Darkness Falls

A married state affords but little ease
The best of husbands are so hard to please.
This in wives' careful faces you may spell
Though they dissemble their misfortunes well.
A virgin state is crowned with much content;
It's always happy as it's innocent.
No blustering husbands to create your fears;
No pangs of childbirth to extort your tears;
No children's cries for to offend your ears;
Few worldly crosses to distract your prayers:
Thus are you freed from all the cares that do
Attend on matrimony and a husband too.
Therefore Madam, be advised by me
Turn, turn apostate to love's levity,
Suppress wild nature if she dare rebel.
There's no such thing as leading apes in hell.

— “A Married State” by Katherine Philips

***

Ten years.

It had been ten years since the day he had returned home to find the house elves stunned and his wife missing, ten years since he had feared that their enemies or the indigents created by the war had somehow overpowered his beloved and spirited her away ... or worse. A decade had passed since the morning he had frantically sought out his old friend and sometimes enemy, Lucius, and requested the elder's assistance in the search. Half a score since the two had uncovered the damnably unvarnished truth — she had left him of her own accord.

Ten years of whispers and pitying looks from well-meaning friends, and ten years of fear from a world that was struggling to survive the utter devastation wrought by the war. Ten years of rage, of pent-up emotions, of heart-wrenching and mind-numbingly futile searching.

All ended in one serendipitous night.

It was ironic, he thought as he watched the first rays of dawn peek through the heavy green damask drapes and slide across the exposed limbs of the woman in his bed. Thirteen years — to the day — had passed since they had wed, ten since she had abandoned him out of fear, and on the morn of what was the thirteenth anniversary of their marriage she was returned to him. He could ask for nothing more, he realized. Whilst there were clearly issues still to be resolved betwixt the pair, he had seen to her punishment immediately upon arrival, treating his recalcitrant wife to the Law of Slytherin as it related to married couples. Not that she was unfamiliar with the Law. In the days prior to their union, he had overseen her study of the rules by which she would be governed and answered all of her questions. In turn, she had sworn to abide by this code in same breath that she had sworn fidelity to him and his House.

And while she had reneged on the former with her abandonment, she had remained true to the latter, a feat which not only saved her life but eased the worst of his rage.

A rustle from the bed brought a smile to his face and he drained the remainder of the brandy he had been contemplating for the past hour. So his beloved was stirring, was she? Interesting. It had been clear to him that she had been drinking earlier in the evening, and it was just as obvious that she had been close to exhaustion prior to that. In short, the perfect state in which to be disciplined. Three short strides brought him to the bedside, where he leaned idly against the heavy, ornately hand-carved poster and watched his wife blink away the last vestiges of a short sleep.

She was perfect. There was no other word that could so aptly describe the vision before him. Eyes the color of finest sherry watched him guardedly through thick lashes. Her dusky chestnut curls tumbled about her shoulders and down her back, framing the bruises that bloomed across her pale flesh. They were darker than they had been earlier, he noted, his fingers stroking her lightly as she trembled, darker than when she had knelt before him and turned her tear-stained face upwards and begged his forgiveness. A plea he had acknowledged shortly thereafter; forgiveness was easily granted once the truth had come pouring forth, but she had violated the Law by which she had vowed to live and he had no choice but to exact retribution. And in truth, he had taken no little pleasure from the encounter. A decade without his wife, his beloved Hermione, had resulted in a torrent of emotion that, once unleashed, had had her screaming and crying for hours.

It also left him feeling oddly satisfied and benevolent.

"Good morning, my wife," he smiled, the old feeling of Belonging once more stirring his blood. "I trust you are feeling somewhat more rested, although such a brief respite is wholly inadequate."

Hermione relaxed a fraction at the tone of his voice. So, she thought, whatever punishment he felt she had warranted for her actions was concluded.

"Good morning, h-husband," she whispered, her own voice still slightly hoarse from hours of screaming, despite the potion he had forced down her throat before she had succumbed to Morpheus barely an hour before. "Severus ... "

"No, my love," he countered. "No more. I did only what was needed, Hermione, as you well know, and I will not punish you further. Though I cannot speak for how the others in our world will react. Your little disappearing act hurt a good many people, some of whom may not be as quick as I to forgive. I fear it may take time before you are accepted once again."

She brushed aside his words with the barest shrug of her shoulders, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her husband. Instead of being upset by her dismissive action he was rather amused; it seemed little had changed in that, at least. He and his wife had in the past cared little for social gatherings, and attended only those at which their presence was required. He doubted that she now cared whether or not they were invited to visit with others of their station. However, he had not lied when he told her that there were those who had been hurt by her actions — Minerva McGonagall and Regina Weasley Malfoy, to name but two. Even Voldemort had been surprised and worried when she disappeared. But ironically, as the Heir of Slytherin, he would be the most likely to accept her return as well as assurances that she had been properly chastised.

A tiny groan escaped her throat as she attempted to disentangle her limbs from the yards of linen in which they were ensnared. How had she managed to twist herself into such a position after the beating she had received? It seemed that her face was the only part of her body not aching, and only because she knew that he had merely slapped her enough to jolt her out of her stupor, not hard enough to bruise. But before she could do any more, she felt his fingers curl around her arms and she stilled instantly so as not to put more pressure on her battered flesh. She did not try to pull away.

"Good girl," he whispered huskily as the dressing gown that he'd been wearing dissolved into a pool of brocade at his feet. "My love, how I've missed you.”

Surely he didn't mean to, she thought helplessly, not this morning while she was still reeling from the events that had transpired only hours before. However, before she could even contemplate trying to distract him she felt her own passion rising, the bond that existed between them fueling her desire for a more intimate reunion. His laughter floated on the air and she knew that he could sense the conflicting combination of reluctance and hunger, knew that he would soon overpower the former and alleviate the latter.

Hermione cried out in pain and pleasure as he crawled across the bed and up her body, kneeling between her legs which parted of their own accord even as her hips lifted to treacherously rub against him. He chuckled at her reaction and rolled the seat of her pleasure between two fingers, eliciting a wail of ecstasy from her as she peaked. Shudders wracked her body at the pleasure strumming through her blood, pleasure that was magnified both by her connection to her husband and by the pain that blossomed as her already sensitized flesh was subjected to yet more abuse. Colors swam before her eyes and the rush of her blood sounded in her ears as she rode out the storm, gasping for breath as she came back to earth and found her mate smirking in satisfaction. A few seconds passed as she basked in the immediate aftermath and she moaned in protest when he suddenly pulled away, only to shriek out her delight once more as his lips encircled her tender flesh again. Rapture built quickly, coming as it did on the heels of her previous climax, the pain becoming naught more than an extra stimulus as she was soon catapulted into the abyss once more. Caught in the throes of desire she reached blindly for her lover, desperate to feel her body crushed beneath his.

A tiny mewling sound emerged from her throat as his lips claimed hers, a gentle but domineering act of ownership that left her painfully breathless and struggling to draw in air through her swollen mouth.

"Please," she murmured, unaware of what she was saying as the bond continued to fuel their mutual hunger. "Please, Severus ... "

"Yes, Hermione, you do please me," he hissed against her mouth.

Of course I please him, she thought hazily as she pressed her lips to the crook of his neck and her fingers slid lower to grasp his turgid length. I was born to please him just as he was born to please me ... we Belong to each other.

Severus growled deep in his throat as her tiny hand squeezed him gently. His manhood stood fully and painfully erect with a tiny drop of moisture glistening on its tip, and Hermione touched it with a trembling hand as marveled at how she had existed without him. So big, she thought dizzily, so very large, large enough to fill her completely and make her scream for mercy. She leaned back on the array of pillows strewn throughout the bed and arched her hips in invitation, her thoughts scattering as he filled her in one sharp decisive thrust.

Full, she was full of him and bursting with him. Nothing had ever felt this wonderful and this horrible. Ardor and agony were vying for supremacy as each rush of pleasure coincided with a spurt of pain every time he pounded into her bruised sex. Oh, but this was surely the sweetest death, was the last thought to cross her mind.

Her arms encircled his shoulders even as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, clinging to him in such a way that her sex was rubbed by his now furious thrusts. She moaned and keened as she began to shake violently, her head tipping back as his name fell from her lips.

The fantasy that had sustained him for years had so suddenly become reality. Severus could wait no longer, shifting his body slightly to dislodge her legs so that he could grip her knees and force them towards her head. She was completely open to him now, even more so than when he had taken out his rage on her soft flesh a few hours earlier. He took only a few seconds, however, to gaze at the erotic picture she presented — her neck arched and legs spread so that her desire gleamed in the early morning light — but the image was burned into his mind as he thrust within her one last time before exploding as he reached his climax.

Hermione mewled in frustration as she desperately tried to attain her release. She felt more than heard the rumble of laughter that emerged from his chest, her mewls of need becoming moans of protest as she felt him pull away from her once more.

"What are you, Hermione?" he asked, his voice low and still husky from his recent exertion.

Confusion swamped her being as the need for rational thought warred with the demands of her body, but the insistent strum of the bond soon made clear his question.

"I'm your wife," she answered, her throat tight, voice strained, as she waited to see if this was what he wanted.

It was.

"And why," he continued, a languid finger caressing the seat of her desire, "are you my wife?"

"Because I Belong to you," she sobbed, tears of pain and shame mingling with those of the fierce need that sang in her blood. "I Belong to you, Severus, I always have ... I always will ... please, please ... "

"Yes, my love, you do Belong to me, remember that," he drawled softly.

Then the tension that had been building began to peak again. He smiled in self-assured satisfaction and she screamed his name as she tumbled from atop the precipice on which she'd been teetering, falling faster and faster until she dissolved into sheer ecstasy. Soon, all too soon, she faded into the velvet darkness that rose up from below to enfold her in its grasp.

As the storm of passion began to retreat, Severus found himself collapsing in satiation next to the unconscious body of his wife. He reached out and pulled her close, rolling their bodies until her back was nestled against his chest and her head tucked under his chin, both of them cocooned in the mutual sense of rightness that their union provided. Oh, yes, this was what had been missing.

Finally reunited, they slept.

***

It's funny how things turn out.

What is darkness? What makes a witch or a wizard dark? Why is it that a lust for power leads some to darkness and others to carelessness and bureaucratic bastardy? How does darkness alter our landscapes — the physical, geographical, emotional, psychological, and magical things and places that make up our world?

How does one know how and when darkness falls?

The darkness that befell her had its beginnings before her birth, yet it was nothing so simple as war or dark wizards or even Voldemort himself that caused the shadows to gather. Even caught in the throes of sleep, Hermione's mind continued its path toward reconciling her feelings and convictions with the harsh realities that dominated the world to which she had returned. And within this web of truth and deceit, she dreamed.

Her wedding day was beautiful.

She had never dreamed of lavish ceremonies or gazed at dresses the way her Muggle peers had when she was younger and, later on, she had rolled her eyes when Lavender and Parvati giggled over the variations in wizarding ceremonies. And when Voldemort had been returned to his body and the war that had been brewing finally erupted, she had ceased to think of anything but the present and how to survive to see the dawning of a new day. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' her grandmother had once remarked; no need to borrow trouble.

And she hadn't. So after all the death and destruction she had seen, she would never have believed the day they were wed would be the beginning of a darkness that would consume everything she held dear.

There had been foreshadowing, of course, but she had not seen it as such. To be truthful, the seeds that would flourish in the years to come and bring such pain had already been planted. Her relationship with Severus Snape being what it was, she had realized early on that there would be no objections to their union provided she adhered to a Slytherin code of conduct. Once more, he taught and she learned. The code seemed so perfectly innocuous a thing to agree to, especially given the state of their world.

The morning had dawned bright and clear with the promise of a beautiful spring day. She had risen early to watch the sunrise before returning to her bed for a few more hours sleep, never knowing that the vows she would take come nightfall would seal her to more than her husband. At dusk she had been marked by Ginny Weasley and Minerva McGonagall, her chosen witnesses, with all the appropriate symbols for a witch who was to be handfasted to a wizard who belonged to one of the Old Houses. Then came the simple pale cream linen dress with long bell-sleeves that was cinched just above her hips with a length of silk rope, the folds of the soft material falling in waves to her bare feet. Resting a few inches above the embroidered square neckline was a large ruby teardrop suspended from a gold chain that was looped thrice around her neck, both a symbol of Gryffindor House and of the contentment and stability she would bring to their union ... and that their union would bring to their world.

Later everyone had agreed that the Beltane Eve handfasting of forty year old Severus Snape and nineteen (or rather, twenty if one counted the effects of the time turner) year old Hermione Granger was a most auspicious omen indeed, especially given that it was supported by both Minerva McGonagall and Lord Voldemort - both of whom were present and acting as witnesses along with Lucius Malfoy and young Regina Weasley. That three Slytherin wizards and three Gryffindor witches had comprised the players was seen as a sign, had any still been in need, of the changes that were already in motion. Changes that had only become apparent to Hermione months later ... along with another twist in the fabric of her life.

The fire crackled and the flames climbed higher and tangled themselves into a frenzy as a pair of lovers sat in the cozy solitude of the library in his ancestral home, both uncaring that the howling wind poured snow across the moors and buried the landscape under a blanket of white. They had lingered longer over the books tonight than was their wont, still replete from the marvelous supper that the house elves had prepared earlier in the evening. Though she still harbored many concerns about the plight of the elves she had, in submitting to the Law of Slytherin, agreed to cease all her attempts to change the status of the creatures; and, in truth, there were far more important things that needed attention.

Tonight, however, her mind was lingering over the strange dreams she and her husband had been having ... or sharing, to be frank. Severus had explained it away quite easily, calling it one of the side effects of Belonging; curious, she had retreated to the library to search for information on the phenomenon that he had mentioned. Hours later she was still pondering what she had learned, more than a little concerned as to why he had neglected to mention this before, and she was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she did not notice when he put aside his books and she became the sole focus of his attention.

"Hermione."

She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of his voice calling her name and looked up to find amusement in his glittering black eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus ... my mind was elsewhere."

"Obviously," he replied with a smile. "What is it that is so occupying your thoughts?"

"Belonging."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands as he considered her unasked question. Was she ready to understand what it meant? "Tell me, what information did your searches yield?"

Hermione fought the urge to demand that he tell her what was happening, had happened; he knew her well enough to know that she would search out an answer but he also knew exactly what information was available, just as he had when she was a student. Every now and again she found his habit of reverting to type annoying. "It's an ancient phenomenon," she sighed. "It affects all those born with magic, regardless of blood, and every witch or wizard has someone to whom they belong; conversely, every witch or wizard has someone who belongs to them. And it has something to do with power."

His lips quirked, suppressing a smile, as he heard the annoyance in her voice at being forced to recite facts like a first year ... never mind that she had always seemed to enjoy reciting facts. Still, he understood that when in search of knowledge she cared little for such trifles. "True enough," he acknowledged. "However, it goes so much deeper. Belonging occurs between two people who belong to one another; as you no doubt discovered, it exists in each of us but only becomes active, if you will, when the two who Belong together are joined - although it is possible for someone to recognize their respective partner prior to joining."

"And the joining is ... sexual?" she asked uneasily.

"Always."

"B-but," she stammered. "How does it work?"

He examined her for a moment. "How do you think it works, Hermione?"

She started at his words, both curious and apprehensive all at once, but studied his face for clues as to what he meant. His countenance was as inscrutable as it had ever been when he was being close-minded, but as she stared she became aware of something nagging at the back of her consciousness, something that urged to look more closely at the man before her. 'Look without your eyes,' it seemed to whisper; acquiescing, she felt her eyes slide shut as she focused her will on her husband. At first there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the feeling of tension as she concentrated and then ... then there was a tiny whisper of emotion not her own. It was gone quickly and she began to despair of ever understanding what her husband seemed to grasp so easily, only to find she was suddenly besieged by a multitude of Severus' emotions. The tiny fissure through which that first sliver of feeling had passed had coalesced into an open door that she was soon forced to slam shut, unable to handle the barrage of sensation emanating from him.

"Empathy," she whispered, still in shock over her discovery.

"Yes ... "

"An empathic bond," she marveled as she regained possession of her mental bearings. "But ... what has that to do with power? It could be useful if we were ever forcibly separated, power over our enemies and all that, but otherwise ... "

Severus considered his options carefully, weighing each one in his mind as he contemplated her possible reactions. Finally he decided on a practical demonstration; it would no doubt be upsetting and possibly even ever so slightly humiliating, but there was nothing else to be done. She was his wife and she Belonged to him - it was time she understood the full magnitude of her situation. "Hermione, come here."

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was only a few short feet from him when the need to obey him rose from below her consciousness. Suddenly and without warning she felt herself stand and cross to his side, standing before him in shock as her control of her body disappeared. No, not disappeared she thought a moment later; her will to do otherwise was simply gone and, in its place, his will had taken precedence. She wanted to do as he commanded because there was now only one will between them. His.

"This is the power the books allude to," he whispered and she felt herself kneel at his feet at the unspoken command, lifting her face to his. "You Belong to me, Hermione, just as I Belong to you ... but only one of us may rule and that is my burden to carry."

Hermione felt tears begin to fall and hardly noticed when the compulsion that had brought her to his feet ended and he lifted her onto his lap, cradling her close as he soothed her with murmured words of love and reassurance. As she realized that her will had been restored she began to sob, heavy gut-wrenching cries that told Severus more about her emotional state than words ever could. He continued his soothing litany and began rubbing small circles on her back, trying to ease the blow he'd dealt her as her breathing slowly began to slow.

"T-tell m-me," she demanded weakly, her voice hitching due to the surfeit of emotion that had caused her outburst. "I-I need t-to know."

"With each pair that Belongs together there is one who will rule and one who will yield, one to dominate and one to submit," he told her gently. "Even if our sexes and lineages were reversed I would still be the dominant party, Hermione. As someone, a Muggle I believe, once said, we are more than the sum of our parts. You do not submit to me because you are a Muggleborn witch, but because you were born to do so."

Her sobs and tears subsided after a few moments but she was still on edge, still trying to cope with the sense of violation that had been perpetrated by her husband. Only it wasn't really a violation, she thought bitterly. I only think of it that way because I didn't know about this ... I didn't know about this beforehand ... "You knew."

"Yes," he replied evenly.

Demanding sherry-colored eyes met glittering black. "How long?"

"How long have I known what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "About Belonging? Since my father took me aside as a young boy and explained why his relationship with my mother seemed so different from those of their peers. That you Belonged to me? Since the moment you set foot in the Great Hall to be Sorted."

Her eyes widened.

"But if you mean how long I've known about you," he continued, his voice dropping until it was barely above a whisper.

She nodded even though she had already discerned the answer.

"I've known since the moment you were born," he murmured into her ear, his teeth gently biting down on the sensitive flesh. "I did not know who or where you were, but I knew in that instance that you Belonged to me ... as did Voldemort."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock and he shook his head. "He did not know your identity, nor did I, but at the moment of your birth he and I were together and he knew what had occurred as soon as I did. It's not often that those that Belong together are aware of one another, my love, and he considered it a momentous occasion ... "

"But I didn't know," she protested.

"Didn't you?" he raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me truthfully, Hermione, why did you seek my approval all the years you were in school? It wasn't simply that you wanted the admiration of all your teachers, it wasn't even that you wanted me to notice your abilities when I ignored almost everyone else ... "

"I ... I ... "

"Yes?"

Silence reigned. All they could hear was the popping of the fire and, distantly, the wind as it howled. "I wanted you to notice me," she finally confessed in a whisper. "I never knew why, it never made sense, it was completely illogical! But ... "

"You still wanted it," he finished.

"Yes."

"And you were ashamed of what you felt."

She ducked her head. "Yes."

"Ssshh, love," he crooned as he wiped away a stray tear. "It was a natural reaction, Hermione. You didn't know what it was that drew you to me and, because you were Muggleborn and thus raised in a world with different rules, I kept my own counsel. Even Dumbledore was unaware, though I believe he began to suspect after the Yule Ball your fourth year ... "

"Is that why you were so nasty to us?" she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I would have been nasty, as you put it, to Potter and possibly Weasley in any event," he informed her. "That they were your near constant companions — and always seemed to be dragging you into mortal peril — did not increase my opinion of them. On the contrary."

"And me?"

He regarded her seriously. "You were an annoying Gryffindor know-it-all, but you were my annoying Gryffindor know-it-all. Having to see you with them every day for years ... you have no idea how close I came to telling Albus the truth and demanding that he turn you over to me. There were days when I wanted nothing more than to pluck you from that damned tower and carry you back to my bed and keep you there until you begged for mercy."

"I was only a child!" she shrieked. "How could you — "

"You were a child, Hermione," he pointed out. "Once you reached menarche and began to mature I began to feel more strongly that your place was at my side. Or at least far from those two boys. We shan't mention Krum. And once you came of age in your fifth year, it took every ounce of strength I had left to stop myself from flinging you against the nearest wall and damn whoever saw. Then the open hostilities of war began, Albus died and the Plague came ... "

Eyes closed, she shuddered at the image his words painted in her mind. Was it possible that the bond had somehow managed to connect them without any actual contact, she wondered? His revelation came so close to one of her more potent recurring fantasies from that time. "Severus ... "

"Hermione," he whispered, his hand resting gently on the slight swell of her stomach. "I do love you, my precious one ... "

She woke to find tears soaking her pillow and her husband pressed close behind, the pain from the bruises only a trifle compared to the ache in her heart. His voice, like it had so long ago, whispered soothing words meant to comfort although they both knew that no words could ease her heartbreak.

"Ssshh, my love," he murmured gently as one arm reached around to draw her closer. "My darling Hermione, my wife ...

Her cries came harder and her bruised ribs protested violently as she sobbed uncontrollably, all her fears and insecurities and anger pouring forth in a great salty river that seemed never-ending. And, like before, his hand came to rest on the flat plane of her stomach as he continued to soothe her miasma of conflicting and volatile emotions until only silent tears slid down her face.

"It will be better this time," he told her softly, his agile and ruthless mind already making plans. "You're home, my love, my dearest heart ... and there will be other children. Soon, Hermione, very soon now ... "