Dance with the Devil

Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. Everything you don’t belongs to me. Don’t nick it.

Chapter Six: The Devil’s Bride

They both lay in the dark, naked, flat on their backs with an acre of empty bed between them. The moonlight filling the room seemed to emphasise the insurmountable space to be crossed. Neither was looking forward to what must be done. It was Hermione who finally brought up the courage to speak.

“Shouldn’t we be … doing … something?”

A grunt came from her bedfellow.

Then silence.

Hermione began again. “If I took a fertility potion, we’d only have to … you know … once … and then it’d be over.”

“What do you know about fertility potions, Miss … madam?” Snape queried, correcting himself.

He could almost hear her chewing on her bottom lip as she answered, “Not much.”

“Evidently.”

Silence filled the huge bed again.

Then Snape began to lecture.

“A fertility potion is an imprecise potion and no matter how dire the situation, most witches and wizards will summarily reject using one. I can tell you of many documented incidents of babies born with undeveloped skeletons or organs, and multiple births of up to eight babies, none of which survived. However, there is one couple I know of personally who used a potion. Bear in mind, madam, that this potion was brewed by the most brilliant Potions Master of his time …”

“You?” Hermione interrupted.

Snape snorted.

“If I was so brilliant, I would not have wasted my talents teaching dunderheads,” he sneered. “I am speaking of Slughorn …”

“He teaches,” Hermione protested.

“Must you always interrupt?” Snape sniped. “Slughorn teaches because he is lazy. He also likes to try and influence malleable young minds in the hope that they may help him in his future endeavours.”

“Oh.”

“The couple in question,” he continued lecturing, “followed all directions carefully. However, once the potion was in the witch’s system, it reacted with her … natural … instincts.”

Snape paused dramatically.

“What happened?” Hermione dutifully asked.

“She became like a bitch in heat,” he concluded with relish. “Nearly wore her husband out. However, that was not the end of the incident. The potion stayed active in her body for many years and caused at least one incident of a multiple birth. Their financial situation was such that they could really only provide properly for one child. Possibly two, if they made some sacrifices. They ended up with seven. This is horrid enough, even if you ignore the complete personality transformation that occurred. The sweet, malleable witch suddenly became a nagging, vindictive shrew.”

“Molly Weasley,” Hermione concluded dully.

“Precisely, Miss … madam.”

Silence reigned once more until…

“Are you crying?” Snape asked incredulously.

“No,” Hermione sobbed pitifully as the reality of having to have sex with Snape and bear his child suddenly overwhelmed her.

Severus sighed. It was one thing to reduce a child to tears in class, but to do so to the child he had married was quite another thing: he was obliged to care about this. Rolling onto his side, he reached out and, mentally cursing everyone who had put him in this position, including the currently weeping witch, pulled her roughly into his arms.

The witch in question promptly squeaked and flinched away from the sensation of naked skin on naked skin.

Ignoring the flinch, Snape gathered Hermione closer to him.

“We must do this,” he murmured morbidly into the bushy mess of her hair. “If we do not, you must be returned to be auctioned again next week.”

“I know … it’s just … I don’t know … just …” Hermione hiccupped.

“I know,” Snape soothed, mentally rolling his eyes as he lowered his voice seductively and began rubbing her back. “You want to be with some imbecile like Weasley, not with a man who is old enough to be your father.”

“My father’s older than you,” Hermione responded pedantically whilst subtly trying to pull away from the naked wizard. “I was a mistake. Mum was forty-four when I was born and Dad’s twenty years older than her. You’re not eighty-three are you?”

“Your father was sixty-four when you were born?”

Hermione nodded, her head now tucked uncomfortably under his chin.

“I would not have thought it was possible,” he continued, trying to ignore the wetness of her tears smearing his chest.

He wondered idly if he could move her head to use her hair to wipe off her fluids from his body.

“Charlie Chaplin fathered a baby when he was in his eighties,” she informed him, finally realising that he was not going to release her, but desperate to keep conversation flowing. If they were talking, they weren’t doing other things.

Severus smirked when she finally stopped fighting and increased the length of the strokes on her back to encompass more of her body. When his hands swept over her buttocks, he felt her freeze again.

“Oh, gods, I can’t,” she whimpered before he could say anything. “You’re Professor Snape, the greasy …”

“I suggest you stop right there, madam,” he hissed at her, patience gone as he allowed his hands to cruelly dig into her buttocks. “Do you think I gain any little pleasure from this?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered, wincing as his fingernails dug into her tender flesh.

Severus reared back slightly and looked down at her.

“You hated me in school,” Hermione continued, “and I insulted you greatly when I rejected your proposal. Maybe you like having me here and frightened. I don’t know. I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you!”

“How old are you?” Snape began, ready to lambaste the girl.

“Twenty, in a couple of months anyway,” Hermione promptly replied.

“I know that,” Snape hissed, only to be interrupted again.

“Then why did you ask?”

Groaning, Snape thrust her away, rolling onto his back and flinging one arm over his eyes.

“We have to do this,” he finally stated. “I have no wish to, but I am used to performing tasks that are unpleasant and abhorrent to me. As for you - I do not know what to do to make this easier for you. I could offer you a potion, but you would probably despise yourself for the reactions it inspires in the morning.”

Hermione turned and looked at him.

“I don’t know why you are helping me,” she began, “but I do know that you don’t really want to. So can you tell me why? Why are you doing this?”

“It is none of your concern,” his hissed back. “I will not discuss my actions with you! Do you understand?”

“Fine!” she snapped back. “Let’s just get it over with then!”

“Your wish is my command, Madam,” Snape sneered.

“My name is Hermione.”

“I am well aware of that fact.”

“You could call me that. I’ve called you Severus.”

He grunted and leant over, bending his head to kiss her, his tongue snaking out to lick her lips.

Hermione jerked back.

“I am not just going to leap on you, you foolish girl! It will hurt even more if your body is not ready.”

Unwillingly, Hermione submitted to his embrace as a cloud moved across the moon, plunging the room into darkness.

It was that darkness that enabled them both to forget what they were both doing to whom.

She opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to explore her, concentrating on the sensations created, not the man who was creating them.

His arms were once again around her as his hands swept up and down her back, pausing to grasp and rub her buttocks before pushing himself closer, grinding his thickening evidence of arousal against her stomach.

Feeling that, Hermione sighed, pleased that the deed could actually be accomplished while hoping she would wake up pregnant.

There was no speaking – neither of them really wanted to be reminded of who they were caressing and kissing.

He broke away from her lips and moved his mouth around to her ear, pushing her away from him slightly in the process. A further nudge had her lying on her back and his hands busily began exploring her front. He gathered up one of her breasts, breathing heavily as the weight filled his large hand. Squeezing, he felt her distended nipple slip between his fingers and his mouth left her ear to lick this new discovery, before moving his hand so as to draw as much of her breast as possible into his mouth.

As much as he disliked the girl, he had to admit she had the most amazingly soft breasts he had ever encountered, and he grunted as he pushed the other breast up to nuzzle it against his cheek.

Hermione’s eyes shot open. The moon escaped from the cloud and illuminated the room once more, showing Severus Snape sucking lustily on one breast, his hand kneading the other whilst his eyes were closed. If she didn’t know better, Hermione would have said he looked blissful.

She quickly closed her eyes. It was easier to concentrate on the feelings created when she could not see the creator.

Severus then rose up onto his knees, pushing both her bosoms together allowing him to switch from nipple to nipple more quickly, sucking and licking. When the young witch finally let out a small moan, he released one breast and moved his hand down over her stomach and mons to reach between her legs.

Legs which Hermione promptly locked together.

Letting go of her breasts completely, Severus reached both of his hands down, inserting them between her thighs and applied pressure until Hermione conceded and opened to him. With his eyes focussed on her chest, Severus quickly moved and settled between her open thighs. Dropping his gaze, he saw the moisture glistening at her entrance and slipped one finger down, circling her opening before moving up to the small sentinel of nerves that guarded her entrance. His mouth clamped onto her breast again, suckling, whilst his hand began to rub.

She screamed when she came.

As she lay there panting, Snape grasped himself and, giving a couple of firm strokes, placed himself at her entrance. Still in a post-orgasmic haze, Hermione hardly noticed as he started to push inside of her.

She did notice when he broke her maidenhead and instinctively lashed out, close fisted, hitting him squarely in the back of his head.

He hissed and, moving his hands, grasped her hair painfully, trying to keep hold of both his temper and his need to pound into her relentlessly.

Hermione squealed and quickly opened her hand to grasp at his greasy locks. Snape loosened the death grip on her hair and she mirrored his actions. As the pain inside of her dissipated, Hermione moved her hips up slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

With that, Severus lost what little control he had and desperately thrust into her. A small gasp of pain invaded his consciousness just before he spilled himself into her.

With the deed was done, they both lay there panting, still not speaking, until the sated wizard finally levered himself off the young witch.

Collapsing onto his back, he slowed his breathing before gathering up his wand and performing a cleansing spell on the both of them. Just as he was about to suggest she sleep in the library, her small voice reached out in the darkness.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

Before he could respond, she turned, curled onto her side and slept. He lay there a long while, gazing up at the ceiling, before turning towards his wife. Making sure she was asleep, Severus indulged in an unfulfilled fantasy from when he had been a young, romantic teenager. Pulling the sleeping witch towards him, he arranged her comfortably into the curve of his body. Then, smoothing down her bushy hair, Severus Snape closed his eyes and followed her into Morpheus’ arms.

*~*

Roldolphus Lestrange left his sleeping, whimpering wife and rummaged through his discarded robes. Withdrawing a small scrap of cloth with a slight smear of blood on it, he laid it in a bowl before pouring a small amount of slivery-blue Unicorn blood over it.

A short scream from the bed made him look over, but Bella was still sleeping.

Ignoring her, he waved his wand over the now smouldering bowl. A short glimpse of the Mudblood and Snape was revealed, but the sheets covered all the pertinent bits.

Rodolphus swore. The Dark Lord had gifted Bella with the blood she had collected and dismissed her. By the time he had returned to her, the Scrying Spell had ended and he had been denied the opportunity to watch Snape.

Looking at the burnt bowl, he scowled. The small amount of blood he had collected when Bella was distracted had not been enough to satisfy his hunger. Closing his eyes, he relished the memory of the sleeping Snape and imagined himself being held so tenderly by the saturnine wizard.

His lip curled in frustration – it was all Bella’s fault. She whimpered again and he smiled. If she was asleep, her punishment obviously had not been … adequate. Moving over to the bed, his excitement built. Grasping his wife by her head, he hauled her upright, shaking her awake.

“I am still displeased, my love,” he murmured lovingly, just before his fist slammed into her jaw.