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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 18697 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author's Note: Apologies to all for the delay in the posting of this chapter. But both I and my editor have struggled through the joys and tribulations of transferring our work to new computers-hers due to a total system crash and mine to continuing and mounting problems with the hard drive. I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long.

And, as people seem to keep assuming that I've finished this story when I haven't, let me just add that there will be a definite "The End" appearing at the bottom when it is, indeed, over.

Chapter 9: I Come Within an Hour of My Promise

One could tell at a glance that the woman sitting in the large leather chair was waiting for someone. Her hands were curled tightly around the arms of the chair; even a faint movement of the digits could be detected, and only a great deal of willpower was preventing them from tapping impatiently upon the upholstery or entwining nervously with their counterparts. An attitude of excitement (or possibly apprehension) could likewise be detected in her posture: she sat slightly forward on the chair, poised to arise from it at any moment. One might also have been inclined to believe that her head was tilted slightly to the side as if she were straining to hear a noise that might signal the arrival of someone to her door. The extent of her nervousness was also discernible in the way that she occasionally chewed upon her lower lip, an action that was inevitably followed by a small sigh and a grimace of exasperation, as she reprimanded herself for indulging in that habit. If one had been merely listening and not observing her, the state of her mounting anxiety could have been gauged by the increasingly short interval between the above-mentioned sighs.

Finally, she clucked her tongue and sprang out of the chair, the heels of her shoes seeming to click loudly upon the floor as she began to pace around it. She walked over to the door of the flat, undoing a multitude of locks and a thick safety chain before she was able to fling it open. She stared out into the hallway for a moment, pausing and tilting her head forward as if she was expecting to hear the sound of footsteps approaching, before sighing again and pushing the door closed. After resetting all of the locks, she turned to glance into the large mirror that was hanging on the wall next to the door. Her grunt of displeasure and the raising of a finger to her lower lip signaled that the damage wrought upon her lipstick by her nervousness was quite evident.

She turned and headed up the stairs to the area of the bedroom. She paused beside the bed to bend down and plump the pillows for the dozenth time, and then straightened up and glanced over at the clock that stood upon the bureau. A frown creased her forehead, and she stood with her arms crossed for a moment, looking over at the door and beginning to look quite perturbed. She drew her teeth against her bottom lip once more, and it took several seconds this time before she became aware of the motion. With a stamp of her foot, she pivoted and directed her steps towards the bathroom.

It still took a second or two for her fingertips to find the switch and flip it upwards, and she would have to admit that she still was rather afraid that a life-threatening jolt of electricity, or at least a painful spark, would fly out at her every time she touched the unfamiliar device. But her trepidation was quickly forgotten, and by the time she had retrieved a tissue and was blotting off her lipstick, her full attention was given to her own reflection. She slowly and carefully reapplied a fresh coat of lipstick, and then studied herself for several seconds afterward, as it debating whether or not she needed to redo the rest of her makeup. She went as far as to remove her mascara wand from its holder, but drew back from the mirror and returned it to its sheath without using it, deciding that any additional coating would only cause her lashes to look unnaturally dark and clumped. Although there was still a slight puffiness to her features, and her foundation was applied just a bit thickly in order to hide the last remnants of the bruising, she honestly had to say that she was looking remarkably well and attractive tonight. She picked up her brush and turned her attention to her hair, and a small, satisfied grin slowly appeared upon her face.

She had used two small barrettes to draw back some of the hair from the sides of face, and had teased out some wispy tendrils that served to accentuate the height of her cheekbones, but the bulk of her hair was tumbling unimpeded around her shoulders and down her back in an ebony cascade. She had to admit that she was much happier with that aspect of her appearance now that several days had passed. Although she had always been careful about her grooming, she had to confess that the constant application of harsh bleach had resulted in a rather brittle and dry appearance to her hair which no amount of conditioner had been able to completely counteract. There was a natural glossiness to her tresses now, a shimmer and shine that was quite appealing. She was unexpectedly surprised that the added length had not resulted in a bush-like mop of frizz. On the contrary, the increased weight due to the longer length was having the quite pleasant effect of taming her curls into waves. It was out of nervousness rather than necessity, then, that she raised the brush to her head and began to draw it through her thick hair. After several minutes, even she had to admit that there was no point in prolonging the exercise, so she dropped the brush down on the vanity and headed back to the living room.

Casting another unhappy glance at the sealed door, she headed into the kitchen area this time. She opened the oven and frowned at the roast. She had really thought she had the timing just right, that the flat would be filled with the delicious odor of the meat and potatoes being cooked to perfection when he walked in the door, allowing just enough time for an aperitif before they sat down to dinner. After all, she would never have expected Snape to be the type that would be late for anything. When he had stated that he would be back at eight o'clock on Friday night, she had expected that, if anything, he would be slightly early. Closing the oven door, she bent down to squint at the small clock that sat on top of counter. Twenty-five minutes past eight now.

She tapped her fingers nervously against her hip for a moment, and then reached out with her hand and turned the oven temperature down just a bit. It wasn't ruined yet, but it certainly would be if he didn't show up soon. She shook her head and walked over to the table and perused the place settings with a critical but satisfied eye.

She had to admit that she was quite proud of her achievement. Although Snape had provided a leather couch to match the two chairs, two bureaus for the bedroom, and a number of end tables, lamps and rugs, he hadn't thought to procure a table that could be used for dining. He had provided her with dishes, silverware and napkins, of course, and some "everyday" glasses to go along with the fine crystal he had transported from her old apartment. No doubt, he had assumed that most of the time the counter would serve as the eating area, as he had purchased two tall stools to fit under the overhanging ledge. However, when she had ventured forth yesterday to go the grocers and buy the food, she had passed a second-hand furniture shop and had not been able to resist the temptation to stop and browse for an hour or so. She had immediately seen the small drop-leaf table that was pushed to the side, and something about its worn and gashed surface had appealed to her. Plus, she had assured herself, it was eminently practical: with the sides down it could be pushed against the wall and take up a minimal amount of room. Conversely, when the sides were raised, two people could sit at it quite comfortably. She had forced herself to keep looking over the whole shop before she finally sauntered back to it and seriously considered buying it. She had even successfully bartered with the salesman, negotiating a lower price for the table and then, at the last minute, getting him to agree to include two chairs and to provide delivery of the items to her flat if she would pay the original asking price.

She had also managed to find a tablecloth that would match the napkins that Snape had already provided for her, and she found herself smiling as her fingertips smoothed out a tiny wrinkle from the rich, soft fabric. Then she turned her attention to the candles and her smile disappeared, as she wondered whether or not she should have waited for him to appear before lighting them. After debating with herself for several seconds, she finally leaned over and blew the candles out. It would hardly do to sit down to dinner with the candles melted down to misshapen stubs.

For a moment she wondered what was taking him so long to arrive, and found her anger at his tardiness was warring with a small but ever-growing anxiety that perhaps something was terribly wrong, and that there was a sinister reason for the delay. Trying to divert her mind from this unsettling line of thought, she looked about the room as if to assure herself that everything was neat and orderly, and pleasing to the eye. She allowed herself another small smile as she looked down and inspected the dark blue fabric of her velvet dress. Since Snape had bought the garment for her, along with a dozen other outfits, she had no doubt that he would be pleased with her appearance, at least.

Now that had been an experience: walking into a Muggle clothing shop with Snape. He had requested a chair and sat upon it with his arms crossed and a most superior look plastered upon his face as the saleslady displayed various dresses and outfits for them to choose from. Although she had murmured her own approval at quite a few of the offerings, only when he had nodded his head had they been transferred to the "try on" rack. And he had insisted upon seeing her dressed in each and every piece of clothing before deciding whether it went into the "purchase" pile. (Well, not quite all, she conceded-she had not been called upon to parade outside the dressing room in her underwear, fortunately. Which was just as well, as Snape's presence in the store was drawing more than a few stares and comments in and of itself.) If the saleslady had entertained any doubts about the procedure, they were erased by the large pile of Muggle money that he produced out of his pocket to pay for the wardrobe. And, she fairly simpered when he requested that something called a "line of credit" be created for the young lady should she find herself in need of additional purchases before he returned.

The same process had been repeated at the shoe store, though at least here she had been able to insist that one of the pairs of dress shoes, though undeniably attractive, were also excruciatingly painful to wear. Although he had insisted, under his breath, that he was perfectly capable of adjusting them to the proper width once they were back in the flat, she had stood her ground and refused to allow him to buy them for her.

Then it was on to the housewares section of a large department store. By now Celia, quite mindful of how much money he had already spent on her, even if she had not quite grasped the current rate of exchange between wizarding and muggle currency, had tried to insist upon the moderately-priced cookware. But Snape had snorted disdainfully and insisted that the superior quality of the top-of-the-line set of pots and pans was well worth the additional cost. And he had even smiled with approval when she managed to give the salesman the proper address and delivery instructions.

She sighed in exasperation and turned back to the kitchen to have another look at the roast. She could only hope that Snape's preference for meat ran to the side of "well-done", for it was cooked quite thoroughly by now. Shaking her head, she turned the temperature down again as she checked the time. Eight thirty-five now.

Resisting the urge to kick the door of the oven in disgust, she walked back to the middle of the room and sat down. This time, she leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs, folding her arms and staring down at the floor. After a moment, she reached out and retrieved a book from the end table. Opening up the thick volume, she laid it across her lap and tried to concentrate on reading. But, after several minutes, she gave up the pretense and slammed the book shut again, and tossed it to the side.

Shrugging her shoulders, she went to examine the books that had been arranged upon the shelves. Among the other volumes of the Shakespeare collection was an assortment of poetry, fiction and non-fiction. And a slim volume entitled, "Muggle Like Me: A Wizard Recounts his Adventures." The author, a one Darius Pumpkineater, had been challenged by one of his friends to try and "pass" as a Muggle for a period of six months, a substantial wager riding on the successfulness of his attempt. He had subsequently published his memoirs of the experience, and Snape had insisted that she read it in order to acclimate herself to her new environment. She had found it very interesting, but had serious doubts as to its usefulness, considering the fact that it had been written about fifty years previously. Apparently the Muggle world had changed significantly since then.

But it was an absorbing read, and she was so engrossed in the book that she was oblivious to his arrival until the locks clicked open simultaneously and the door banged open.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, rising to her feet. "I was wondering where you were."

He was standing with his back towards her, manually locking and bolting the door, and his only response to her greeting was a loud and prolonged snort through his nose. When he finished his task and turned to stride across the room, she could see that his expression was agitated and that there was a slight flush across his usually pallid cheeks.

"Really? I suppose you expect me to appear precisely on schedule like the damned Hogwarts Express," he roared. "Or am I supposed to produce a note from Headmaster Dumbledore excusing my tardiness?" He threw a package onto the couch and then flung himself down beside it, burying his head in his hands.

"Of course not," she whispered, as she blinked back the tears. Damn the man, she wondered, how did he always manage to do this? One moment she was looking forward to seeing him and the next she was wishing wholeheartedly that he was on the opposite end of the universe. She placed the book on top of the larger tome and tried to think of a non controversial avenue in which to direct the conversation.

"What the devil is burning?" He jumped to his feet and looked about the room with a great deal of suspicion.

"The roast!" she shouted, turning on her heel and rushing back to the kitchen. It really wasn't burning, of course, but it was definitely past the point of being well done, and there was just the tiniest bit of smoke filling the air. If she hadn't been so caught up in her reading, she would surely have noticed it herself. She hurriedly located the protective mitts and removed the pan from the oven, setting it on the stove, noting that the time was now five minutes to nine o'clock.

As she bent down to turn the oven off completely, she heard the sound of the window being unfastened and pushed open behind her.

"I think part of it is salvageable," she said, glancing back over at him.

'What is this?" he asked, pointing at it with his finger.

"It's our dinner," she replied, looking back down at the pan. For some reason, the meat now seemed to be irreparably burned and the potatoes had taken on the distinct appearance of being blackened stones.

Snape bent over it and screwed up his face in disgust as his long nose sniffed contemptuously.

"Were you planning on poisoning me, Madam?" he complained, rising up to his full height and staring at her in disbelief.

Her eyes fell upon the large and hefty wooden pepper grinder that stood on the counter next to the stove. For a moment, her fingers twitched as she fought the impulse to pick it up and bash him over the head with it.

"No, I was planning on serving you a lovely dinner," she retorted, using the oven mitts to pick up the pan again, this time turning and throwing the whole thing into the sink. "And it would have been wonderful," she insisted, as she pulled the faucet up, allowing a heavy stream of cold water to pour down upon the ruined entree. "If you had been on time," she complained, staring at the steam that was arising from the hissing pan.

A moment later his own hand was angrily slamming the tap off again. She took a step backward, sensing that a new, even more violent explosion was imminent.

"In the first place," he hissed, raising up the long and bony index finger of his right hand, "I assure you that I am not in the habit of justifying my behavior to anyone, least of all to an ill-tempered woman who is speaking and behaving like a disgruntled fishwife!"

She felt a sudden flush upon her cheeks, but managed to keep her chin raised up defiantly in the air.

"And in the second place," he said, stepping forward in a ominous manner, "I do not recall that I said a word about expecting you to prepare a meal for me tonight. In Merlin's name, woman, you are my concubine, not my chef. I am hardly supporting you because I am interested in your culinary skills. My expectations are that you please me in the bedroom, not in the kitchen."

In an instant, her cheeks were deathly pale. "I see," she murmured quietly, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Forgive me, sir," she said, sarcastically, "I should have known better." She thrust her arms behind her and unzipped the back of her dress. Within seconds, she had struggled out of the garment and thrown it at his feet, followed shortly afterward by her bra. "The next time you charge through the door, I'll try to make sure I'm lying naked on the floor with my knees spread. Since that is all that you expect of me."

"That is not what I said, nor meant to imply," he admonished, raising his leg to impatiently kick off the pile of clothing she had dumped on his shoes.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," she said, perching her hands angrily upon her hips. "But I do want to make sure I am fulfilling my part of this little bargain we have made. Of course, it might help if you were a little more specific about your expectations, so I knew just exactly how you wished to be accommodated. That way, I would know whether I should brush my teeth, oil my pussy or give myself an enema prior to your arrival."

"Your vulgarity is neither called for or appealing," he whispered, his lips thin and tense. "But, since you have asked-" He tilted his head to the side and his mouth suddenly twisted into a sneer. "I should think that it is about time that you ceased this senseless tirade and put that agile tongue of yours to better use." With an imperious wave of his hand, he motioned for her to kneel down upon the floor.

"Yes, sir," she said, immediately sinking down upon her knees. Her fingers were halfway to his fly before they abruptly stopped and clenched in mid-air. "May I undo your fly and perform fellatio upon you, sir?"

"Yes," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and staring upward at the ceiling, "You may."

She bent nearer to him and began to open his fly, pulling so hard that one of the buttons snapped off and clattered noisily as it skittered over the floor. Even before it had stopped spinning against the tile, she had jerked both his trousers and his boxers down to his knees and had raised her hands to his penis. Apparently he was seething with lust as well as anger, for it was already quite hard and swollen.

She ran her thumb firmly over the end, milking out some pearly drops before suddenly leaning forward and taking it into her mouth. Circling her tongue around his erection, she started to slowly take it deep into her throat, her hand dropping down to squeeze his testicles as he thrust into her. She sucked hungrily for few moments, and then released him, allowing the entire shaft to slide out of her mouth. She dipped her head and worked her lips around his balls, licking and sucking at them with a vengeance while moving her left hand up to massage his saliva-lubricated member. She smiled as she heard him murmur a half-swallowed groan of pleasure, knowing that he was trying to deny his enjoyment of her expertise. She glanced up at him and saw that he was still glaring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed, refusing to look down at her. She returned her attention to his genitals, increasing the intensity and rhythm of her movements. At least this time, she noted, he was not demanding that she keep eye contact with him.

She released her hold on his scrotum and raised her head to take his prick back into her mouth, this time massaging his buttocks with her right hand as her left continued to cradle his balls. This drew another moan from him, and after a few seconds she felt his fingers begin to work into her hair, pausing when he came to the barrettes. She heard a click as he undid them, and then a tinny noise as they fell onto the floor. His hands began to grab and massage at the mass of dark curls, roughly pulling her head closer to him. She allowed her fingernails to scrape lightly against his skin as she felt him begin to rock back and forth, his breath becoming ragged and deep. But suddenly, without warning, she felt him push her away. She barely caught herself from falling as she looked up at him, surprised and puzzled.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" he snapped, raising his arm and stabbing his finger at something behind her.

Although she had a sinking feeling that she knew what he was referring to, she did not respond until she had gotten back to her feet and looked over in the direction to which his finger was still pointing.

"It's a table," she replied, quietly. For a few seconds, she thought about trying to argue what a great bargain it had been, and that it would take up no room at all and would be quite useful. But, in the end, she contented herself with swallowing down the lump in her throat and whispering, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bought it." She took in a deep breath, and tried to make her voice sound casual. "I'll take it back, sir."

But suddenly, there was a wide, fierce smile upon his face. Though for some reason she wasn't at all sure that it was any less frightening than the angry frown it had just replaced.

He barked a short, sudden laugh and shook his head. "No," he drawled, as his eyes narrowed dangerously, "On second thought, it is absolutely perfect."

He walked swiftly over to it and snorted again in a most unpleasant manner. And then he reached out and tugged impatiently at the tablecloth, and with a jerk of his hand the candlesticks, china, silverware and glasses were sent crashing to the floor. She cried out in shock and surprise, and found herself running towards him.

"What did you do that for?" she asked, remembering at the last moment to keep the anger in her voice from being too apparent.

"I believe I have a better use in mind for this particular piece of furniture," he replied, balling up the tablecloth in his hands before flinging it contemptuously to the floor. The next thing she knew, she was being crushed in his arms as his warm, hungry mouth closed over hers. After a short, shocked moment, she raised her own arms up to embrace him as she felt his hands pressing against her, his fingers seeking out and stroking the flesh of her hips and breasts. A moment later, he was pushing her down on top of the table, his hands pulling her knickers off and tossing them to the ground as well. As she struggled awkwardly to lie down upon the table, she felt his hands between her thighs, spreading her legs apart.

She gasped in surprise as she felt him thrust in, belatedly realizing that it was merely his fingers being inserted into her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to relax when she felt him abruptly remove his hand.

"I assume you have drunk the Contraceptive Potion, per my instructions?" he hissed.

She kept her eyes closed and nodded, thankful that she had prepared herself in that way, at least. And then his fingers were inside of her again, probing and wetting her impatiently. But at least she was somewhat lubricated by the action, so that when, a few moments later his fingers were withdrawn and she felt the tip of his shaft pressing against her, she was able to take him in without too much discomfort.

As he penetrated her, she took in a deep breath and raised her legs up to wrap around his waist. She heard him groan softly and felt the vibration as his hands slammed down upon the table on either side of her head. He leaned over her and began to furiously stroke in and out. It was a frenzied, violent coupling, and the table beneath her started to creak and shudder in rhythm with his thrusts. She lifted her hands to cling his shoulders and began to wonder if the fragile, ancient furniture might not just fall to pieces or collapse to the ground before he was finished. But to her surprise, he had made only a few thrusts before he suddenly grimaced and moaned. Taking in a deep breath, his hips began to move again, but less than a dozen strokes later he abruptly shuddered and stiffened, the ancient table holding firm as he slammed against her. For a brief moment, he lay across her, weary and spent. She slowly lifted her hands up to his hair, beginning to push back the dark tresses from his forehead, but felt his muscles tense angrily in response to her attempt to comfort him. Pushing himself off of the table, he turned away from her and began tugging his garments back into place.

She struggled awkwardly for a moment before managing to raise herself up into a seated position. She looked down in horror at the pile of broken glass scattered about the floor, and then turned her head to see what he was doing.

He was already at the cabinet, removing the Cognac and pouring himself a drink. He stared down into the snifter for a moment as he hand impatiently swirled and warmed the liquid. He suddenly raised the glass and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back and draining the liquid in one motion, before slamming it back down to the counter.

"I am going to take a shower," he said, striding past her without a glance. "I expect you to join me when you are finished."

"Finished?" she repeated.

He paused at the top of the small staircase and gestured truculently behind him. "When you are finished cleaning up that mess that you have made," he replied, contemptuously.

She felt her jaw tightening in anger, but he had already disappeared into the bathroom, and the next moment she could already hear the sound of the running water. She slowly eased herself over the side of the table, doing her best to avoid stepping on the fragments of shattered glass that were scattered everywhere.

She stared down at the debris that was scattered across the floor, and shook her head helplessly, even as her hands were clenching into angry fists. With a cry of exasperation, she suddenly turned and began walking towards the door. She repeated the laborious process of undoing each of the locks and then reached down to wrench the door knob to the side. It took her several seconds to realize that the door knob was turning but, despite how hard she pulled back upon it, the door was simply refusing to budge. She slammed her fist against the frame, realizing that he had not been content to seal it by mere physical means, he had warded it with magic as well. As she turned away, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and couldn't help but burst out laughing. She had been quite prepared to storm out of the flat taking nothing with her, but she hadn't remembered that she was naked as well. That would have been an interesting way to introduce herself to the neighbors.

With a sigh, she walked back to the other side of the room, picked up her underwear and leaned against the counter as she pulled it on again. She glanced at the kitchen, where her dress and bra were still lying on the floor, but decided against getting fully dressed again. Instead, she knelt down carefully upon the floor and began to stack the larger pieces of broken china into a pile. As she did so, she found her throat tightening and hot tears beginning to sting her eyes.

She had really begun to miss him during the past few days. She had actually been looking forward to seeing him, to speaking with him, to being pleasured by him. And now, she felt stupid and betrayed and used. All of her hopes and dreams for a perfect, gracious evening had been unceremoniously shattered.

By now, the tears had begun to spill out onto her cheeks, and she impatiently wiped them away. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and prepared to balance herself on her left hand while retrieving another large piece of broken dishware with her right. With a cry of surprise, she jerked backward and inspected the palm of her left hand, where a long, thin shard of glass was now embedded. She gingerly removed the splinter with her other hand, gasping in pain as she did so and noting, miserably, that she was now bleeding profusely from the wound. She gazed around in despair, and then saw that one of the unused napkins was lying nearby. After flicking it quickly to make sure there were no other fragments of glass on it, she wrapped it tightly around her hand.

A large red spot soon appeared upon the white fabric, and she looked around in desperation, wondering what she could use to stop the bleeding. There might be something in the bathroom, she supposed, but she would prefer he did not know about her latest injury unless it was absolutely necessary. She searched for and found the other napkin and wrapped it around her hand as well.

The next thing she knew, she was crouched over, her hands held against her stomach and she began to weep convulsively, no longer able to keep her despair from bubbling over. She was feeling absolutely heartbroken now, and even the knowledge that if he emerged from the bathroom he would be even more contemptuous of her than ever could not keep the tears from flowing out of her eyes. She reached out for the wadded-up tablecloth and held it up to her face, using it to muffle her cries as well as to dry her tears and wipe her nose.

She was still sobbing quietly when her ears caught the soft creak of the wooden flooring behind her. Keeping her face set determinedly away from him, she took in a deep breath and hugged the tablecloth against her bare chest.

"I haven't finished yet, I'll be up in a few minutes," she whispered.

In response, she heard him murmur a spell and immediately most of the rubbish disappeared, leaving only the silverware and the candlesticks behind. Part of her wanted to inquire, sarcastically, why he hadn't just done that to begin with, but she remained silent because the other part of her just wanted him to go back to the bedroom and allow her time to collect herself again.

He knelt down beside her and she shivered, involuntarily, as he reached out and touched her gently upon her shoulders. The next thing she knew, he was pulling the tablecloth aside and she felt his own reflexive twitch of surprise when he saw the bloody cloth wrapped around her hand.

"What did you do now?" he asked, quietly, as he reached down and began to unravel the napkin.

"Oh, you know me," she mumbled, as her breath caught in her throat and she struggled not to hiccup. "Just a hopeless Hufflepuff."

He snorted softly through his nose as he bent down to inspect her injury. "Indeed." He paused and sighed. "But, on the other hand," he continued, his voice measured and serious, "I suppose it could be far worse."

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was going to scold her about something else.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and added, contemplatively, ""At least you are not a grubby Gryffindor or a rapacious Ravenclaw." This time, when he glanced at her there was a definite twitch of amusement playing at the corners of his lips despite the gravity of his inflection.

She realized that he was teasing her, and dissolved into a relieved giggle as she found herself unable to keep a straight face. By the time she finally composed herself, he was smiling as well. "Of course, I suppose you'd approve of me more if I were a slippery Slytherin," she muttered, as he helped her to her feet. She noticed for the first time that, although he was carrying his wand, he was wearing only a towel wrapped around his damp body and that his hair was wet and pushed back behind his ears.

His grin abruptly disappeared and turned into a grimace. "Actually, I must admit I have had my fill of those as well-at least for the evening," he replied, as he led her to the stairs, his hand dropping down to lie gently around her waist.

"Anyone in particular?" she asked, as he nudged her towards the bathroom, allowing his hand to drift down her body and pat affectionately against her bum as they went through the door. He had left the light on and there was still steam filling the small room.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," he answered. By this time his hands were gripped tightly around her upper arms and he was pushing her down, not altogether gently, onto the closed cover of the toilet seat. His frown intensified for a moment, and he bent down over her, his hands brushing against her breasts.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously, at the same time realizing that her traitorous nipples were responding excitedly to his touch.

"Just ensuring that there are no overlooked shards of glass remaining," he replied, offhandedly, as he stood up again. "I should think it would be quite painful to find one embedded in my tongue later this evening."

He turned and began examining the contents of the medicine cabinet. It contained, among other toiletries and lotions, a number of his bottles of healing supplies. After studying them for a moment, he selected one of the jars and gestured for her to extend her hand over the sink.

He scooped a small amount of ointment out of the container with his fingertips, and gently applied it to the wound. She gasped in pain and pulled her hand away as the medicine made contact with her injured skin.

He stared down at her in reproof. "Oh, come now, it doesn't hurt that much!" he admonished.

She reluctantly held out her hand again, and took in a deep breath as he applied some more of the ointment. Although she kept her arm still this time, she could not help but murmur, involuntarily, "Ow!"

"Silence," he intoned, frowning as he wiped the excess lotion from his hands.

She had to bite down on her lip for a moment, as the medicine warmed and foamed around the ragged edges of the cut, before the pain subsided into a vague, tingling sensation.

"I had the distinct misfortune of running into Mr. Malfoy this evening when I stopped in briefly at Diagon Alley before coming here," he said, scowling again as he pointed his wand at her hand and murmured a healing spell.

"Another meeting?" she guessed, raising her eyebrows curiously. He glowered at her in return and she shrugged and dropped her eyes again.

"No, it was just a chance encounter." He retrieved a small bandage and some tape from out of the cabinet and began to cover the wound. "But, I did take the opportunity to give him your wand. He was quite pleased." He paused and retrieved a washcloth from the rack and held it under a stream of cold water.

"He assumes I am dead then?" she asked.

He laughed shortly before raising the washcloth to her face and beginning to wipe away the remnants of her tears. "No, he asked me point blank if I had 'disposed' of you, and I assured him that I had," he explained. "And then," he paused and rinsed out the washcloth before continuing, this time wiping her neck and shoulders, "He insinuated that perhaps I had enjoyed the pleasure of engaging in sexual intercourse with you-after completing my experiments, of course."

She found herself shaking as she comprehended the implication of his words. "That's hideous," she whispered.

"Well," he shrugged, "I admit that I have, at times, hinted that my proclivities lie in that direction."

She stared up at him, horrified.

"It makes my refusal to engage in the rape of live victims more plausible," he elucidated, as he hung the washcloth back on the rack. "Stay here," he added, turning to go out of the room.

She sat quietly and hugged her arms around herself, shivering, as she waited for him to return. When he did, he was carrying a small package in his hand. Seeing the goosebumps on her skin, he scowled and shook his head.

"Muggle flats," he muttered, his voice filled with disgust, "Even after all these years they still do not do a proper job of heating them." A moment later, he had retrieved his wand and murmured a warming spell.

"Thank you," she said, immediately feeling much more comfortable.

"I brought you this," he said, extending his hand. "I meant to give it you before but-" his voice trailed away.

She nodded and tore the wrapping away, revealing a small box. She lifted off the cover, and gasped in a pleased manner as she gazed upon the new nightgown. It was deep blue in color, a mixture of delicate lace and beautiful, soft silk.

"You're always buying me nightwear," she teased, as she pulled it out of the box.

He laughed and leaned back against the wall. "Well, it does seem appropriate. After all, in the short time that we have been acquainted, you must admit that we have spent the vast majority of our time together in bed."

She laughed in response. "Well, yes, I suppose so." She stood up and prepared to shrug the gown over her shoulders.

"Now," said Snape, moving out the door again, "Why don't you compose yourself and attend to your makeup. And when you are presentable, I shall be waiting for you in the bed."

"Is that an order, sir?" she asked, under her breath.

"No, merely a request-for now," he replied, shutting the door behind him.

She allowed herself a small smile as she slid the negligee over her head. Then she stood back and appraised her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit that it fit superbly. The bodice, though low cut and snug, revealed just enough of her bosom to make her feel womanly and sensual, and not as though she should have a sign proclaiming "Melons for sale" hanging from her neck. The blue, silk fabric flowed down over the rest of her body, gliding softly over the curves of her hip and reaching down to her ankles.

She nodded in approval and then turned her attention to her face, noting that her brief crying jag had done noticeable damage to her mascara, eyeshadow and foundation. With a sigh, she reached out to retrieve the washcloth he had hung upon the rack and turned on the tap again, rinsing the cloth in warm water before applying a generous amount of soap and vigorously scrubbing her face. After rinsing off the suds, she hesitated for just a moment before reaching underneath her negligee to remove her knickers again. Hitching the nightgown above her waist, she set about washing herself between her legs as well. She could only hope, after all, that when she joined him in bed he would be a bit more attentive to her needs than he had been earlier in the evening. And if so, it was only common courtesy to have everything nice and fresh for him.

Then she set about reapplying her makeup, taking care not to overdo the intensity of the shadow, blush or mascara. Her fingertips wandered over her assortment of lipsticks for a moment, wondering whether to go with a pale, pearly shade or to choose one of the darker colors. Looking down at the intense blueness of her nightgown, she decided that a more dramatic hue was called for tonight, and opted for a deep and vibrant shade of pink.

She picked up the brush and began to pull the bristles through her dark, curly tresses. She repeated the motion for several minutes, not satisfied until the entire mane had started to shine and had been tamed into a wavy cascade. This time, she made no attempt to restrain it with pins or barrettes, but allowed the ebony curls to tumble, unimpeded about her shoulders. She placed the brush back upon the vanity and turned around slowly, glancing back at the mirror to ensure that her appearance was impeccable before venturing out into the other room. Her hands smoothed down the fabric of the gown, and she felt herself shiver with anticipation, laced with just the tiniest bit of apprehension. Since his spell was still imparting a delightful warmth to her body, she surely could not pretend it was a purely physical reaction. Fighting the temptation to lick her lips, she drew in a deep breath and turned to open the door, shutting off the light with one hand as she turned the knob with the other.

On the other side of the doorway, her eyes slowly readjusted to the new, low and warm level of brightness that illuminated the bedroom. The other lights in the flat had been extinguished, and the candles from the dining table fiasco had been retrieved and were placed on top of the low bureau. The light of the flames was reflected in the mirror above the dresser, and the whole room had taken on a soft, golden glow.

Snape was waiting for in the bed, lying half-reclined upon a large pile of pillows with the sheet pulled up about his waist. The quilt and the covers had been pulled down to the end of the mattress, and she saw that the towel he been wearing had been neatly folded and was placed on the cushion of the chair that sat next to the wall.

She approached the bed and then suddenly stopped and sniffed at the air, sensing the odor of incense.

"Magnolias?" she asked, surprise coloring her voice. "Wouldn't you rather have Sandalwood?"

He shrugged and regarded her sardonically. "I was under the impression that you preferred the former," he said, leaning over to lift up the sheet so that she could join him.

"Yes, but how did you know that," she murmured, as she lay down beside him.

He smirked and replied: "The first time I visited your old flat, there was the distinct trace of their scent left in the air. Since I gathered from my perusal of both of your account books that you had not entertained any clients during the previous week, it was only logical that you had burnt that particular incense for your own pleasure."

"Thank you," she replied, moving to snuggle closer to him as her arm reached down to move the sheet away. Although she managed not to gasp in surprise, she couldn't keep her eyebrows from rising as she regarded his already-thickening member.

"Something amiss?" he inquired.

"Do you dose yourself with something?" she blurted out, immediately regretting the question as she saw his brows draw together in a frown. "I mean," she sputtered, as she hurriedly reached down and began stroking him, "You had a climax not that long ago and already-"

"I assure you," he said, his thin lips drawn up in the smallest of smiles, "That I have never felt the need to seek out such potions. As I informed you when I offered to provide for your safe-keeping, I am in possession of a prodigious sexual appetite that I have had to suppress for far too long." He reached down with his own hand and gently urged her fingers away. "But that does not mean I am always in a hurry." His smile was much more genuine now as he raised his hands and brushed the hair from her face.

She allowed him to nudge her onto her back and closed her eyes as she felt his fingertips begin to move slowly up and down her arms.

"We have all night," he whispered, moving his hands up so that they were caressing her face as his tongue licked her lips gently. "There is no need to rush." He dipped his head and this time she felt his tongue searching for and finding the vein that was beginning to flick and pulse against the soft skin of her neck. She murmured her approval and raised her arms to embrace him as he lowered himself down upon her, his hardness pressing against her stomach.

She felt his mouth move back to hers and she opened her lips, sucking his tongue as he gently thrust it into her, tasting the slightest hint of the brandy he had drunk, mixed with his own, unique flavor. And then he withdrew his tongue and she found herself content to return his kiss as his warm mouth lingered above hers, her fingers lacing through his damp hair as he continued the soft, feathery stroking of his hands against her arms.

It had been so long since she had been able to do this-to indulge in the sheer beauty and sensuality of kissing without worrying about having to hurry on to the next step. She luxuriated in the sensation, letting him lead as he continued to tenderly kiss her. Occasionally, she felt his teeth against her lower lip, teasing it, gently biting the soft skin, but always releasing it before it progressed to a painful sensation. She grew bolder and began to return the nips and caresses, feeling her hips begin to sway up against his, starting to feel the arousal and need begin to burn inside her.

He suddenly drew away, but before she could protest, she felt his fingers go to the straps of her gown and ease them down over her shoulders. In another moment, he had reached down and worked his hands under the lace of the gown and was beginning to knead her breasts gently, his palms stroking in light, soft circles around the stiff peaks of her nipples.

"Oh, yes," she cried, her own hands caressing his face as her back arched upward. With another push of his hands, she felt the fabric slip down even farther, and she moaned again as he dipped his head and she felt his warm breath waft across her skin. His mouth closed over the taut nipple of her right breast, tugging at it firmly as the fingers continued to fondle her. Her hands clenched for a moment and then she dropped them down to his hips, clutching and clawing at his buttocks as he continued to nuzzle at her tit. He relinquished his hold and she took in a deep, shuddering breath as he slowly slid over, his tongue continuing to flick and flutter over her flesh as he moved his attention to her other breast.

She spread her legs and moaned as she felt his right hand move down, working its way underneath the silk fabric of her gown. In an instant, his fingers had found what they had sought and she gasped in pleasure as she felt him thrust into her wetness, his thumb beginning to rub and circle around her clitoris as his hand stroked back and forth. His lips closed over her mouth again and she sucked hungrily upon his tongue as he continued to caress her breast and labia with his fingertips. When he drew away this time, she felt his hands tugging impatiently at the gown, as if he wanted to remove it entirely and she happily assisted him in the effort. By the time the garment had been taken off and thrown on to the floor of the bedroom, he was on his back and she was on top of him, her hands stroking his erection as she knelt over him, eager to feel him inside of her again.

"Patience," he whispered, with a grin, as he managed to work his way back into a seated position, propped up against the pillows. In response to her cry of disappointment, he wagged his finger at her in a reprimanding fashion. "I seem to recall that I interrupted you rather rudely earlier in the evening." His smile broadened. "Why don't you finish what you started?" He moved his left hand back between her legs and pressed into her gently. "I give you my word that I shall return the favor," he promised.

She leaned forward and kissed him as he continued to pet her, closing her eyes for a moment as she leaned against him. And then she opened her eyes and began to move her head downward, bringing up her hands to caress his skin as worked her way towards his crotch. The tip of his aroused member was already coated with creamy, white drops of cum, and she carefully licked them away with her tongue before opening her mouth to take him in. Raising his knees and spreading them apart, he groaned in pleasure as he slid into her. And then she heard him take in another breath and whisper:

"The greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck."

It took all of the self-control that she could muster not to begin laughing immediately. As it was, she still had to raise her head and giggle for a moment before daring to steal a glance at his face.

"I don't think that this is what Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote that," she noted. She positioned herself between his legs again and tongued her way up and down his shaft firmly before continuing, "I'm not even sure that was an exact quote," she challenged, with a grin.

To her surprise, he returned the smile. "Perhaps not. Since you obviously have read the play within the past few days, I willingly concede the point."

"Although it is awfully nice of you to call me your lamb," she said, before drawing him back between her lips.

"Your patience and your virtue well deserves it," he managed to whisper, before throwing his head back and grimacing with pleasure.

She laughed and raised her head. "I will weary you then no longer with idle talking," she rejoined. And indeed, she applied herself assiduously to her task, rewarded by the sound of his excited grunts and moans. But before she had brought him to a climax, she felt his hands pushing her away again.

"I did promise that this would be mutually agreeable," he explained, lowering himself into a prone position.

She stared at him in surprise.

"Unless, of course, you do not wish to receive oral gratification as well as bestow it," he mocked.

“I suppose that depends,“ she muttered, as she drew herself into a kneeling position.

“Upon what?“ he demanded, looking rather irritated again.

She crossed her arms and tried her best to raise her eyebrow in imitation of his own exquisite expression of superiority. The amused glint in his eyes assured her that the effort was noted and appreciated.

“Upon whether or not you are going to allow me to remember it this time.“

He shrugged and brought his hands up behind his head, lacing the fingers together. He rested there, though his air of nonchalance rather belied the fact that his penis was still fully engorged and pointing straight at the ceiling.

“Was that going to be your little game?“ she asked, slowly sliding down so that she was lying beside him. “Were you planning on visiting me from time to time, putting me through detentions and spankings, and then ‘rewarding’ me with orgasms that I would not be able to remember?“

“Perhaps,“ he said, narrowing his eyes slightly as he stared at her.

“That’s the real reason you don’t enjoy rape like the others do, isn’t it?“ she said, nodding her head sagely. “What really turns you on-“ She paused here and moved so that she was lying on top of him. “Is not to have a woman chained up and forced to have sex with you.“

He continued to regard her thoughtfully as he brought his hands from behind his head and began to run his fingertips over her skin.

“What you want is to drive a woman crazy with desire, to make her beg and moan and pant for you.“

“Oh, I don’t know,“ he murmured, one hand caressing her breasts as his other moved down between her legs again. “Bondage, properly performed, is also a powerful aphrodisiac.“ He raised his head to push back her hair again and a most malicious sparkle appeared in his black eyes.

The next thing she knew he was pushing her aside and rising from the bed.

“What are you doing?“ she asked.

“I had brought you another present,“ he said, bending down to pick up something from the top of the long bureau. “Perhaps you should open it now.“

She looked at him suspiciously, but accepted the package that he offered her. When she tore the wrapping away, she found herself staring at a collection of satin and silk ribbons, in a myriad of colors, most of them adorned with tiny beads and baubles.

“You bought me hair ribbons,“ she murmured.

“Ah, yes,“ he retorted, as he bend down and selected a long, silver ribbon that was dotted with tiny green chips. “That is what they were intended for, of course. But, as you seem to be in a rather uncooperative mood this evening-“

Celia stared, transfixed into silence, as one end of the silver cord arose into the air and wrapped itself around her left wrist. Suddenly realizing what he was about to do, she jerked spasmodically, the ribbons and packaging sent flying over the bed as she attempted to pull away from him. But even as she tried to escape, she felt the material winding around her other wrist and her hands being pulled together as the bond was tightened.

“No, please,“ she said, as he pressed her down onto the bed. “Not like they did-don’t chain me down.“

“You are not chained down,“ he whispered, moving to straddle her. “And I have promised not to harm you. I have merely immobilized your hands for the moment. I will release you if you wish.“

She nodded frantically.

“But, if I do,“ he said, his hands brushing softly against the sides of her face, soothing and calming her, “I shall not please you with my mouth tonight,“ he hissed, softly, into her ear as he bent down over her. He moved slightly and she closed her eyes as his tongue flicked against her lips, teasing her. “So, show me what you want,“ he said, pushing himself off of her and moving alongside of her.

He turned on his side and gazed at her contemplatively, propping himself up on his elbow and resting his head against his palm. “If you merely wish to have intercourse, lift up your hands, and I shall undo the binding.“

She began to raise her arms, as best she could under the circumstances.

“However,“ he continued, with a smirk, “if you wish me to perform cunnilingus, please put your hands down and spread your legs for me.“

She bit her lip and wavered for a moment, before a look of defiance settled upon her features and she brought her bound hands up to his face.

“A pity,“ he said, sighing. He took her hands into his own and gazed at the restraints. Although the ribbon was holding her hands together snugly, it was not biting down into her skin at all. She felt his tongue move slowly over her knuckles and then she gasped as he wrapped his lips around the tip of the little finger of her right hand. As he continued to caress the skin, pulling the digit into his mouth and massaging it gently with his teeth and his tongue, she began to moan quietly.

He raised his head, allowing the finger to slide out from between his lips. “Well, if you are sure that being untied is of utmost importance to you-“ he said quietly, running his fingers over the ribbon.

“No,“ she whispered, admitting defeat as she threw her head back and brought her hands down. Closing her eyes again, she raised her knees and moved her legs apart for him. “Please,“ she added.

“Please, what?“ he prompted.

“Please, sir,“ she murmured, “Please perform cunnilingus on me.“

By the time she uttered the final word, she could already feel him position himself between her legs. His hands were moving softly, up and down her thighs as his tongue began to flick against the tender skin of her lower abdomen. He teased her for only a few more seconds before she felt his fingers working in between her labia, gently prying them aside as his eager mouth sought its prize.

“Meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open,“ he whispered, and then his tongue slipped into her.

Celia’s response was passionate and keen, and she shrieked as she felt his lips close over her swollen nub.

He began slowly, his movements slow and steady, barely grazing her burning flesh. After a few minutes, he raised his head.

“You are allowed to say my name,“ he reminded her, as he rubbed his hands lightly against her hips.

“Severus,“ she moaned.

“Yes,“ he replied, thrusting more deeply and firmly with his tongue. “And who does this belong to?“

“Severus,“ she repeated, throwing her legs apart even farther.

Her fingers clawed at the air as he expertly brought her to climax, raising his hands to caress her breasts as his mouth continued to massage her clitoris. He allowed the pleasure to ebb away for a moment before beginning to tease her again, and this time he did not cease his movements as he sensed her orgasm, and she found herself screaming in delight as the waves of ecstasy continued to flow over her.

Then she felt him pushing her over onto her side, and he repositioned himself with his head between her legs and his feet pointing at the headboard. She opened her lips to take his still-hard member into her mouth, abruptly realizing that her hands were free once more as the silver ribbon had become loose and slipped off of her wrists. She sucked greedily, cupping his balls with one hand as the nails of her other hand dug into his lower back, her own hips still jerking rhythmically as he continued to please her, finding that the sensations he was evoking were even more overwhelming now that he was facing the other way and his nose was pressing against her. After a few minutes, she found that she could no longer bear to give and receive such pleasure simultaneously, and reluctantly pulled her lower body away from him. She heard him laugh softly as he turned onto his back and allowed her to concentrate on bringing him to a climax, his hands continuing to stroke at her thighs and buttocks but not touching her genitals directly. Within a minute or two, his pelvis arched upward and she felt his warm, salty ejaculate pouring into her throat. She swallowed it quickly and then allowed his softening prick to slide out of her mouth and collapsed against him wearily.

She groaned softly as she felt his fingers brush against her lower back.

“No, I am not asking for intercourse again,“ he mocked. “But I would be very grateful if you would move your leg slightly so that I might lie down beside you?“

She laughed tiredly and allowed him to raise her leg up and remove himself from underneath her. The next thing she knew, she was lying with her head on the pillow, snuggled up against him with the covers drawn up to her neck.

“Tired?“ he asked.

“Exhausted,” she managed to whisper before falling asleep. Though she could almost swear that she had felt him kiss her gently upon the top of her head and whisper:

From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost