Jehane Desrosiers

Chapter 11 – Wand Work

I swim up to consciousness to feel Severus moving about next to me. It is completely black in the room.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Not sleeping.” Lips close to my ear.

“Want company?” All in sleepy voices, wrapped around by the warm dark.

“Yes.”

I thread my arm around his neck, whispering, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t sleep well. I haven’t in a long time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But – “ Resting his hand over my ribs.

“Yes?”

“It’s – comforting. When I’m here. I – never thought I’d like to share a bed. But I do.”

“You’ve never shared a bed?”

“No. I liked to leave.”

Poignant volumes. Keeping my promise, I will not ask.

“But I hadn’t in a long time. Had anyone.”

“I’m glad it’s me.” This is easy, then. Just to be happy in the moment. I stroke his face and think that you could just be here, not burdened by the past.

Then he surprises me. “There was a girl. She was the daughter of family friends. Tamara. I’d known her all my life, but then suddenly she wanted me.”

“And you?”

“Couldn’t.” Makes a gesture toward himself in the dark, something that means All This.

This is different from questioning, pursuing. There is something about his breathing and I realize that he is regulating it, calming himself. He is breathing this story into my waiting hands.

“But you loved her.”

He sighs, a painful rusty sound. “Yes. I had for a long time and she knew it. She tried and tried, and she waited. Then she couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Oh, Sweetheart.”

“The thing was, she really loved me.”

“Yes. What a waste.”

“I don’t even know where she is now.”

“In your heart.”

“You don’t mind?”

“You’re forty years old. You have a history. It’s part of you.”

“I wish I was better at it, with you.”

“I don’t want for anything. I couldn’t ask for a better lover or friend.”

“Hm.”

Lying in each other’s arms, touching along the length of our bodies. My hand on his chest as his breathing deepens. I loosen my hold on awareness and we begin to wash into the sea of sleep. Only to do this, only to hold him in the night, only this only this only

The storms of autumn over, we settled into a comfortable rhythm of work and mutual discovery.

He did not improve much, as anticipated. I tried not to be around when he was with students, and when I overheard their complaints I reverted to a silent mantra -- “He is not me, he is not me.” I hadn’t expected him to change -- one benefit of embarking on love in maturity -- so I was not disappointed. Once or twice, though, I heard him catch himself in mid-rant and send the relieved child off with, “Oh, get out of my sight.” It was a funny little valentine to receive in a sideways fashion.

I drew frequently on the talk I had had with Hagrid and abstained from “workin’ on” Severus. I found that this required work on myself instead. I committed myself daily to loving him as-is, and to my surprise it became easier. A great feeling of mutuality bloomed between us and many things could benefit one or the other to the improvement of both.

We traded books. He was appalled that I hadn’t any modern poetry and set me Wallace Stevens, the sestinas of Delphi and William Carlos Williams. I thought his tastes were too highbrow and gave him Anne Rice, whom he pronounced “revolting,” and Cardomas Whiskerhaus, whom he deemed “a poor prose stylist.” He seemed to have emerged from the womb with Stevens in one hand and Shakespeare in the other, for he had never read a children’s book. He refused Charlotte’s Web – no talking pigs for him – but declared Goodnight Moon a masterpiece, borrowing and not returning my copy.

I learned a little cooking. This had been Guy’s purview, but Severus was so very pleased to be fed from my hand (sometimes literally) that it was worth stumbling about in the kitchen to produce a cheese omelet and be praised as if I were Gourmede de Savoureaux himself.

I rarely went down to the dungeons. Severus liked to come visit me and I saw that he needed a place to which he could retreat. Overnights were by invitation, although in time a shaving kit and toothbrush took up residence in my bathroom. and my closet somehow enlarged to accommodate a number of black garments, meticulously arranged on wooden hangers. Eventually there were more overnights than not.

Lovers’ rituals sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Severus was an alert early riser and always brought me a cup of coffee in bed; if he was staying up late, I arranged his pajamas on his pillow. He liked to have a little dark chocolate with his tea in the evening; when I brought it he thanked me tersely but the soft look on his face was worth any effort. When the Black Beast was upon him but he wanted company, he’d turn my wing chair back-to-the-room and sit; I’d leave him alone until he turned it around. Once when I’d had a very bad day, he came home to find the chair turned with me in it and laughed with delight.

In time I learned that I could not help him, but that if I was there, he helped himself. As I let go of making a project of him, I increasingly respected his way of being in the world. Between us, we grew more space for our differences. And out of this mutual respect and admiration we developed more flexible ways of responding. Severus leapt to sarcasm less frequently, waiting to see if he truly needed to defend himself. I held my own more consistently, without anger, and took his waspishness less personally.

I had thought that as Severus and I went on living together my memory of Guy would dim, frozen and distant like my childhood. It did not. I often thought of them together, understanding my lover in the light of my husband, and, more strangely, knowing Guy better from being with Severus. Guy continued to grow and change with me, as Severus did.

During my marriage I had not realized how Guy’s great sociability tired me. It was a given of our life that he was a people person and I was not. Now, most strangely, I was the people person of the two, and saw myself in a different light. I was quiet, not antisocial, and chose my friends carefully. Because I lived with Severus, I understood that Guy’s great lovingkindness had been a kind of art.

Because I had lived with Guy, I treasured Severus’ ability to be part of a twin solitude all the more. Married young, Guy and I had formed each other; Severus and I loved each other by leaving much alone and this was my art, refined every day.

Sometimes I wondered if Guy and I could have stayed so happy, so simply. With Guy, everything was right there to hand; there was something Edenic about his forthrightness, warmth and ease. Perhaps more would have been required of me if he had lived. It seemed that our love had not changed much over time but perhaps I had forgotten.

Severus was work. The closeness we both craved nonetheless required frequent, difficult negotiation. He remained dour, sarcastic, impatient and pessimistic, and I reminded myself often that this was his nature. Acknowleging our separateness made me stronger and surer of myself. Yet knowing that he wanted me, that he was more or less constantly working toward me, gave our moments of communion great sweetness.

Truthfully, I would not have appreciated the pleasure of our hard-won intimacy if I had not had the easier kind first. On some level I never stopped chasing him, and only because I had lived another way did I understand that this was a condition of what interested and attracted me. I understood now, as I had not the first year, that Severus was for me not only a dear friend and lover, but a spiritual path.

I felt at last a sense of perfect usefulness. I wished to be of more use to him and awaited the opportunity.

Early one Sunday in May we set out for a walk. Severus’ research was going particularly well – he was working on modernizing some ancient antidotes to even ancienter poisons – and he was in a relaxed and almost cheerful mood. Serrebrunne followed behind us, frisking along the path. After half an hour of walking, however, we saw that weather predictions were wrong and it was going to be a freak spring scorcher. Severus had abandoned his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and I was admiring his wiry forearms and bony wrists. I took his hand and dropped a kiss on his inner arm. Both my face and his arm were sticky. He looked at me.

“You’re glowing,” he said.

“That’s very delicate of you,” I said. “I think I’m sweating. Your shirt is soaked. Let’s go home before we get dehydrated.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely and cool in your bed.”

I giggled; we usually made these advances more obliquely. “Okay.”

Indeed, it was lovely and cool in my room. We threw our damp clothes in a pile and toweled off before we even felt like touching.

“Should I take a shower?” I asked.

“No, I like you natural. Should I?”

“No, the same.”

In fact, it was so cool in my room that Severus’ body shocked me when we embraced as if he had stored up the radiant heat from outside. I drew my hands down his ribs, enjoying his long lines. He stood for a minute, his nose in my hair, before taking control.

“Lie down.” He turned me toward the bed.

He liked to boss me and I liked to play at resistance. “You’re very bossy. What if I say no?”

He turned me back and stared down grimly, and, for a moment, I felt a twinge of alarm. Sometimes I forgot that he was a very powerful wizard.

“Miss Desrosiers. Ten points from Griffindor for insubordination.” This was self-parody – very unusual for him -- and made me laugh again. “Now,” he said softly and threateningly. “Will you come to bed?”

The heat of the day had made us wanton. I knelt up and held my heels, arching back to offer my breasts. I imagined how this looked to Severus, my nipples so pink and pointy. His vocal appreciation of my breasts had made me appreciate them as well. He growled and loomed over me to take their tips in his mouth. With a gasp I let my head fall back, opening my chest more. He sucked them each in turn, still growling. I reached forward and gently stroked his cock to full attention, making little hums of appreciation.

Running his hands up the insides of my thighs he quoted, “License my roving hands and let them go…”

“John Donne,” I said faintly.

“Correct.” He teased me by stroking my mound lightly.

There is something that wizards do that is very intimate. Some wizards never do it. I had never done it, not with Guy or anyone else.

Severus did it to me now. He took his wand from the bedside table and touched me with it.

He touched it to the side of my neck and drew it down between my breasts, over my belly, into the crease of my thigh and down the inside of my leg. It left a silvery trail on my skin. The tip of it was cool; the thought of it made me quiver.

He held it up, en garde, before my face. Black, elegant, with two thin mother of pearl bands at the handle -- in his hand it was a very strong wand. The waves of magic rolling off it faintly brushed my skin.

“Whose are you?” he asked.

“Yours." And the pleasure lay not only in his claiming of me but also in knowing his joy of it.

“Yes,” he hissed. He drew his wand back up my body, slickly between my labia, up the center of my belly, my throat, and my lips. I put out my tongue and licked it, eyes on his, and caught his answering shudder.

He kneeled before me, interlacing our legs, and pulled me tight against him. A jolt of pleasure ran through me at the scent and feel of him and the cold line of the ebony wand across my back. He gathered my hair in his fist and used it to hold my head as he kissed me.

As always, there was a feeling of utter concentration in these kisses, as if physical mastery of the process were crucial. Just as I began to wonder if I were present to him, he took my earlobe between his lips then whispered against my neck, “Dear Girl.” His free hand traced the curve of my hip, cupping my buttock and pulling me closer to rub against him.

I ran my hands down his back and held his ass, so small and tight in my palms. We knelt for a long time, belly to belly, the length of Sunday afternoon stretching out before us. I licked his shoulder, his neck, his nipples. I pulled his hair and nipped at his throat. He stroked my arse, my thighs, my nipples, sighing at each.

“Here.” He settled me back against the pillows and sat between my legs, bending to rest his cheek on my belly. Inhaling deeply, he rubbed his nose against my curls, then gently parted my labia and kissed my clit with soft lips. I hissed with anticipation and he touched it with his tongue, but withdrew and nuzzled the insides of my thighs instead. I raised my pussy to encourage him.

Now he was teasing me – or teasing himself, for my efforts to get him on the job quickened his breath as well. He rested his cheek for a moment on my mound and I rubbed against him with a pleading squeak. More soft kisses and gentle bites on my tender thighs, more small begging noises. Then he yielded, licking me with long strokes while streams of brightly colored pleasure ran like flags through my body. More, and more.

I began climbing toward orgasm. “Not yet,” he gasped, backing away, enjoying his control of me, and, perhaps, of himself. He kissed my mouth, tasting of my own salty juices, laying his hand soothingly over my swollen labia. I pushed myself into him. He raised his head and gave me a smirk.

“You devil,” I gasped. “You are tormenting me.” Raised eyebrows and a little nod. And I smiled back; it was my gift to him that he could.

Now he showed me the wand again, looking darkly into my eyes. Something serious. Kissed his way down my chest, my belly, my wet fur, to bury his tongue again in that most sensitive spot and now it was like lightening and almost too much. His fingers inside me firmly rubbed a special place he had found. Something cold and hard slid up my passage. The handle of his wand. He brought it all the way to the end and without breaking the rhythm of his tongue began tapping it sharply, sending vibrations through me. The sensation, the idea, was electric.

“Oh Gods, Oh Gods, Severus.” I hoped to Merlin he wasn’t going to stop again. Licking me, licking me, so intent, and his black wand – there – oh and OH and I came, arching so hard I snapped his head up.

For a while I lay against the pillows, sweat cooling on my skin, my breath slowing. He watched me. I liked that. His wand, slightly sticky, lay against my inner thigh under his hand. After a while he rested his cheek on my belly, rising and falling with my breath. I found his jaw without opening my eyes and urged him up higher to nuzzle my face. We still had the rest of Sunday afternoon.

I took time stoking the fire he had banked. I wanted him to have everything he liked. I pulled his head back and licked his neck, breathing in his scent, the particular fragrance of his hair, which was different behind his ears than at the nape of his neck, and different again from the patch of short hairs at the center of his chest. I flicked his nipples lightly with my tongue, then sucked hard. He writhed, bringing his prick against my hip and seeking friction there.

My turn to tease, pulling away and stroking him but too lightly. He whined in the back of his throat and thrust into my hand, but again I refused him the pressure he sought. I rolled his balls in their sac --“Ah!” – a little harder – “Ah, AH!” – then stopped.

“Vixen –“

“Yes,” I grinned.

I grasped his hips between my legs, rolling him over while bringing his arms up and holding them above his head. My turn in charge. He lay under me, tousled, panting and intent.

“Severus,” I caressed his name. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“I make a rather scrawny Adonis –“

“Shh –“ I covered his mouth with my fingertips. “Listen to me. Look how your hair is spread out here, all black and shiny. Your skin is like new butter, so smooth and pale. Except for this color, here –“ And I touched his cheek. “— that comes from loving me and lusting for me. It’s beautiful.

“I love your nose. It’s perfect for you. No one else looks like you. Your eyes are so black, like the sea at night. I could fall into them. So beautiful –“

I was hurting him, it showed in his face, and I knew that to be praised and loved now must recall every time he had been made to feel ugly and unwelcome before. He couldn’t believe me. Yet I had to.

“Listen to me,” I whispered, nuzzling and kissing his nose. “I could look at you all day. Just look at your sexy wrists, your gorgeous long fingers –“ I brought them down and placed them over my breasts. “Your broad bony shoulders, your little irresistible nipples –“ I brushed them with my thumbs, sending a tremor through him that I could feel in my legs. I was making love to him with my words, but his face said, No.

“Please take this from me, Severus,” I said. “I can tell you and tell you, but you keep it out. Please let it in.”

He lay still, watching with eyes like open windows, still panting with lust.

“Listen to me. Beautiful man,” I murmured, stroking him. “Beautiful Severus.”

Something was working in his face, the pain transforming into something wide open, like wonder or fear. Taking a breath he stretched out his hand and called softly, “Accio wand.”

I felt him thrust something into my hand, and with an electric shock of understanding knew --

It was my wand.

Never taking his eyes from mine, he turned his face and bared his neck, lip curled in pain or passion, I could not tell. I l saw right into the heart of his integrity and courage and it moved me nearly to tears.

And aroused me unbearably. I could hardly be still.

I gently stroked his neck with the side of my wand, around the back of his ear and down the outside of his arm, all the time looking into his face, whispering beautiful, beautiful. I caressed his underarm, circled his left nipple and then his right, and his groan of pleasure sent a jolt through my body. I traced the line of short hairs that bisected his belly, and, squirming backward, used my wand to gently lift and stroke his balls. He arched his back with a gasp. Carefully, I stroked the underseam of his cock up to its shining cap and circled it. His head jerked back, eyes fluttering closed with a moan.

Holding wand and prick side by side, I squeezed them together. He gave a soft cry, then reached out and found my pearl with the tips of his fingers, lightly massaging it so that I sobbed with pleasure. My juices coated his hand.

“Oh,” I said. “I can’t –“

“I can’t –“ he said.

“Wait,” we said together.

I set my wand down at his shoulder.

Poised over him, aligning us, I whispered it again, “Beautiful man. Beautiful lover.” Then I filled myself, slowly, slowly engulfing him in my burning sheath on a long inhalation.

With exquisite deliberation, Severus arched his back and brought his hips up toward me, resting his fingers lightly on my waist. I held myself still above him, letting him have a few long strokes, then settling myself on him, claiming the right to love him at my pace. I put my hands on his shoulders and held him down.

Afterwards, we had a nap. After all, it was Sunday. He curled up around me, and when I woke he was across the room marking essays. I called him. Barefoot, in trousers and shirtsleeves, he sat on the edge of the bed. A wide smile crinkled his eyes and uncovered his crooked teeth. No sarcasm, no commentary, no hiding. We didn’t have to spell it out. He had got some of it after all.

At staff meeting the following Friday Severus stood by the window as he often did, turned as much from the assemblage as he could without being inarguably insulting. He had taken his wand out and held it lightly in his fingers, fidgeting. Professor Trelawney was applying her prophetic gift to some rather minor scheduling matters for the coming term. Severus caught my eye to signal his irritation. I held his look for a moment, flicked my eyes toward the wand, then back to him. To my surprise, his eyes widened just noticeably and two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.

For years afterward it was a joke we made but never mentioned – the glance at the wand, the tap of the wand, with or without eye contact, even the flick of the eye at the wand pocket, all meaning, I am thinking of you that way.

Some nights when the crickets are silent the castle is so quiet that the rustle of a sheet wakes you to your lover.

“Shh, are you having a bad night?” Soft whispers seem loud on nights like this.

“Not bad, no."

“Do you want to talk?"

“I want you to tell me how your mother died.” Spoken very low.

I sigh. “I knew you would ask me sometime. I’m afraid to tell.”

“Afraid for me.”

“Yes.”

“What if I already know?”

“Guessed?”

“Guessed, and worked out, and guessed why you’ve not told me.”

“What she did had nothing to do with you. It was her. It was her choice.”

“Tell me when you knew.”

“Not then. When I went home for the solstice there was something different about her. She was excited, feverish. My father kept looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She snuck off to the workshop at night or early in the morning. She was preoccupied when we were together. But I was fifteen and thinking of myself. I didn’t make much of it.”

“Did she go after them, or did they come to her?"

“I think – oh, Severus, I really do – I think she went to them. The summer before, she was so dissatisfied and restless. Do you know, that year she had several wands at the Museum of Magical Artifacts. It was a pinnacle. They got one of her first really finished wands, a bequest, and they built a retrospective around it.

“That’s when she became restless. Maybe she felt there was nowhere to go. And that I was at Beauxbatons and didn’t need her. It can’t be hard to find a Death Eater if you have a skill to offer.”

“No,” he says bitterly. “We’re always sniffing around.”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident with the materials. They wanted her to try things that had never been used. Dark substances. I figured it out from her notes.

“But Severus – “ searching for his eyes in the dark room, I can just make them out. “She was like you. She loved her craft. She loved elegance, precision and beauty. It wasn’t for power, I’m sure of it. It was love of craft.

“I didn’t really know her, not the way I would know her now. I’ll never know her. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to stop it.”

He says just one thing. “Go ahead,” wraps me tightly in his arms and I let out all my tears.

The silent dark castle holds us.

.