any unnecessary risks." He paused.   "I want to come back alive, too," he said quietly. "Not that anyone would believe me if I told them that. I must look like a poster child for suicide intervention."   She laughed then, as he had intended. "Not at all," she countered gently. "Just… broodingly noteworthy."   She stood and came to hug him one more time as he shrugged on his coat.   "Severus," she murmured into his shoulder.   "Hmm?" He stepped away, moved through the door into the hallway. She stood cloaked in shadow, draped only in dappled moonlight as she leaned on the doorframe.   "Be at the fountain courtyard at the far end of Diagon Alley at eleven o'clock on Midsummer Night. There's something I want to show you."   So here he was. An hour early, yes, but here. And he was willing to bet anything that, now that the war with Voldemort was over, she was going to let him know who she really was.   He'd pondered for a long time over whether or not he really wanted to know. She'd suggested so often that he wouldn't, that he finally had to ask himself for a straight answer. What if she was someone he despised in the light of day? A young student? A very old alumna? A parent of a student? What if she were not human? What would his response be? Because, after all the joy she'd given him, he'd be damned if he would return her kindness with scorn or visible revulsion. If she were one of the severed heads of the Hydra, or even if she turned out to be Pansy Parkinson, he'd smile and look pleased. Even if it killed him. And if it was Pansy, it just might.   But oh, how he hoped…   He didn't dare even think his most private hope, even in the quiet of his own mind. The closest he could come was a cautious admission that, no matter what he might once have thought of any of the women on his "Oh No!" list, if one of them were his Gift Horse, his previous opinion would be rendered hopelessly obsolete by the past year's experiences, anyway, and require considerable editing. But he wouldn't let himself fully examine this idea- it came too close to admitting that his heart's desire was not within reach.   He continued his wanderings, pausing in a small used bookstore to purchase a new copy of the PDR, more completely known as the Potions Desk Reference, and much needed after a minor industrial accident reduced his last copy to a pool of congealed goo. He shrank the book and tucked it into his robes, then paused and purchased a small tin of breath mints. Just in case.   Back in the street, he spent several minutes conversing in surprisingly polite tones with the parents of one of his current students, a rising third year Slytherin; since the fall of the Dark Lord had obviated the need for him to keep his cover, he'd felt free to show some of his less malicious traits. Besides, it never failed to amuse him to see students so startled by his considerable conversational skills. Parents, while less surprised by his charming manner, were consequently inclined to disbelieve the tales of his nastiness carried home at holidays by their progeny. Nothing like a little good old-fashioned confusion.   The conversation proved an unexpectedly pleasant way to dispose of twelve min, an, and had the added benefit of letting him know that at least one of the students in his House actually did learn something in Potions. This was encouraging, as the end of his career as a spy had also allowed him more time to pay attention to what was supposed to be his full-time job. He had never wanted to be a teacher, but now that he was, the sense of guilt that was once fully employed in compelling his spying activities now found its outlet in teaching. If he had to do it, he would at least do it well. He was no less irritable in class, but at least he'd made a concerted effort to adjust lectures and test materials to try to impart something to his students.   Whatever his feelings of guilt, Snape knew his teaching had never been execrable; his methods might have left something to be desired, but he knew the material had been there. Despite the inevitable Longbottoms in the world who could not master the simplest of concoctions, there were many students who seemed to absorb quite a lot. He wanted to see that there were more of them.   Somehow, he thought that she would like that.   Standing on the neat little sidewalk in front of a crystal shop, Severus was suddenly seized by an impulse. He rarely had them- it was not a Slytherin trait, given as that House was to cunning plans- but this one, he tht, wt, was a good one. He slipped through the door, cautiously drawing his robes about him to keep them from catching any of the delicate works of art.   The place was full of glass tables, magically lit from beneath to send light bouncing through the soft curves and sharp angles of the crystal figurines on them. It glowed with an otherworldly light that was rather soothing; Severus made a mental note of the effect. Casting an eye about the contents of the store, he chose a direction and then proceeded to browse in it. He found the perfect figurine with relatively little difficulty, and a quick question to the proprietor and a flick of the woman's wand made the one correction he needed. His purchase was made quickly, the little figurine wrapped, and he stepped out into the street once again, the small package secreted in the folds of his robes.   He glanced at the clocks over the entrance to Magical Specialties Ltd, a shop which sold more expensive and exclusive magical items- among them, Time Turners. The multiple clocks were there to show the times currently inhabited by customers trying out the little hourglass-like devices. Three of them had faces marked with years rather than hours. One of them- it took a few moments to identify it- told the actual time.   It was a quarter to eleven. Time to head down.   Diagon Alley was a rather long and twisting street, but like all streets, it had an end. Two ends, if you counted the entrance at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. The farther end lay beyond the few small cafés and dance establishments that populated the end of the business district; beyond the neat rows of shrubs that delineated their terraces, there was only grassy field.   This green space was, in fact, a park. Trees and shrubs dotted the landscape, their daytime shapes hardly comparable to the soft, transparent silver of their appearance in the nearly-gone light of the sun and the soft silver glow of a nearly full moon. In the center of the park lay the fountain at which his lover had asked him to wait. It was surrounded by a flagstone terrace and a ring of park benches, the old-fashioned cast iron kind one sometimes finds in older cities, treasures from an era of greater public wealth.   The grass rolled over the ground in soft waves to softly lap against the flagstone surround like waves at the seashore, the wind calling forth a soft ruffling noise from its blades. The sound muffled the faint swish of Severus's feet as he crossed the greensward and settled with unconscious grace into the welcoming curve of a bench.   The night air was warm, fragrant with remembered sunlight on wood and leaf, and the perfume of flowers invisible in the darkness floated to the Potions master's nostrils. He breathed the scent in, savoring it, and tipped his head back for a moment to let himself relax and enjoy the moment. He didn't get many moments like these.   Warm hands slid gently to cover his eyes, and he felt his mouth curve in a smile when her voice said, "Hello."   "Hello yourself," he said warmly, and he felt the soft bow of her lips settle on his in a welcoming kiss.   "I missed you," he confessed, volunteering the information now as easily as he would have concealed it a year ago. Over time, they had come to know one another in all but the superficial ways, learned to trune ane another- she learning to trust him even as he learned to trust her. He felt the rumble of her light laughter against the top of his head, where her upper abdomen was pressing as she leaned over him. He opened his eyes to see a feminine head shrouded in a light shawl; silly of him to think she'd leave anything up to chance.   Severus gently drew her around the be set settling her beside him and slouching a bit more comfortably to study the stars overhead. Y of of practice kept the Potions master's lean frame relaxed and casual despite the high level of anxiety racing through neurons and setting muscles twitching on a microscopic level. He was about to drown in a surge of adrenaline.   "I thought you would come after the war was over," he said, trying- successfully- to keep the remark from sounding like a reproach.   "I couldn’t," she said simply, then spent a few moments rearranging her cloak and shawl. Satisfied, she leaned back like he had, her shoulder brushing his arm as it stretched along the back of the bench.   "Happy Midsummer's Eve," she murmured as she joined him in contemplation of the heavens.   "The same to you," he replied, and left it at that. They were long since at ease in one another's company without speaking- and besides, he was having too much difficulty controlling his voice as he absorbed all the possible implications of the casual touch of her shoulder. He could not fully convince himself that any of them were anything other than encouraging; and while this slightly reduced his anxiety, it did absolutely nothing to quiet his nerve endings. If anything, it intensified the hum.   They were silent for a few moments more before he asked, almost wistfully, "Do you see anything in the stars?"   "I take it you mean other than the constellations," she said with a hint of mirth in her tone.   "Yes," he confirmed. "Aing,ing, as in the future. I was never any good at Astrology. Astronomy, yes. It made sense. But I could never understand Divination. It never seemed like anything other than a charlatan's game to me."   The softest hint of a snort came from the shrouded head to his left. "I can understand your opinion," she said with more laughter in her voice this time. "But I can't seem to stop looking at the stars for answers anyway. Not that they ever seem clearer to me when I look at them myself than they do when a Centaur reads them for me." She smiled at the feel of his chest moving as he chuckled at her small jest.   "They do seem to help me think more clearly, though- I have to admit that," she went on. "And they're so beautiful- so remote, so removed from all the things that trouble us down here on Earth."   He nodded, forgetting that her own tiontion on the bench, staring at the sky, m tha that she couldn't see him. "I know what you mean," he said, his voice sounding dreamily quiet in the darkness. "I can't imagine anything less touched by the worries of humankind. Or anything less likely to have anything to do with the fate of creatures like us."   "I think we make our own fates," she said then, decisively. "Like you did in March. Against Voldemort. I was so proud of you- not that it's much accolade."   He stirred beside her on the bench, remembered at the last minute not to look right at her. "It means more to me than any of the othernowlnowledgements I received."   It was her turn to stir, in surprise. "You mean that, don't you?" she said in amazement as it dawned on her that he was speaking in earnest. She sat up and turned to face him, still careful to shroud her features in shadow.   "You cannot be ignorant of my feelings for you," he said, almost stiffly, and he sat up as well- th he he did not turn to look at her. Instead, as if afraid to confirm his fears by reading her body language- for he could not read her face- he laced his fingers loosely together and stared moodily out at the fountain's silvered basins.   She put a warm hand on his arm, let it linger just a little more caressingly than a mere friend would have done.   "No more ignorant than I am of my own for you," she assured him gently, feeling him relax slightly as her reward- wil wild thing persuaded at the last moment to forfeit flight.   "It's just that I know you've craved recognition for decades. Not just craved it, but needed it- and now that it's here, I'm surprised to see that my own opinion weighs so much more heavily than the Ministry's."   He laughed aloud at that. "My dear," he demurred through the chuckles, "I could scarcely count anyone's opinion less than I count Cornelius Fudge's. Oh, make no mistake- I will admit that it felt good at the end of it all to shake Potter's and Weasley's hands and finally look like one of the 'good guys', and to know that Sirius Black is annoyed that I wasn't shut out of the limelight altogether. And it was equally marvelous, before all that, to get the first sign that everyone knew whose side I was really on, when Potter's friend Hermione Granger trusted me enough to throw me her wand at the last moment when we were still fighting. But still, through all of that- it was you I was thinking of."   She leaned into him at that, with more than a casual touch, and he felt the warmth of her presence lap over his soul as he felt it soaking into his body.   "And now it's all over, and Severus Snape is a hero." Her voice was full of admiration. "Lucky for you I knew you before you were this famous. Otherwise you'd have to wonder about my motivations."   "I've wondered all along," he admitted freely. "I still do. I just stopped questioning whether or not they were good for me. I've decided," he continued, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, "that they are. Very much so."   They sat together for a while, tracking meteors and Muggle satellites, and Severus tried to gather his courage to ask the question she had never yet answered.   "My motivations were good for everyone involved," she said at last. "Except for Voldemort." She paused a moment.   "And now, like I said, it's all over. And there's no one left to protect."   A cold vise clamped over Severus's heart at her tone of voice. Was she going to say that she'd only come to him to help him make it through the final battle, and now that it was all over, her work here was done? She couldn't leave him like that- not after she'd made him fall in love with her. He had to have a chance. She owed him that much… He struggled to sit up, already drawing breath to argue.   But she wasn't done speaking. She silenced him with a finger to the lips, as she'd done that first night, and he was paralyzed with a combination of fear, devastation, and desperation.   "Let me restate that. There is no one left from whom we must protect my… or should I say, our secret."   "It's your secret," Severus cried then in frustration. "I've wanted all along to know who you were, to have a name to put with the shadowed face that haunts my dreams. But I'm as in the dark as everyone else. I haven't been able to whisper your name to myself, to imagine what you're doing every day, or even to write your initials in the chalk dust on my desk. Nothing. You know everything about me, and I know a lot about you- everything that doesn't involve who you are. I'm in love with you, damn it, and I can't even whisper your name into the darkness when I touch myself out of sheer loneliness!"   He could see tears glinting in her eyes in the moonlight- good. Let her feel some of the pain he'd felt. An instant later he felt the sharp bite of remorse-she'd done so much for him, and he could do nothing in return for her; his spitefulness was all the more cruel for it.   "Oh, Severus," she whispered, touching his face and finding tears there to match her own. "I know. And there was nothing I could do about it- then.   "But there is now. If you really want to know, if you really think it will be all right in the end, despite whatever separates us in the daylight, then I will let you see who I am."   "I need to know who you are," he whispered intensely, his eyes glittering with emotion. "Anything that stands between us will be dealt with in very short order- I wouldn't care if you were the daughter of Godric Gryffindor himself." He swallowed harshly. "I love you," he repeated again, tracing her cheek with his fingertips. "I've trusted you all this time. Now- you trust me."   She stared at him for a very long moment, her own face shadowed as the moon's was shrouded by a cloud. He could hear the irregular hitch in her breathing, and realized in that instant that she was terrified that he would reject her. Of course- she knew what their ordinary relationship was; she would also know exactly what stood between them.   That narrowed fie field of possibilities only slightly. After all, few women of his acquaintance would expect Severus Snape to be delighted to find that he'd shagged them; most of them would expect him to be horrified. He didn't get on well with most people. But still, that left room for his dearest hope- and this woman clearly found the prospect of rejection painful. Surely she must feel something for him, if that was the case- and she had not flinched away from his impassioned declaration of love. He savagely shoved his hopes to the back of his mind, focusing only on the woman beside him, willing her to courage.   Trust me… it'll be all right… just trust me. I'll never hurt you.   She moved suddenly, with the swiftness of a pouncing cat, and before he could blink she had moved to straddle him as he sat on the bench. He thought he heard the faintest murmur of a spell, muffled by the rustle of swirling fabric as she moved. Startled, he satpartpartway, the movement bringing his groin up against hers. He sucked in a faint breath-   And noticed that her scent had changed. This one he knew. He was positive he knew it. She'd been masking it all along- the clever witch.   There was only one witch he knew who was that clever. Could it be?…   Before his brain could catalog the essences of her fragrant skin, the moon came out from behind a cloud, and when she tugged the shawl free from her head, a wealth of curly hair sprang forth to swirl around her shoulders in the moonlight. The silver illumination poured down over familiar cheeks and nose, and pooled in the apprehensive liquid eyes of Hermione Granger.   He stared up at her in disbelief, his heart thumping painfully against his chest, and it took a few seconds for his breathing to restart. With a dry sob, he reached up and caught her in a fierce embrace.   "Oh, thank the gods, thank the gods… I didn't think it could be…." He tangled his fingers in the soft curls- she must have straightened them before- and drew her mouth down to his, claiming her mouth in a kiss so full of love that he didn't think he could tell her better in any other way.   Her arms were twining around his neck now, her mouth soft and giving beneath his- this was everything it had ever been before, and more. She writhed a little on his lap, and in that instant he knew that the only things about herself she'd changed were the ones he would likely notice in the dark.   Clever girl, he thought, even as he sat up to gather her closer to him.   "Oh, Hermione," he breathed, his voice thick with tears.   "You're not angry?" she asked in a faint voice.   "Angry? When I've hoped it was you all along? Oh, my love, no. not not angry. Far from it. I don't even know when I started hoping- but I've long since ceased to think of you as the onetime Head Girl." He traced her cheek softly with the knuckles of his right hand, fascinated by the planes and curves she'd never really let him study before.   "You knew, then?" she asked in a small voice.   "Not hardly," he countered. "I had no idea. I tried to figure it out, of course. But of course you knew you'd have to fool my nose- you had me completely confused. No, Hermione, I didn't know." He squirmed a little then, and she cocked her head in interest.   He went on after a moment. "But I… well, I've had dreams before, you see. About you. They started right after your first visit. I think, that first night, I might even have called your name- I'm still not sure. So, because you didn't have a name, I started to fantasize about you. You, meaning Hermione. I tried so hard not to let myself do that- what if you were someone else?- but I couldn't stop. I've been hoping so hard that you…"   He broke off, frowning.   "You're oell ell of an actress, you know," he said, sounding much more like the professor under whom she'd once studied. "I wouldn't even let myself think about the possibility that you were the mystery woman while you were still a student. But since you finished your schooling, I've wondered. But every time I've seen you- including when you threw me your wand- you've looked just as distant as ever. I got the distinct impression that you didn't even like me much." He was silent as he digested the possible meanings of this, his body language growing more distant even though she still sat astraddle of his lap.   "It makes me wonder if perhaps you don't much like me, after all."   It was Hermione's turn to object passionately.   "Nothing couldfurtfurther from the truth, Severus," she exclaimed. "Listen to me- I couldn't let you know who I was, precisely because the Hermione you saw every day at Hogwarts, and who fought the battle with you, had no idea about any of this. That's why I told you that I wouldn’t have been able to protect myself if word had gotten out about us. Because 'I' wasn't really 'me'- and she wouldn't have known a thing about her own danger. And I couldn't risk telling her."   The expression on Severus's face caught at her memory, and she realized that this was the puzzled look he'd worn when she lied about the troll in her first year. How sweet it seemed to her now, when at the time it had seemed menacing.   "Are you saying you're from an alternate universe?" he asked carefully.   "No. I'm from the future. Or at least, I was from the future." Hermione looked as smug as she ever had when she'd been Head Girl. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew a Time Turner.   "You asked me how I got into your rooms," she said. "It was no great challenge for me, I fear. You see…" she swallowed hard. "When I first had the idea to come to you, it was because you had died."   He did sit up straight then, and had to put his arms round her to keep her from falling off his lap with the sudden movement.   "You were tortured to death by Voldemort. Your wits were simply too dull to keep you out of trouble, and it was all because you couldn't sleep, couldn't eat- you were paranoid. Harry and Ron had even noticed it. We lost you, and then… we began to lose everything. We suffered a horrible defeat in March, the way I lived it- and all because you weren't there. This past April, I decided to try to go back to change time; we had nothing to lose that we weren't already in danger of losing anyway." She shifted slightly on his lap, her voice resuming a hint of the Head Girl tone he remembered from his classes.   "The paradox suggests that anything I had done in the past would already be reflected in my present- but it hasn't been. Because you're alive. Every time I came to see you, I must have changed something- because I began to have dual sets of memories, and then triplicate sets. It's most unusual; I can recall all the possible endings after each of my interferences." She threaded her fingers through her hair, exhaling with the effort of analysis and thought.   "I never thought it would work that way for me; I still can't explain why you don't recall the alternate reality in which you died. Perhaps because you yourself never went back in time- I did. Who knows for sure? And whose reality is the one which counts most, anyway? To you, none of the alternate future is real. To me, it's all in the past anyway. I'm back to my real time now, and you're here- so it must have worked Only somewhere along the line, without really planning to- although I can't swear to even that, now, either- I fell in love with you. For real, in all times." She took a deep breath, as if to reassure herself that it was all, indeed, real.   The look in Severus's eyes told her everything she wanted to hear. Startled by her sudden declaration, he nonetheless smiled tenderly at her for a long moment.   It took him a few seconds ton hin his mind back to the question of time travel, at which point he began to look mildly bewildered, but his naturally quick mind sorted through the bits and pieces and concluded that she was as correct as anyone could be, under the circumstances. He thought for another long moment in loud silence before slowly nodding.   "I see your points," he acknowledged. "And I'm just as glad not to remember dying, if it's all the same to you." The wry curl of his lip brought a smile to her face, and she tenderly smoothed a lock of unruly hair back from his high forehead. He leaned into the caress as he went on. "I understand now why you answered 'yes, and no,' when I asked if you were one of my students. That was a surprisingly Slytherin answer for a Gryffindor, you know." He touched his nose to hers gently, in acknowledgement of her wit, and then his face sobered just a trace.   "But I still would like to know how you got past my wards."   "I simply went to your rooms after you'd died," she said. "They were no longer warded by then. I entered your bedroom in my own time, and then used the Time Turner to get back to your time. Your wards in your time did nothing to stop my entry, because I had already gained access to the physical space of the chamber itself, and the wards did not forbid temporal access."   "I shall remedy that as soon as I get home," he said dryly, his mouth curved in a smile at her cleverness.   "At least it worked when I needed it to. We all needed it to work. I knew you didn't see yourself as important to the cause, but you were, Severus- you really were. And now you've seen how instrumental you were, and you've gotten the credit you should have been getting for the last twenty years, if only from the handful of people who could have known about it." She beamed at him, her smile brighter than the moon. "I didn't come to you after the battle, because I couldn't- I didn't make that part up. You lived, and so I could no longer get into your rooms in the castle in the present time. Because you were in them." She sounded very glad indeed about the obstacles to her obtaining entry.   Severus very carefully lifted Hermione up and settled her across his lap, in his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucked her curly head under his chin, and just held her. "I'm glad too," he said at long last. "For everything." And he smiled down at her- a tender smile with which Hermione sincerely doubted any woman in the history of the world had ever before been favored.   The moon traveled a long ways across the heavens before they stirred again, each lost in their own thoughts, occasionally reassuring the other with a touch, a murmured endearment.   At last, Severus decided that the bench was growing uncomfortable; it was definitely time to move this convention on to a more appropriate venue.   "What now, Hermione?" he asked carefully. "What's next for us, now that it's all over and Voldemort's gone to dust and we're left to resume our regularly scheduled lives?"   Her smile changed from brilliant to smoky.   "I've grown selfish in my year out of school, Professor," she said huskily. "What I once wanted for everyone, I now want just… for… myself."   She slid back, moved one leg seductively so that she straddled him again, and eased forward into his lap once more as she spoke, punctuating her movements with subtle adjustments that had the final affect of aligning their bodies just so. She grinned unrepentantly, squirmed a little into the curve his body made as he leaned back against the bench once more, and let out a soft 'Mmmm' of delight at the evidence of his appreciation of her sentiments. He chuckled lowly, his mouth sliding along her neck to kiss her tenderly. She arched into the caress, and after a long moment, she softly whispered,   "I don't suppose you'd want to take this someplace else?"   "Such as?" His voice was husky now.   "Oh, we've been to your place a dozen times. Let's go to mine."   "You'll have to Apparate us," he managed around a soft groan of lust. "I've never been."   The world dissolved a few moments later, and witch and wizard materialized a scant moment later on Hermione's couch.   Crookshanks, as accustomed as he was to having Hermione pop in and out, wasn't quite expng tng this. He stood up quickly, tail and hackles raised with alarm, and only after a careful inspection of the human behavior unfolding before him did he carefully back away, as if from a bomb- or a human in possession of a sinkful of soapy water. Back, back, through the hallway, toward the bedroom-   No. Bad idea. He'd seen this sort of things in humans before, though not in Hermione, and they always seemed to end up in the bedroom eventually. Better be safe.   A moment of courage-gathering was all the half-Kneazle needed to rocket himself across the open space of the living room floor and into the kitchen, where he hid himself in a slightly ajar cabinet to await the cessation of noises from the living room. Eventually, he knew, bedroom was followed by kitchen - at which point it was often safe to roam the house again.   He would never understand how humans could stand to do that sort of thing indoors.   The second he felt soft couch beneath him, Severus turned things over a bit. With a quick twisting movement, he had Hermione beneath him, giggling madly and sounding rather breathless with something. He leaned in for a long, wet kiss, letting his mouth learn hers again after a three-month absence. He couldn't bite back the groan of desire that welled up from his chest, and she snaked her arms around him and held him closer as it vibrated from his mouth to hers.   He moved over her a little, sliding into the cradle of her hips and reaching down to draw her knee higher on his leg. He set up a gentle rocking movement, rhythmically pressing his insistent erection against the heat of her mound. He smiled ferally as her head tipped back and her back arched to increase the contact. Her legs tightened on him as they moved, and he felt his control slip a notch as her hands slid up to her breasts, caressing her nipples with the lightest of flicks.   "You've tortured me for the last year, do you know that?" he asked in a low, hypnotic murmur. "I've wondered who you are time and again, gone through agonies and ecstasies imagining you were anyone from Minerva McGonagall to Pansy Parkinson to Hermione Granger to Rita Skeeter. I even considered whether you might be male, though I'd be shocked if any man could so effectively simulate a woman's body." His hands now swept down to replace hers over her breasts, gently squeezing to accentuate his words.   "I've fantasized about you, dreamt about you while I was both sleeping and awake, and entertained the notion of a relationship in the open." He let his mouth slide down her collarbone and lower, softly lipped the curve of her breast as it sprang into existence just beyond the limit of the sternum. His voice was deeper now, huskier.   "I've rationed those damn Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Special Edition- and I still have some left, mind you- so that I could remind myself how you felt and tasted." He reminded himself of those very things again, deftly unbuttoning her blouse and then softly whispering a spell to split the fabric of her bra in the front. His mouth, hot and soft, enclosed her nipple suddenly, and she whimpered aloud at the contact. Her fingers threaded through his hair then, pulling him closer, convulsively kneading him and begging him for his touch.   Severus savored her for a long time, lavishing his attentions on both breasts in turn, lapping with incredible delicateness at her sensitive nipples, smoothing the alabaster surface of her breasts between inflaming strokes.studstudied her for a moment, something hot and wild burning in his eyes.   "I've touched myself with the memory of your scent, your feel, in my mind- but never your face, never your name. I never had that much of you. And now that I have you, Hermione, I want you. I want this. For good. In front of the gods and everyone."   She opened her eyes- closed against the onslaught of pleasure he brought her- and met his gaze squarely. "You're not embarrassed?" she asked, and her tone of voice suggested that she was not.   "Not even a little. How could I be, after the gifts you've given me?"   Hermione smiled then, and reached for his hand.   "Your gift horse needs a little more unwrapping," she said with a smile in her voice.   Severus didn't think it was quite the answer he was looking for, but it would do for now. He had gone too long without her as it was.   Despite her words, Hermione seemed to think that Severus was the one who needed unwrapping. She divested him of robes, shirt, trousers, socks, shoes, and boxers in record time, wrenching off the remnants of blouse and bra and tossing her own slacks to the floor.   Severus stopped her when she would have removed her panties. Then, standing her up in front of him on the couch, he smiled wickedly.   "I still have your stockings at home," he said smoothly. "Perhaps you'd wear them for me again sometime. But for now…."   He leaned forward and took her in his mouth again, just as he had done that night she'd worn the stocking for him. It was just as good as it had been then, only tonight she was so much more keyed up. She rode the sensations with abandon, giving herself fully to him, letting his name fall from her lips in tiny breathy cries.   Severus had never felt such fierce gladness in his life. He now had a name and a face to go with his dream lover, and miracle of miracles, she was the one woman he'd dreamed against all hope of having. He still didn't know why he'd latched onto the idea of Hermione; perhaps his subconscious had known all along, and had gradually let the conscious mind in on the secret. He couldn’t even have said when he'd first noticed he had feelings for the former Head Girl.   He didn't give a damn. She was here, in his life, in his mouth, and he'd never felt so incredible in all his days.   "I haven't got much patience this time, love," he gasped at last, feeling need swamp him in gigantic waves.   "Neither do I," she agreed, her hands seeking the hardened shaft between his thighs.   He was more than ready for her, and she for him. It was by far the shortest coupling of their acquaintance- he pressed into her slick sheath with a strangled shout, shuddered in her arms for a long moment, and managed to find a rhythm that pleased them both. Long deprivation made him slightly clumsy in his eagerness, but they settled together and within twenty strokes found what they sought.   "Ooh- oh, yes, right there, oh, oh, sweet gods, Severus, YES-   "Severus!" she shrieked then as she sailed over the edge, eliding his name to two syllables in her passion. She was panting then, her fingertips digging into his back as she arched into her orgasm. The sound of it was enough to send him right after her, just as her spasms eased.   "Oh- it's too much, I'm- Oh! Hermione!" he cried aloud in almost startled pleasure, stiffening and pressing himself as high into her body as he could go, feeling the waves crash over him to steal his breath and his vision and his mind all at once. As each successive contraction pressed him, he cried her name, until his breathlessness robbed its first syllable of pronunciation and turned it nearly into the nickname she'd always hated in school, but which seemed so deliciously intimate now.   Long moments later, he rolled gently to her side, adjusting them carefully so that neither of them fell off the couch. Hermione laughed and threw a few pillows to the floor; Severus poked an investigatory elbow into the back of the couch and commented, "Nice furniture. and and wide." His tall frame fit easily onto the couch's length.   Hermione playfully hit him with one of the remaining pillows. "You think that's good, you should see my bed," she said with a wink.   "Right, then," he said, lifting her into his arms. "That sounded like an invitation."   Crookshanks peered out of his cabinet long enough to verify that things had moved on to the Bedroom stage. Licking his chops sleepily, he settled down to nap. The Kitchen stage usually involved opening the refrigerator- and there might be something in it for him by then.   Several hours later, one dark head and one light brown one shared a pillow in the early dawn light. The two lovers watched the sun rise slowly into a pale, clear sky, and they twined their fingers together and thought of the future.   "What now?" asked Hermione, giving him back the question he'd asked her the night before.   "That depends on you," he replied solemnly. "What do you want?"   "You," she replied simply. "But I don't know what the done thing is among wizards. I'm Muggle-born."   "And beautiful," he added with a tender smile. "I've never seen you like this, you realize- soft and tousled and warm with sleep. You always left. I know you had to- but I always hated it. I want to have this for the rest of my life." One elegant finger caught a curl of her hair, shaped it, let it bounce free.   "Are you sure?"   He laughed softly. "Yes." He sat up, softly Summoned his robes, and drew the little box from the crystal store in Diagon Alley.   "I have something for you. I was hoping to give it to you in any case, but I wanted it to be something you could treasure, even if we didn't end up together." His face was so sad and sober as he said this that she felt compelled to kiss him again to cheer him up.   When she opened the little box, she found a crystal horse inside. It was tossing its tiny mane repeatedly, the magical crystal sparkling as it flowed in an invisible wind. One delicate hoof stomped, and the creature turned its head up to examine Hermione.   "She had a rider, at first," Severus explained gently. "I didn't t tha that sounded right- my Gift Horse was too untamed for that. So I had the rider charmed off. I think she looks happier now."   Hermione smiled tenderly, letting the crystal horse trot off her hand to browse contentedly on the nightstand.   "She's very happy indeed," she murmured.   "Marry me," he asked, so gently he might almost not have spoken.   Hermione's lips curved in a smile. "I thought you'd never ask," she said.   Severus just shook his head and held her closer as her mouth closed over his in an eloquent 'yes' whose conveyance needed no words.   In the kitchen, Crookshanks snored peacefully, blissfully unaware that the Kitchen stage had been entirely bypassed in favor of the Breakfast In Bed stage.     ~Fin~     Final A/N: I do hope everyone's glad to see Severus happy, and I hope the fact that the Gift Horse revealed herself does not cause anyone distress. He was just too tempting for her to turn down… also, I apologize for the mindgames with the time turner. I had a lot of fun confusing myself with what would happen as past selves integrated into future selves. At any rate, we've got no firsthand data to corroborate anyone's theory, so it's all in good fun. ;-) Special thanks to the White Knight for being a great beta.   Email with questions or comments to quillusion@yahoo.com