A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

Chapter 50- Slip of the Tongue

Ava traced lazy spirals with her forefinger, etching patterns into the well-massaged oil on Professor Lupin’s muscled backside. His distinct groan of pleasure was not lost on her. She had plied him with wine, poetry and food to get him into this position. A vague twinge of guilt in her heart resurfaced when he had hesitated, looking at the picture of his deceased wife on the mantelpiece. When she had returned with the forgotten wine, the picture had been removed.

She was ready for him. Ava wanted him. If it was unprecedented for females to pursue the males of the species, she didn’t care. If it was up to Remus they would never get around to copulating. She had needs, damnit!

Now she was afraid he was going to fall asleep before they even got started. A few chaste kisses were all he had allowed her before submitting to the massage. His excuse had been the stress and excitement of all the recent events along with the copious amounts of revising that needed to be done before the start of the school year. The Ministry had further challenged their expectations of the Defense Against The Dark Arts position.

Emboldened by his response and lack of move to stop her, her spiral turned into a firm kneading, earning her further vocal good-natured protests of pleasure from him. Under the guise of getting more massage oil, she quietly removed her flimsy top. It was now or never.

In one swift movement she straddled his backside, leaning into his back, pressing her breasts into his skin.

That definitely took him by surprise. “What are you doing?” The way he tried looking to either side was mildly comical. “Ava, what are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing, Remus?” she purred, sliding her bosom up and down his back.

He gasped under her, turning over swiftly and capturing her wrists. Now her bottom was under his obvious erection.

“Ava, I thought we agreed to wait.” His voice was saying no, but his eyes and body were saying yes.

“Make love to me,” she hummed, slightly moving her sheer knickers over his erection.

His breath caught, eyes focused on her lovely breasts. “Ava,” he breathed, “we can’t do this. It’s not fair to you. It’s not right, we need to wait.”

“Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll leave. Tell me your reaction to me isn’t real and I won’t ask anymore.”

He sounded desperate and frustrated. “Of course I want you. You know my reaction is sincere. I just wanted the first time to be special.”

“Is it any less special if it is now rather than later?” He had released her wrists. Her skilled healing hands traced the muscles in his arms, down over the backs of his hands, tickling the hair of his treasure trail.

“I thought it was what you wanted. Any time with you would be special, Ava. Are you sure you are ready for this? For me?” The last bit of uncertainty held on by a thread. The rest of him was straining to break loose.

She blew away the last of his hesitation when she boldly ground her warmth against his straining bulge.

“Oh gods, Ava.” He repositioned himself until he was on top of her. “I’ve wanted you so much. You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this.”

“I think I have an idea,” she smiled.

Conversation turned to kisses and caresses, whispers and nothings.

Hands explored, reverence was shown, and the wonders of each other’s bodies heightened their passion.

When he first entered her it felt sacred. The physical act of love meant he pledged himself to her for the rest of his life. Even if he was unable to articulate the words at that moment, he would never leave or betray her. Werewolves mated for life.

He was careful to show her tenderness and consideration. The pain that accompanied the loss of her hymen proved to be more than she had anticipated. He stopped until her tears were dried, simply holding her and caressing her hair until she was ready to resume.

How he loved her. He still felt guilty, like he was betraying Tonks, but as she had left to get the wine, he had looked at Dora’s picture and asked her to forgive him. The answering flood of relief in his heart was all he had needed to allow himself to love again. He had told her goodnight and placed her picture in his desk. It was time for him and Teddy to move on. She would always live in their hearts and memories.

Lupin took special care with Ava’s pleasure. He was patient when she needed him to be, gentle when it hurt, teasing to make her laugh, and sensuous as she grew used to his intimate touches.

The extreme difficulty in holding back was tempered by her virginity. He wanted this first time to show her he meant to go on as they started out; with love, respect and tenderness.

The mounting volume of her cries, arching of her back and clutch on his bottom gave him the signs he was waiting for to take her over the edge and follow her with his own release. He slowly increased the rhythm, careful not to push too far lest he hurt her. He was shocked to hear his sweet girl shout, “For the love of mercy, fuck me already!”

So he did. A few minutes of good slapping caused her to cry out into his waiting lips, lost between nips and thrusts, keening her release. At long last, Remus was able to let loose his own absolution, emptying his offering inside of her, shouting her name.

They curled up together under the covers, talking far into the night of their plans and future dreams while the fire slowly died to glowing embers and the great castle slumbered all around.


--


The traitorous hardening of his member was annoying. Trust that part of him to be the first thing to spring to life. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t welcome an orgasm to alleviate the sexual tension in his groin; he just felt instinctively he needed to save all of his energy to regain his strength first. Too bad all his eyes wanted to do was linger over Hermione’s firm backside as she bent over his chest of clothing to put away the clean robes.

“Molly feels you’re up to something more substantial today then just soup. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Were it up to me,” he drawled caustically, “I would be entertaining far better fare then what I have thus so far been subjected to. To answer your question; yes. Sustenance that warrants mastication would prove more satisfactory then broth."

There was her infuriating smile again, slung over her shoulder, a wayward curl obscuring her brow.

“Why must you always stare at me like that, witch,” he growled half-heartedly. “I am not some child’s toy to be ogled in a shopkeeper’s window.”

“Glad to see you're feeling stronger today. She turned back to the trunk and continued to dig.

What on earth was she doing?

“Must you pry into my private possessions? It is unsettling that the entire of the Weasley household is privy to my physical state. I prefer what little privacy I have to remain intact.”

“I’m looking for something,” her muffled voice came from inside the chest.

He wanted to lock her into position, yank down her drawers and have his way with her. “Get out of my travel trunk you meddlesome woman!”

Hermione straightened herself with a huff, slamming the top of the trunk and whirling to meet his gaze. “For your information, Severus, I was looking for a book. It was something I put in here a few days ago and remember putting it in the trunk so everyone else in the house didn’t see it. Not that it matters; I can’t seem to find it.”

She had done it again. The damn witch had piqued his interest and he couldn't show her outright his desire to know exactly which book she felt worthy to hide from the rest of the Weasley clan.

“You felt it necessary to hide your personal possession amongst my own,” he chided, trying to sound annoyed.

“I was going to give it to you as a gift. I didn’t think of it as prying to hide it in your trunk considering it was going to be yours anyway.”

She had gotten him a gift. No one Severus Tobias Snape had ever known had given him a book, save Albus, and he didn’t count. For a bibliophile, books of any sort would have been the perfect thing to give had anyone the inclination to do so over the years. For one, it was understood that the great bat of the dungeons was not to be indulged with things reserved for beloved teachers or colleagues. To show compassion for a heartless git would leave doubt in the minds of others as to the mental state of the gift giver. Secondarily, any gift from most any person in his past would have been to curry favor, out of some perverse sympathy or as a mistake. He would summarily have dismissed the gesture accordingly, adding some acerbic comment so they did not make the same mistake twice.

He did not think Hermione was unintelligent, nor did he feel she was currying favor, for there would be no point in his current state. It was obviously not a mistake on her part as she pointedly told him she meant to give it to him. Sympathy; she felt sorry for him. His stomach recoiled in disgust.

“I neither desire your pity nor welcome your sympathy on anyone's behalf. His lips curled into a derisive sneer, giving her a withering look worthy of his teaching days.

Her eyes widened as it dawned on her. He thinks I feel sorry for him.

Instead of bursting into tears or shouting at him as he had intended, the infuriating Gryffindor gave him that same placating smile as she sat on the bed. “You are the most hopeless, thick headed git I’ve ever met Professor Snape. I don’t pity you, feel sorry for you or feel any sympathy. On the contrary, it would have been easier on me if you had just died when you were supposed to.” She had meant it as a joke, but he didn’t take it as such.

“What?”

He was such an ungrateful bastard. Someone needed to take him down a peg. It started getting ugly. “Do you think I wanted to spend the last year and a half of my life away from my friends and family, locked away from the world, doing some thankless task for a git I knew would never appreciate the sacrifice? You have some nerve, Severus, pandering your idiotic idiosyncrasies from your sickbed. It wouldn’t kill you to be thankful for the efforts others make on your behalf just once in your miserable life!”

She had taken to shouting at him, and he hissed as he grabbed her forcefully and shook her as well as he could from his position.

“Your feeble attempts to cow me are pathetic, Miss Granger. You have known from the beginning the type of man I am. I have never pretended to be anything different. If the effort of being near me is beneath you or offends your almighty sensitivities, by all means, I am not going to stop you from all the other important obligations you surely have lined up. Perhaps one of your other obligations is another lover?"

Hermione yanked her hands out of his grip and struck him across the face. It burned against the brand scar, and he could feel the skin sting and turn red as a flush crept up his neck, his rage rising. His words rang true, much too close for comfort. She had reacted out of sheer fear of his reaction if he found out about her tryst with Rabastan.

“You dare strike me when you know I have no way to retaliate. Is this the legendary Gryffindor courage on display?” he mocked. “I wrongly assumed that I had hit proverbial bottom with acts performed under the rule of the Dark Lord. Clearly, that has only been surpassed by allowing myself to be debased with your slack cunt gracing my cock. An unfortunate circumstance I do not intend to recreate.”

The instant the lie escaped his lips he knew he would never be able to take it back. As had so often happened in the past the tongue had preceded the brain.

Hermione coolly rose to a standing position, her face a cold mask of indifference despite the quagmire of self-disgust beneath the surface. She couldn’t allow him to get the upper hand. “I see,” was all she said. The sound of her bare feet whispering over the carpet and the ice that clouded her eyes would burn into his memory for many nights to come.

As soon as Hermione was free of the bedroom she raced down the stairway past a surprised Ginny, out the door and into the garden out back, the tears streaming hot and shameful against her tainted skin. He was right. Every word he had uttered was the truth, and she was too cowardly to take back what she had said and done to come clean. The person she had become was a person she no longer knew, and the serpent of darkness in her mind grew stronger and hissed appreciatively as it fed off her misery.