Beauty and Sadness

The lemon's a little static. Sorry. Working on a better version.

*

“Marry me,” Snape said, his eyes unblinking on hers.

Lily nodded, giving Snape a shaky smile.

Snape felt nothing but elation. He pulled Lily’s hand down to his rock-hard cock. He couldn’t suppress a groan when he felt her warm fingers close around it. “Here,” he said, wrapping his longer fingers over hers and showing her how he liked to be stroked. She learned quickly and soon bent to envelop the head of his cock in her mouth as her hand continued its authoritative massage of his shaft.

Snape threw back his head, his eyes closed, relishing the moment. He could hear Lily’s hums of pleasure vibrating up his tool, and her little grunts as she rhythmically stuffed his cock head deeper and deeper inside her mouth. Her pretty breasts jiggled tantalizingly within reach, and Snape reached out to stroke and gently squeeze them. Lily stopped moving, her head hovering with indecision just above his straining cock.

“Oh. Oh, God, Lily.”

He pulled her up the length of his body. Being on top of him seemed to unbar some reservation in her. She took firm hold of his cock and jammed the head inside her slick warmth with a long moan. Snape just watched her from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Mine, he thought, as the lush redhead arched her hips and took his length to the hilt. He caught his breath and bit back a command. Lily moved experimentally on him, her vaginal walls clutching his shaft. With so much abundance before him, Snape couldn’t resist running his hands over it. Then he reached lower, found her pouting clitoris, and ran the pad of his thumb expertly over it. Lily shifted, giving him more access. When he pressed up into the bud again, she began moving on him, rotating her hips. Snape lay back and let her move as she would. A small smile played on his thin lips, and his eyes remained half-closed. He touched and gently tweaked her nipples with one hand while he stroked her clit firmly with the thumb of the other. Lily began to make noises, small grunts and moans. She raised herself almost off his cock with each stroke. Her breath was coming fast. Her hair was swaying around her breasts. Snape thought his cock couldn’t get any harder.

An order bubbled to his lips, to go harder, to spread wider, to take it all, but he bit his lip and merely ran a slow fingertip inside her labia all around where his cock was stretching her open. Lily froze, the green eyes wide and pleading. Snape continued his slow probe, widening the labia with his fingers, pulling them open to further expose her clit, which protruded from her red pubic hair in mute supplication. Seeing this, he launched a merciless campaign against it with his thumb. Lily’s moans became louder, harsher. She began to ride his tool in earnest, loud grunts coming from her with each slam of her pussy onto his cock, which Snape now imagined as having a five-centimeter girth. Again, he fought the urge to command her to ride him, to squeeze his cock, to come. But his knowing fingers carried the message all too well. Lily bounced up and down on him, quivered, and as her hips surged forward, her mouth opened pinkly on a long guttural sound. Snape held her hips as they jerked and bucked, savoring the sight of Lily Evans in the throes of orgasm, twitching on his tumescent cock. As her movements slowed, he pushed into her as deep as he could go and emptied spurt after spurt into her.

Some moments later, they descended the staircase from the seventh floor. Snape had a possessive arm around Lily’s shoulders. His balls were loose and heavy from their recent emptying. He felt as if a spreading warmth were coating his insides, even better than any charm or potion.

As they made their way to the ground floor, a tousled head came into view.

The warm feeling curdled. Snape pulled Lily closer and taunted, “Oh, this is perfect. Have you heard the news, Potter?”

James Potter looked up and blinked. He blinked again when he saw who the couple coming down the stairs toward him were. Snape exulted silently as he watched Potter try to rally, to school his features into nonchalance.

“What news?”

Snape let him have it without preamble or softening. “Lily and I are getting married. Right, Lily?” And he hugged her close to his side and kissed the side of her face, his eyes on Potter.

“Right,” Lily concurred warmly.

“You can’t—Lily—" Snape thoroughly enjoyed Potter’s discomposure. “Lily, you can’t mean it! He’s a Death Eater!”

“No, he isn’t,” she said, a tone in her voice that Snape knew was a warning.

“He’s—Lily, he’s told you all kinds of lies. He hangs out with Mulciber—Mulciber! And Malfoy. And he’s practically You-Know-Who’s—"

“He’s not!” Lily cut in angrily. “I think I know my fiance better than you.”

Potter’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he closed it and looked grim. “Maybe. But maybe not.” He shot Snape of deepest loathing. “You let me know if it doesn’t turn out that way. I’ll be here. Believe me, Lily, I’ll be here for you.” He spun around and headed back the way he came.

"Conceited toerag," Lily said, sagging against Snape. “I’m so glad you’ve stopped seeing that horrible group.”

Guilt stirred in Snape. “Yes,” he echoed tonelessly. “Me, too.”

That evening after dinner they went down to the dungeons. Snape ignored Lily’s protests and snarled some warnings at his dorm mates, who beat a hasty retreat. Then Snape and Lily curled up together in an alcove near Snape’s bed and talked about the future.

“We’ll have to be married soon,” Snape said, idly stroking Lily’s fingers.

“Yes, I’ll have to tell my parents and Petunia and start planning a wedding,” Lily said calmly.

Snape stiffened. “No. I mean, soon. There’s no time for friends and family. Lily, you’ll start showing. And everyone can count.”

“So what? I don’t care. Why do you?”

“I only care for your sake,” Snape muttered. It was a lie. He had an ominous feeling that they must be married soon or he would lose her.

“If I don’t care, you shouldn’t,” she said cheerfully. “I’d like a little bit of a wedding. A dress, at least. And flowers...”

Snape was no longer listening. His brain was ticking away, calculating days, months, and possibilities.

“...what?” She had said something to him, and he had missed it.

“I said, what do you think you’d like to wear?” she said irritably.

Snape couldn’t think of a question that mattered to him less. He tried to seem interested. “Er, dress robes, perhaps...”

“Yes,” she said happily. “That'd be perfect.”

Snape let her run on with her planning, a faint alarm sounding deep in his brain. Goyle came to the doorway.

“Erm,” he said, his eye falling on Lily.

More articulate than usual, Snape's inner voice snarled. “Yes?”

“Er, I need your help in potions, Severus.”

Usually, Snape would have taken that statement at face value, especially given the source. But not tonight. Goyle had used the secret phrase, the one Snape had arranged to be the signal between him and other Death Eaters if Voldemort wished to call a meeting.

“I see. Where do you want to meet and when?”

“You know that great place to get mandrake? By the Whomping Willow? Maybe at midnight?”

Snape sighed as if exceedingly bored, but his heart began racing. Must clear my mind. Keep calm. Keep it from Lily. “I see. And no other place will do?”

Goyle shook his head, keeping his eyes down. “That’s where it’s gotta be,” he muttered.

“Very well.” Snape said, keeping his hooked nose in the air. Goyle shuffled away. “They’re always after me for help,” he said to Lily. Thankfully, he noted her brief smile.

“You’re so good at potions, Sev. And so cool about everything!” Her voice dropped. “Is Goyle always that dim?”

Snape lowered his voice, too, trying to match her conspiratorial tone. “No. He’s usually worse.” And he laughed with her afterward, a little too hard. Now things were going to get tricky. “We’d best get to bed,” he said, standing.

Lily started to rise, too, then stopped, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.

“What’s wrong?” he said quickly.

“N-nothing. I just felt—odd for a moment.”

“Odd how?” he snapped.

“It’s nothing,” she said with more confidence. “Just a feeling. Anyway. I’ll keep working on the flowers. You’ll have to tell me what you like.”

“Right,” he said vaguely. “Yeah. Flowers.” He had heard that pregnant women sometimes felt sick to their stomachs. Maybe that was it.

He walked with Lily to the top of the dungeon stairs. “You’ll be all right?”

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Well...” he said awkwardly, and put a quick peck on her lips. Lily grinned at him and made her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Snape watched her go, then turned and slowly descended back to the dungeons. Just two more hours before he and the other Death Eaters must meet Voldemort. The faint alarm in his brain began buzzing more insistently. Snape re-entered his room, where his dorm mates shot him resentful looks from their four-posters. He gave them each the patented Snape stare, and they all looked away uneasily. Snape sank back on his own bed and began re-reading his potions book, adding notes in the margins here and there. Just two hours to go.