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Hermione sipped gingerly from her cup of tea, the honey and lemon a welcome balm after an exhausting day of finishing her N.E.W.T.s at the Ministry. She was currently cocooned in her favorite blanket in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, flanked by her two best friends and surrounded by the smiling faces of Order members who’d surprised her with an impromptu party. In spite of all the well wishes and general air of festivity, Hermione felt unaccountably nervous, her hand twitching over her blanket as though she might need to throw it off and run at any moment.
She could only assume that the obsidian eyes staring daggers at her from across the room were the source of her discomfort. To any casual observer, Severus Snape was enjoying his tea and having a quiet conversation with Minerva, but Hermione knew better. She could feel him watching her, but no matter how long he glared, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. She’d learned her lesson well enough the last time she tried to interact with him.
He’d still been in a coma only two months ago. She made a daily habit of visiting him, sometimes reading to him, often complaining about studying for her exams. One day it seemed to her that his eyelashes were moving, and she reached out to touch his hand encouragingly. To her utter astonishment, he opened his eyes and stared up at her.
She smiled at him, squeezing his hand in excitement. “Welcome back, Professor.”
The moniker seemed to flip a switch as he realized who she was. His face contorted in a sneer and he snatched his hand away from hers, a horrific bubbling sound issuing from his throat as he tried to curse her. It was easy to ignore the sting of his rejection in the urgency of the moment. She left the room to call frantically for the healers, but once she was assured that he was awake and getting the care he needed, she did not attempt to visit him again.
It was only later that she allowed herself to acknowledge what she’d seen in his eyes. He’d always looked at her with disdain, but this was different. His hatred for her was breathtaking, a fiery thing that singed through her nerves, leaving her emotions raw and defenseless.
Harry’s hand on her back pulled her from her morose thoughts. “So what are your plans now that you’ve aced your N.E.W.T.s?”
“You don’t know that I aced them. I might have failed miserably.”
“Of course you aced them. Every master in Britain is going to offer you an apprenticeship. Now that I’m thinking about it, I have trouble imagining you anywhere except school.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open in mock indignation as she swatted him on the shoulder. “I’ve got a life and interests outside of school, you know.”
“So does that mean you’re considering Kingsley’s offer to work in the DMLE with me?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps, but then maybe you’re right about studying. I do like academia, and–”
“Actually,” Ron cut her off, “Hermione’s going to be busy planning an important event this fall.”
He’d been so quiet throughout the evening that she’d almost forgotten he was there. She’d been so intent on ignoring Snape that she’d hardly noticed Ron. In retrospect, his silence alone should have been a warning of the disaster to come.
He shifted until he was kneeling before her, his clammy hands covering both of hers. The pleasant chattering around them had dropped off in hushed expectation. Her heart was pounding. She wasn’t in a relationship with Ron. They hadn’t even kissed since the Battle of Hogwarts. Surely he wouldn’t–
“Hermione, you’ve been very patient waiting for me, and now I have a very important question to ask you, one you’ve been waiting to hear since…well, frankly since the Yule Ball.”
That earned him a round of good-natured chuckling from the party.
“Ron,” she squeaked, finally getting control of her racing thoughts, “we need to discuss this in private.”
She tried to move, but Ron’s grip on her hands tightened, forcing her to stay seated. A slightly tipsy Minerva chuckled from across the room. “Don’t mind us, dear. We knew what would happen here today when we agreed to attend.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t a party to celebrate finishing her N.E.W.T.s. It was an engagement party. The guests thought she wanted this absurd farce of a proposal.
Hermione felt Harry stiffen next to her. “Ron, you didn’t tell me you were planning to propose. This is supposed to be a celebration of Hermione’s accomplishments.”
Ron grinned at his friend cheekily. “Don’t you think getting the bloke she’s wanted for years counts as an accomplishment?”
Harry’s voice dropped to a warning whisper. “Hermione is clearly distressed, and it’s little wonder considering that the two of you aren’t even dating. For Merlin’s sake, Ron, you were seen out with Lavender Brown just last week.”
“Keep your voice down,” Ron hissed, but the guests were already murmuring to each other in concerned whispers.
“It doesn’t really matter what you think, Harry, because I choose Hermione Granger to be my wife.”
Hermione yelped as he slipped a silver band onto her ring finger. She immediately cursed herself for being too shocked at the turn of events to notice him fishing it out of his pocket. It was a cruel device, a ring of silver thorns crafted by goblins and tainted by powerful dark magic.
As soon as the ring was on her finger, the silver band constricted, stabbing her finger with the exposed thorns and drawing the blood that would set the curse in motion. She didn’t recognize the ring, but if the answering pain that tore through the scar on her arm was any indication, she could guess the owner.
“Bellatrix.”
Ron smiled at her in a way that made her stomach sour. “Yeah. When we went to steal Helga Hufflepuff’s cup from her vault, I made off with a few valuable trinkets. I knew they’d seize the wealth of the Death Eaters after the war, and I wanted to make sure that I got a cut of it instead of all of it going to the Ministry gits.”
Harry was on his feet now. “Are you an idiot? Those objects are cursed.”
“He knew they were cursed, Harry,” she whispered.
Harry stared at Ron, silently begging him to contradict her conclusion, but he just shrugged. “She’s right. Leave it to her to figure it out. That’s why I want her to have my babies. Brightest witch of her age and all that. I had Bill look at the stuff I stole, and when he told me what this ring did, I knew exactly how I wanted to use it. Thanks to Bellatrix, I have my witch and my fortune,” his nose wrinkled in distaste as he stared at Hermione’s “mudblood” scar, “even if she did sully the goods.”
Ron turned back to the assembled guests. “Well? Where are the cheers? The congratulations? The toasts in our honor?”
They stared back at him in horrified silence. Hermione could see that Minerva and a few of her former teachers were conspiring together to help her, but they all knew better than to touch the cursed ring.
“Miss Granger,” his voice wasn’t quite as svelte as it was before Nagini’s bite, but Severus Snape could still command the attention of a room.
Hermione closed her eyes, resisting the urge to look at him. The rage in her belly was a writhing, dangerous thing, threatening to lash out at her former potions teacher, the ginger idiot who put her in this position, and anyone else who had the misfortune to cross her. She had no doubt that Snape was laughing at her now. He must take great satisfaction in knowing that the woman he’d ridiculed since childhood, the woman he despised so passionately, was being forced into marriage with a wizard who couldn’t keep up with her long enough to have a five minute conversation.
“Hermione,” his voice was more insistent this time, “look at me.”
She braced herself, unable to stop the tears from falling as she opened her eyes…and found concern, and compassion, and some underlying feeling that he was obviously uncomfortable with. There was no trace of the contempt that she was so accustomed to seeing when he looked at her. She sensed his panic as his gaze flitted back and forth between her and Ron.
Ron grimaced at this former professor. “Don’t talk to my fiance, Snape.”
“Hermione, I’m offering you an apprenticeship.”
Minerva gaped incredulously at her Deputy Headmaster. “As much as we appreciate your support of Miss Granger’s scholarly pursuits, Severus, now might not be the best time to–”
“A binding apprenticeship,” Severus clarified.
Ron was instantly on his feet, his wand trained on the older wizard. “You can’t take her. She’s mine.”
The scorn Hermione had expected was instead directed at Ron. “Hermione is her own person. The decision is hers.”
Hermione was completely overwhelmed. A binding apprenticeship was old magic, far more potent and lasting than any trinket Bellatrix could have created. It was used to ensure that knowledge would be passed down through families. If she accepted, she would be wed to Severus Snape, bound to be both his apprentice and his wife. As far as she knew, the last binding apprenticeship on record was formed over two centuries ago.
“Hermione,” Severus’ voice was gentler this time, “no matter what you choose, Bellatrix’s curse will require you to consummate the bond within twenty-four hours or it will kill you. I don’t mean to be insensitive or crude, but I think it’s important for you to understand the stakes and make an informed decision.”
That clinched it for Hermione. Severus Snape had protected her for years. He may dislike her, but he would at least respect her right to make her own decisions. A little voice in the back of her head pointed out that he was also brilliant and had a striking, if not traditionally handsome face, but Hermione pushed the thoughts aside for now, as she wasn't sure a potential attraction would be helpful or welcome.
Ron stepped between them, blocking her view of Severus. “She doesn’t even need to think about it, Snape. She’d never touch the greasy bat of–”
Hermione stepped out from behind Ron, smiling gently at Severus. “I accept your offer of a binding apprenticeship, Severus.”
His face softened from its usual austere mask just enough for her to see that he was pleased. She was so puzzled by his response that she didn’t notice that Ron had drawn his wand until its willow tip was pressed into her throat.
“You can’t have her, Snape. She’s mine whether she likes it or not.”
Sensing the threat Ron presented, the magic of the bond asserted itself, eliciting a whimper as the silver thorns withdrew from her finger and clattered to the floor. Ron jabbed his wand harder into Hermione’s throat
“Put it back on, Hermione. I mean it. I’d rather see you dead than bound to him.”
Hermione had grown tired of Ron’s posturing. She flicked the index and middle fingers of her right hand. The small gesture was enough to send Ron flying across the room. He crashed into a chaise longue that obligingly tipped over and dropped him on his arse with an undignified thud.
His wand flew out of his hand and skittered over the floor until it stopped at Minerva’s feet. Ron gave her a thankful look as she picked it up, assuming that his former Head of House meant to return it. She held eye contact with him as her hands flexed, snapping the willow wand in half.
“No wizard who tries to trap a witch deserves to carry a wand, Mister Weasley.”
The Order erupted in applause, and Severus made no attempt to hide his approving smirk. He shook his head as Harry hauled Ron up by his arm. “You really should know your own weaknesses before engaging with an enemy, Mister Weasley. My wife ,” he put special emphasis on the word, “outmatches you in every way, and while she can undoubtedly take care of herself, the next time you dare to threaten her, I will turn you into an unfortunate ginger stain on Potter’s ugly carpet.”
Hermione felt a very pleasant stirring at his unexpected praise and his threat against Ron. The color rose in her cheeks as she wondered exactly how long she’d been attracted to her former professor and not realized it. She was glad that Minerva approached them at that moment, distracting her from her wayward thoughts.
“Miss Granger, you’ve secured one of the most brilliant and surliest of men for a husband. I believe congratulations and condolences are appropriate in equal measure.”
Minerva ignored Severus’ scowl, pulling Hermione into a tight hug. “Are you alright, my dear?”
Hermione felt a surge of affection for her mentor. “This isn’t exactly what I planned, but I’m not disappointed. I can’t speak for my husband, though.”
Only Minerva heard his surprised gasp at the moniker. Her eyes narrowed on her Deputy. “If the way he’s looking at you is any indication, he plans to make you his next meal. Severus, at least wait until you’re at home before giving her bedroom eyes.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not have bedroom eyes.”
Hermione fell into her usual habit of speaking before thinking it through. “Well, they are dark and captivating. I think it could be reasonably argued that you always have bedroom eyes.”
Severus took a step toward her, crowding into her space and staring down at her with a decidedly predatory gaze.
Minerva barked a laugh. “I think the two of you had better leave before the guests end up seeing more than they bargained for. Hermione, the castle is your home for as long as Severus is in residence. Your apprenticeship may turn out to be an ideal arrangement, as we’ll need a new potions professor when I finally retire and convince Severus to become the Headmaster again.”
“You’ve always been shamelessly mercenary, Minerva,” the fondness in his voice belied the caustic remark.
Hermione yawned as the stress of the day finally caught up with her. “Perhaps we’d better retire. I still have a number of questions.”
Severus snorted. “Imagine that.”
“You can’t say you didn’t know that walking in,” she grinned cheekily.
Minerva patted Severus’ arm. “Go take care of your wife. I’ll make sure that everyone gives a statement when the rest of Potter’s aurors arrive. I will also be sure that Hermione’s belongings are brought from Grimmauld Place to your chambers tomorrow.”
He feigned a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. Shall we?”
He offered her his hand, the same hand she’d held in her own only a few short weeks ago. The same one he’d snatched away when he realized who she was. Hermione stared at it for a long moment, tendrils of fear clinging and curling around her mind, trying to obscure her better judgment.
“Hermione,” he whispered as though addressing a skittish animal, “please trust me.”
She held her breath as she placed her hand in his. There was no anger or rejection this time, just the warm feeling of his hand enveloping hers and the thrill of their bond dancing over her skin. Warm breath tickled her ear.
“Hold onto me, Hermione.”
His hand tightened around hers as he apparated them away to Hogwarts. Her stomach lurched as they appeared in his sitting room. Strong hands gripped her arms to help her keep her balance, slowly walking her back to sit in an armchair.
“Still not a fan of apparition, I see. Sit here while I get our tea. Then I’ll gladly answer your questions.”
She looked up at him surprise, her hand flying up to feel his forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve never in your life been ‘happy’ to answer my questions.”
He gave a startled laugh, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he pulled her hand away from his face. His voice dropped to a libidinous growl. “Perhaps that’s because I’ve never had something so pleasant to look forward to afterwards.”
He kissed the inside of her wrist before rising to find the kettle. Hermione was blushing to the roots of her hair, her brow furrowed in confusion. This man used to lecture her for writing too many inches on her essay, and now he was trying to seduce her, and doing a damn good job of it if she were being completely honest.
She turned in her chair, tucking her knees under her and propping her elbows on the back of the chair so that she could watch him. He seemed so casual, so relaxed, and the question was tripping off her tongue before she could consider how rude it might sound.
“Forgive my bluntness, but who the bloody hell are you?”
A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he put the kettle on. “After twenty years of hiding my feelings, sometimes I’m not exactly sure myself. What specifically are you thinking of when you ask the question?”
“It’s just that when you woke up in St. Mungo’s, you were the same angry man that you were when I was in your classroom, but now you’re laughing, and making jokes, and–”
“And?”
“Flirting!”
He laughed again, and this time his whole face lit up with mirth. “Does the flirting bother you?”
“No. I actually quite like it, but–”
“You’re not accustomed to it from me,” he prompted when she struggled to explain herself.
“Exactly.”
He puttered around his kitchenette for a few minutes, setting out two porcelain teacups as he gathered his thoughts. She couldn’t hide her smile when he squeezed a slice of lemon and stirred honey into her tea.
He handed her her cup before settling into the chair opposite her. He took a sip of his own tea. “I’m not exactly sure how to begin this conversation, so I think it prudent to begin with an apology.”
Hermione nearly sputtered into her tea. “An apology?”
“For how I behaved when I woke up in St. Mungo’s. For pulling my hand away when you tried to offer me comfort.”
“You were so angry,” she whispered at the pain of the memory. “You nearly injured yourself further in your effort to curse me.”
“I know. Frankly, I didn’t expect to survive the war, and when I woke up, I realized that not only had I lived, but I was somehow still saddled with one of the people I’d been forced to protect for years. I didn’t really see you, Hermione. I just saw confirmation that I wasn’t free.”
Hermione’s heart sank when she realized the implications. “I’m so sorry, Severus.”
He looked at her in confusion. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you want to be free, but here you are, having to protect me like you have for years. And now you’re saddled with a wife you didn’t–”
“Stop,” his voice was low, dangerous.
He set his tea aside, reaching over to take her hand in his. His free hand traced patterns over the tops of her knuckles. “After you left, I started to remember things…things that I didn’t know about you. I remembered that everyone always thought that you should be sorted into Ravenclaw, and that the only reason you weren’t is that you asked the Sorting Hat not to.
I remembered that you knew you could never be in a relationship with Ron Weasley the moment he abandoned you and Potter in the Forest of Dean. I know your amortentia smells like mint and freshly mown grass.”
Hermione scooted to the edge of her chair. Her knees brushed his as he continued to stroke her hand. “I talked to you frequently when you were comatose. Some of it must have stayed with you even though you weren’t conscious.”
“Frequently? The healers said you visited me every day.”
“I did.”
“Until I woke up. It’s kind of insulting, really.”
She knew he was teasing her, but she felt a flicker of indignation in spite of it. “I thought you hated me, and you certainly gave me no reason to believe otherwise.”
“I don’t hate you. In fact, the things that you told me made me curious. When I showed up to the party this evening, I found that everyone else had been invited with the understanding that Mister Weasley was going to propose and that you would welcome it. I was invited because Potter thought to include me, and I showed up with the intention of asking you to dinner.”
Hermione shook her head apologetically. “So you showed up for a date and came home with a wife.”
He huffed a laugh. “How did you put it to Minerva? It may not be what I expected, but I can’t say that I’m disappointed. We need time to get to know each other, but we’ll have ample time for that in the years to come.”
She watched how his scarred fingers stroked her hands soothingly, moving with special care over the marks where Bellatrix’s hateful ring had punctured her skin. “We have time to get to know each other, but very little time to complete the bond, unless you want to marry and bury your wife on the same day.”
Severus snickered. “Such gallows humor, wife. Tell me, are you just frightened of Bellatrix’s curse, or are you eager to get in my knickers?”
“Both, ob-vi-ousl-y,” she drawled in a shockingly accurate imitation of him.
He stood from his chair, keeping her hand in his as he led her down a short hallway. “You’ll pay for that cheek.”
“Promise?” she teased as he opened the heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
Soft light streamed into the room from a large window that looked out on the Black Lake, lending the room a soothing, if somewhat eerie air. The room was simply furnished with a wardrobe, a bed, and two bedside tables. The walls were unadorned with the exception of the occasion sconce.
Severus closed the door behind them, suddenly appearing nervous in spite of his earlier bravado. He gently tugged at the hem of her cardigan. “May I?”
She turned around to allow him to slip her cardigan off her shoulders. “You certainly don’t waste any time.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time, Hermione.”
He folded her cardigan, placing it inside the wardrobe. She’d worn the tattered wool cardigan as a sort of security blanket to comfort her during her N.E.W.T.s, and because the rooms in the bowels of the Ministry where students sat the written portion of the exams were notoriously cold. Now, as she stood in a thin camisole and Muggle denims, she wished she’d worn something nicer.
She shivered in anticipation as he dragged the tip of a calloused finger over the lace neckline of her camisole. “You seem nervous. I don’t mean to sound indelicate, but have you done this before, Hermione?”
“Yes. The summer before sixth year. It wasn’t Ron,” she rushed to clarify.
“I wouldn’t have asked such an impertinent question.”
“I know, but I still want you to know. We knew the war was fast approaching, and so many choices were being taken from us. I wanted to make a few on my own. It was with a Muggle neighbor, a childhood friend. It wasn’t especially good because we were both so inexperienced, but he was gentle, and I trusted him. Neither of us were interested or at liberty to be in a lasting relationship. He was planning to apply for the Royal Air Force, and he thought I was a boarding school girl enjoying her summer holiday before going to college.”
Silence settled in the room, and Hermione thought she’d said something that disturbed him until she looked up to find him staring at her anxiously. Her eyes widened in shock when she realized the truth. “Severus, have you ever–”
“No,” his tone was far more bitter than he intended.
She took his hand in hers again. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just surprised.”
“I had opportunities as a teenager, but I was so obsessed with Lily that I didn’t pursue them. After–” he stopped himself, his face lined with distress.
Hermione didn’t push him, giving him the time he needed. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“After Lily died, I blamed myself entirely for what happened. I told myself that I didn’t deserve affection of any kind. My clothing largely protected me from accidental contact, and I punished myself by avoiding any sort of intimacy.”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Since my release from St. Mungo’s, I’ve received a number of unsolicited offers.”
Hermione nodded empathetically. “Fan mail?”
Severus shuddered in revulsion at the thought. “Yes, and they write the most untoward things because they think a former Death Eater must have all sorts of dark desires. I started burning them after I made the mistake of reading a few. Now the owls are in league with me. Whenever they’re delivering a fan letter, they know to drop it directly in my fireplace and they’ll get two treats instead of one.”
Hermione laughed. “That’s brilliant! I’ll have to try that strategy rather than trying to find a polite way to tell people to bugger off.”
Severus looked down at their joined hands. “Ever since you held my hand, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how much I want you to touch me, how much I need to touch you.”
She snapped her fingers, making her camisole, denims, and knickers disappear in a flex of wandless magic. She fought the urge to cover the long purple scar that trailed diagonally from shoulder to hip and the slur that marred her arm, meeting his gaze and waiting for his reaction.
His hands came up to cradle her face, tipping her chin up as he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. One hand trailed down the side of her throat, the other lifting to follow her example and vanish his clothing. Her hand shot out to grip him around the wrist.
“No!”
His expression immediately became a mask as he hid his emotions behind his occlumency shields. “I take it you do not wish to see–”
“I want to do it myself.”
“What?”
She released his wrist, reaching up to finger the clasp of his cloak. “I want to take your clothes off. Please?”
The coldness fell away, the mask dropping in the face of her confession. He raised an imperious eyebrow. “Well? Go on, then.”
She released the clasp, allowing his cloak to fall to the ground. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she touched one of his buttons. Lines of pale white rippled the surface of the black buttons.
“They’re black agate!”
“Yes. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I assumed they were onyx or jet. Why agate?”
“They’re useful for protection, particularly when one is being tortured with the cruciatus curse. They must have uses in divination as well. Every time there’s a staff party, Sybill Trelawney gets tipsy and tries to steal my buttons.”
Hermione shook her head incredulously. “She’s not trying to steal your buttons, Severus. She’s trying to get you naked.”
Severus’ expression shifted from amusement to one of horror as he realized she was right. She kissed the tip of his nose. “Don’t worry. I’ll play my jealous wife card and hex her if she tries it again.”
“Thank Merlin. My wife in shining armor.”
Severus’ hands roamed as Hermione slowly unbuttoned his frock coat. Long fingers stroked the length of her spine and dipped down to squeeze the firm globes of her arse. She had just pulled off his frock coat and untucked his white linen shirt from his trousers when his eager hands found her breasts.
Her hands stalled at his belt as he pinched her nipples, slowly tugging on them before suddenly releasing them. He repeated the ruthless plucking until the pebbled peaks ached. She whimpered, leaning into his touch and silently begging for more.
“You’re very distracting, you know.”
She could feel him smirking against the crown of her head, but his voice was strained. “Then work faster, Hermione.”
She pulled his shirt over his head, her fingers immediately finding a home in the thicket of his chest hair before traveling over his shoulders, his arms, the scar-riddled plains of his chest and stomach. He closed his eyes, his head tipped back in pleasure as she pressed open-mouthed kisses to his chest. A loud moan tore from his throat when her tongue darted out to flick over his nipples.
He buried his hands in her hair, pulling her away from his chest and crushing his mouth to hers. She instantly obliged him, parting her lips to allow him to slip his tongue into her mouth. Her deft fingers found his buckle, unfastening his belt and sliding his zip down. She froze when she felt the coarse tickle of hair against her fingers.
“Severus?”
“Yes?”
“When you asked me earlier if I was eager to get into your knickers, you failed to mention that you weren’t wearing any knickers.”
Severus was already toeing off his shoes to help speed up the process. “I was in a hurry when I left here. Potter only invited me to your party a few hours before it started. Who has time for pants when I had a witch to win?”
She tugged the trousers over his hips and dropped them to the floor, allowing his erect cock to spring free. He took the hint when she pushed on his chest, crawling up the bed until he was resting back against the mountain of pillows at the top, the only extravagance in his room. He propped his arms behind his head, his cocksure grin from earlier back.
Hermione slowly crawled up the bed, coming to rest between his legs. He shivered as she ran her hands up his thighs, his hands slamming down to clutch the sheets when she buried her nose in the coarse black hair at the base of his shaft. She froze as she inhaled deeply, the musky, male scent somehow familiar.
His fingers tangled in her hair again, pulling her head up to look at him. “Did you just figure out the source of your amortentia, Madam Snape?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. The insufferable man was correct, of course. The mint and grass made perfect sense given that he was a potions master, but there was always an underlying note of her amortentia that she could never identify. She snickered to herself at the idea of making Ron aware of the information. He’d on more than one occasion called her prudish and frigid. She could just imagine his face if she told him Severus Snape’s cock was her amortentia.
Severus was chuckling at the look on her face, but this quickly gave way to a heady groan when she took his bulbous glans in her mouth. Her tongue flicked the puckered skin of his frenulum, alternating with swirling over the head. The salty taste of his precum made her feral, licking and sucking until the gentle pressure of his hand at the back of her neck encouraged her to take him.
The veins of his cock dragged pleasantly over her tongue as he slipped into her mouth. She moaned around him when he hit the back of her throat. Her lips stretched around his invading shaft, and though she was the more experienced of the two, she could tell that he was going to stretch her.
His other hand fisted in her hair, but he didn’t try to push himself down her throat. She tried to bob her head, but he held her still, thrusting shallowly into her mouth.
“That’s it, my little apprentice. Do you know what potions masters usually make their apprentices do?”
She glared up at him challengingly, but the lewd sound of his cock plunging into her open mouth was her only answer.
“They make their apprentices scrub cauldrons and chop ingredients and grade papers for hours and hours.”
He grunted in pleasure as his cock battered the back of her throat. “And you’ll do all of those things too, Hermione, but you get to do them stuffed full of my cock!”
He yanked her off of him with a growl, slipping his hands under her arms and flipping her onto her back. She pulled him down to her, and his mouth found hers. He paid no mind to the taste of his precum on her tongue, plundering her mouth as she helped him line up.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed forward. It had been over two years since she’d last taken anyone to her bed, and Severus was much larger, stretching her uncomfortably. He seemed to sense her discomfort, trying his best to give her a moment to adjust when everything in him demanded that he thrust into her with abandon.
She clenched around him encouragingly, eliciting a startled groan from him. “I’m not going to last, Hermione.”
“You don’t have to, Severus. Just move.”
His hips rocked forward until he bottomed out, a sensation that seemed to send him into a frenzy. She gripped his biceps, helpless to stop her terse little whimpers as he pistoned into her. He lowered himself to rest on his forearm so that he could feel her little pebbled nipples dragging across his chest.
“You’re my little furnace, aren’t you? Burning me with your needy little whines. Scorching me with your tight heat. Ahhhhhhh!!!”
He gave a bellowing cry as he came, hips undulating as he spilled inside of her. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him close as he collapsed on top of her. When his breathing returned to normal, he pressed a kiss to her forehead apologetically, embarrassed by the fact that she hadn’t come.
She was about to reassure him when she felt his questing fingers slipping between them. He fumbled for a moment until she reached down, guiding his fingers higher until they were pressed to her clit. She placed her fingers over his, showing him how she liked to be touched.
As in most endeavors, Severus Snape proved to be brilliant. He took her instruction readily, imitating the firm circles that she preferred, but he soon unearthed ways of wringing pleasure from her that she’d not discovered with her own fingers. He teased the sides of her clit, pinching and plumping the little bud until Hermione was writhing beneath him.
“Please, Severus…Master! I need–”
He growled at her unintentional slip, returning the pad of his middle finger to her clit and giving her the pressure she needed. She ground down onto his hand, hips rutting wildly until she shattered over his fingers, squeezing the cock that was still buried inside her to the hilt. He sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth, nibbling and sucking as she rode out her orgasm, smearing his fingers with her release.
When her sated body finally slumped back against the mattress, he scooped her up, pulling back the blankets and tucking them in. He held her firmly against him as she recovered, panting shallowly against his chest.
Warmth bloomed within her, and she glanced down to find the wounds from Bellatrix’s ring closing, the skin slowly knitting itself back together. “Did you feel that?” she whispered.
He took her hand, gently kissing the newly healed skin. “Our binding is complete and has nullified Bellatrix’s curse. You longer need to worry about Mister Weasley or any other dunderhead, for that matter. No interloper can come between us now.”
She snuggled closer to him, slinging a thigh over his hip. Severus blinked drowsily, covering the hand that Hermione held to his chest with his own. He was just about to fall asleep when he felt her thoughts pressing against his for attention.”
“Yes, Hermione?”
“I’m your little furnace, am I?”
She yelped when he pinched her arsecheek. “You’re my furnace, my minx, my little apprentice. You inspire any number of pet names, wife.”
She pouted, staring up at him defiantly. “Then it seems only fair that I get to choose one for you.”
“No,” he said with a note of finality. Hermione was just about to argue when his arm tightened around her waist. “You already found mine, and I will accept no other. I am your Master .”
“I’m not going to call you that in front of other people!”
“You can call me ‘husband’ in front of other people, particularly people with the last name Weasley .”
“No schnookums or sweetie pie?”
Her entire arse cheek turned red as he slapped it. “Who am I, Hermione?”
She bit her lip to stifle the laughter that desperately wanted to break free. “Sugar?”
“Hermione,” he warned, “don’t make me discipline you on your first night as my apprentice.”
“Darling?” she teased.
Severus merely shook his head, flipping her over onto her back as he resigned himself to the fact that neither he nor his apprentice would be getting any sleep that night.