Soon
It was the end of April. Severus spent more and more time out of bed and dressed. The difference between his physical capacity and his desires, however, irritated him immensely. He was certain that the school was going to Hell in a hand basket, despite evidence to the contrary and constant consultations with Minerva. He hated to let go of anything, and felt well enough, mentally anyway, to get back to work.
“And here I am taking my damned nap like a two hundred year old pensioner,” he groused sleepily while arranging the crocheted throw over his legs.
We had come in from a springtime stroll around the grounds, one in which Severus moved quite slowly but with evident enjoyment, and during which he had been “plagued,” he said, by young people going out of their way to greet him. Mayblossom Buckley, in fact, had brought Fidelia to ground by the lake and leapt off to make him a sweeping bow with a shout of “Headmaster!”
“You’re a little bit better each day,” I said carelessly, gathering Albia’s toys off the living room floor with the spell Lego. “And as for the rest, it’s a priceless chance to develop the virtue of patience.”
He gave a snort and wiggled down on the couch, resting his head on a throw pillow.
“Get me up in half an hour, will you?” he said.
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
I’d returned to teaching my older students on a reduced schedule, one afternoon class daily. The business of allowing them to teach the youngest students in turn had worked out so well that I’d continued it, giving them class credit. I put the responsible Pierce in charge of the schedule, then left them alone to run it.
The fourth and fifth years were unfortunately neglected; most were too old and proud to be taught by sixth and sevenths and I hadn’t time to get them back in class with me. It fretted me somewhat, but only when I wasn’t thinking of my husband.
It helped me immensely to be out in the spring air every day, and now that Albia was flying she was content to observe the advanced lessons, narrow chin resting on a fence rail. If she grew bored, she took herself to the barn and enlarged her relationship with whatever griff was not working that day. It is the nature of these animals that no time spent with them is ever wasted.
I came into the house with Albia in tow, fresh from class and already thinking of what we might have Wisty bring us for dinner. We tried to eat in the Great Hall every night, but some days Severus couldn’t manage it. As I closed the front door, a crash sounded from the kitchen, followed by an expletive. I was afraid for a moment, then reasoned that if Severus were badly hurt, he wouldn’t be swearing.
Sure enough, my mother’s teapot lay on the floor in shards.
“Sorry,” Severus growled. He seemed guilty, as if I’d caught him at something, but I couldn’t think what.
“Oh well,” I said lightly. “Accio teapot. Reparo.” I held the mended object in my hands, caressing the pussy willow design with my thumbs. The kettle was on the stove. “Let’s have tea.”
“No, thank you,” he said sourly.
“All right, then.” The water was on the boil, so I went ahead.
“I wouldn’t mind some coffee, though.”
As I ground the beans -- Molo -- I said, “Clepe is coming this Saturday. I’d like to cook a nice dinner for us.”
“Clepe comes every Saturday. We should charge him rent.”
“Severus, he’s your Healer. We pay him. He’s our friend as well.”
“All right, then. I won’t say no to a nice dinner.”
In truth, Severus enjoyed Clepe’s company, partly because the Healer was deferential as well as intelligent and accomplished. He almost never trod on Severus’ toes but provided a great deal in the way of stimulating conversation.
“What’s the matter with him anyway?” Severus asked, sipping his coffee cautiously.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s an attractive man, makes a good living. Why isn’t he paired up with some pleasant mediwitch, two kiddies already on the rolls for Hogwarts?”
“Oh. Well, to start with, he’s gay. The pairing-up part, I don’t know. Probably the curse. I mean, if you were a gay man, would you want a partner who would always look the Adonis while you got increasingly shopworn?”
“I can’t imagine,” he said stiffly. “What I would want, were I a homosexual man. Isn’t that what they like, anyway? To attract the greatest number of partners one after the other?”
“Now you are being deliberately offensive,” I said, tearing the wrapper off a package of Tastyspell biscuits and putting it on the table. Albia had been about to break into our conversation but the biscuits diverted her. Glancing at me, she took as many as her hand could hold.
“Maybe some gay people are like that, but so are some straight people. Look at Pomona and Poppy, they are as faithful to each other as the day is long.”
“They’re women. Women are naturally monogamous.”
“Look at Remus. He’s not looking for ‘the greatest number of partners, one after another.’”
“And a good thing too,” Severus smirked. “Since he hasn’t managed even one.”
“I’m talking about the principle --” I began, but a little quirk in the corner of Severus’ mouth alerted me to the fact that he was trying to get my goat. “Oh, stop. You don’t even believe what you’re saying.”
“No, I don’t, but saying it has been quite diverting.” He gave me one of his rare genuine smiles of pleasure. It was so lovely that I rose from my seat and settled in his lap, hugging him tightly.
“You’re feeling better,” I said.
“Yes. If you don’t crush my legs.” I had never quite returned to my former spindly proportions after Albia’s birth, and given our equal height and Severus’ illness, I had just under a stone on him.
“Well, would you like to sit in my lap?” I teased.
“Absolutely not.” He shooed me off, but I knew he liked my playing and flirting. We smiled at each other. Then with the unerring instinct of the jealous child, Albia dropped her massive handful of biscuits on the floor.
That night we sat up together in bed, reading. The shades were drawn, the lantern over the headboard bathing us in a pool of yellow light. I snuggled a bit closer, bringing our shoulders together. When I turned my head, my nose almost touched Severus’ hair. He smelled good; the metallic, alienating scent of Celldeath potion that had leached from his pores for months was gone. I dropped my hand onto his skinny thigh. He stayed fixated on his book. I nuzzled his neck; in times past this had been a clear, and rarely ignored, signal.
He took my hand from his leg and held it with a pained expression. My heart sank.
“You are enticing,” he said in a low voice. “But not yet. Soon, but not yet.”
Stung, I nodded and turned back to my book.
Severus put his hand over the page and pushed the book aside.
Pulling me to him roughly, he took my head in his hands and gave me the sort of possessive, thorough kiss that had become a rarity, gently nipping before opening my lips with his and slipping his tongue inside. He took his time with it, inching his hands into my hair and breaking the kiss to rub his nose against mine.
“I said soon,” he said fiercely. “And I meant it.” His black eyes bored into mine, daring me to feel hurt, to feel alone. I needn’t have.
“Soon,” I agreed, and returned to the luxurious feel of his lips and his warm body. He seemed to be implying something more, and I wondered, but when we snuggled down to sleep, I was at peace.
When I came in from teaching the next day, I found him resting on the couch. His light cloak was thrown over the arm and his boots stood by.
“Oh,” I said. “Have you been out?” This would mark his first unaccompanied excursion, but as he seemed to be treating it casually, so would I.
“To my study,” he said. “And the Potions lab. That damned Mugwort may be an adequate teacher but the lab is completely disorganized. I don’t see how he can find a thing, or stand the mess.”
“Well, he only teaches. He’s not using it for personal research. It’s probably neat enough for his purposes.”
Severus snorted. “It’s a blot on his escutcheon as a Potions master. Disorganized lab, disorganized mind. And a bad example for the students.”
“Mm. What were you doing in the lab, besides thinking evil thoughts about Mugwort?”
“I couldn’t work in such an environment. I took a few things to my study.”
I ignored the fact that he hadn’t answered my question.
“And when you got there?”
“Went over next year’s letters and replies. Minerva had done, but I wanted to check her work. I believe Slytherin House will be well populated next year.”
“Old families?”
“Yes.” He glanced at me. “And took a short nap with my head on the blotter.”
“Ah, well, it’s our secret. I expect the school is glad to see you back.”
“I highly doubt it, and since I went by tunnel, the school may yet be unaware of my return. I hope for a few days of blessed peace before they descend on me.”
From that day on Severus went to the school every day for at least a couple of hours and his spirits showed a marked improvement. But he carried everything by hand, walked everywhere on foot, made his tea with a kettle and left all domestic magic to me or Wisty.
+++++++
Severus had had quite a good day. The weather was warm and the students, though infected with spring fever, were cheerful and tolerant. Classes had gone smoothly, staff were happy, and he had spent the whole day in the castle, capping his contentment with a staff meeting that passed efficiently and ended on time.
After the meeting I went on ahead to get Albia back from her sitter and change my clothes. It had become our custom to let Severus have a lie-down before dinner, but I thought that he might do without it that day.
He looked like his old self, coming through the door with a bundle of parchments and the slightly suspicious expression that always marked his return home.
“Daddy! Fly me!” Albia ran to him, arms lifted for levitation. She hadn’t asked for months, once we’d explained that Daddy wasn’t strong enough to levitate her while he was ill. I winced to myself as Severus’ hand moved toward his wand pocket, then dropped.
“Forgive me, Albia,” he said. “I cannot. But someday soon I will.”
He set the scrolls down, pulled his boots off and lay on the floor, gesturing her to rest her tummy against his feet. “Lean forward. I’m going to pick you up.” Knees against his chest, slowly and with great dignity, he lifted her, looking up into her wide, gleeful eyes. She held herself straight and shrieked with laughter at the feeling of his feet against her belly.
“Ah ah, no drooling,” he cautioned. Her hair flopped down to curtain them.
Now I knew what Soon meant.
+++++
When Albia was two and a half, she had not yet begun to speak. She had been babbling for six or eight months, producing long passages of convincingly inflected gibberish, but not a word. Then one day at dinner she looked at Severus’ wine glass, held out her hand, and said, quite clearly, “You gimme dat.” From then on, she spoke in sentences.
As the end of May and the final weeks of school came into view, Severus settled entirely back into the role of Headmaster. There was no more napping, he looked as pale and hale as ever and Clepe pronounced him completely cured, a determination in which magical means of diagnosis have the advantage over the Muggle. I watched anxiously for signs that Soon had arrived, but by some silent, mutual agreement, it was not discussed. We both knew, anyway, what it would mean if Soon never came.
One Saturday afternoon he excused himself to work in the Potions lab -- having organized it to his own satisfaction and the anxious distress of the young Professor Mugwort -- and returned hours later smelling of Mandrake and flobberworm, a scent that reminded me of the early days of our love.
“Mmm,” I said, rubbing my nose against his neck. “You are wearing my favorite cologne.”
“Eau de Flobberworm, I assume?”
“Yes. So earthy, so -- grr.”
He pulled aside the collar of my shirt and leaned in to kiss my neck.
“Let me take that child out and run her; we might get her to sleep early.”
A little thrill ran through me; the Albia-early-to-bed form of foreplay had not been seen since before Severus’ illness.
“Okay. I’ll make us a little supper.”
They returned pink-cheeked and cheerful from a walk to the gates and some tree climbing, Severus speaking to her in an animated, soothing voice intended to lull her into sleepy calm. I dished out cheese on toast and tinned tomato soup while Albia described how high she had climbed and how she’d “almost got a bad scratch.”
Odds were better that I could get her to sleep than Severus, so I took her upstairs while he tidied the kitchen. A warm bath, a short story, a kiss and she was down for the night.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, listening for the sound of running water or a dish brush, but all was silent. I went on to our room to brush out my hair.
Severus was sitting on the side of the bed with his wand held loosely in his fingers. His black robes and shining boots had been spell-cleaned and the dim room held the refreshing ozone scent of recent magic. Our eyes met. He raised the wand and said quietly, “Claudo,,” and the door latched behind me.
I took a sharp breath. Tears pricked my eyes but I withheld them.
“Accede.”
The Beckoning spell, which works on the will of its object yet produces no sense of compulsion, is difficult to cast well. It drew me forward with irresistible attraction until I stood before him. His black eyes, intent upon my face, brimmed with triumph.
Black eyes, black as the cold sea, in a face lined by harsh living. To look into them was to be invited into a world of struggle and pain, a world in which every victory was dearly bought. There were no others in the world for me.
“Comperio.” The sides of my shirt fell apart at his whisper and he leaned forward until his nose rested between my breasts, inhaling deeply, then nuzzling. His arms encircled me, wand hand lightly fisted against my back.
He nosed the underside of my breast and rubbed his cheek against it, eyes closed , with a sigh of happiness. I combed my fingers through his hair, enjoying my license.
“Spolio.”
I stood naked as his long fingers ran appreciatively, slowly, up my sides and down my ribs, circling around to cup my buttocks, softly brushing my pubic curls.
“Lovely,” he murmured. I moved to push aside his robes, but he caught my hand. He kissed my fingers, my palm, my wrist. “Wait.”
He stood. Beneath his robes he wore trousers, waistcoat, shirt, neck cloth, socks and boots. He had cast the old glamour that made him seem taller. As he pulled me closer, the scratchy wool of his waistcoat rasped my nipples lightly, and I tipped my head to meet his eyes. Standing naked before the Headmaster in all his authority, I shivered with anticipation; it had been a long time since we had played this game.
His kiss, though soft, was commanding. He teased my tongue with his, sucked my upper lip, then passionately enveloped my mouth.
He brought me closer still, wrapping me in the fabric of his robes. Cocooned in black that brushed my skin from shoulders to feet, I came alive, wriggling myself against him. This, too, was part of the game -- that I become disgracefully aroused and practically beg him. I could see this wouldn’t take long.
He hummed a nonchalant, tuneless melody in the back of his throat as his long tongue explored my jaw and behind my ear, then moved down my neck. When his hands came up to pinch my nipples, I gasped and stood on tiptoes, rubbing shamelessly against his leg.
“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, pinching them again. This time he gave them a little jiggle. The feeling ran from my nipples to my clit, a hot liquid like melted butter.
He took his time, stroking my back and kneading my buttocks, kissing me deeply and then lightly, gathering my hair and combing it out with his fingers. He held my waist and bent me backward, sucking and biting my breasts until I sobbed with excitement. Every movement let me know that he was in charge.
“Here.” He laid me on the bed and climbed up, throwing his leg over mine. Once again the cloth of his robes settled over me with light touches. Propped on one elbow, he reached for my hand. There was a moment of awkwardness. He fumbled and I giggled. Then our eyes caught and held -- we were back with each other; that was what mattered. As he rolled on top of me, he murmured a heaviness spell and the buttons and seams of his garments pressed into my flesh.
He was deliciously warm and solid, smelling of wool and skin and the brisk wind outside the house. Pinned by his magical weight, I could only pant and moan as he teased me, blowing lightly in my ear, nibbling and nuzzling under my arm. He held my arms overhead and worked his leg between mine, using his hipbone to rub me gently.
“Please,” I gasped. He chuckled and released my hands, kissing his way down my throat, my sternum, my belly, to bury his nose in my curls. That first touch made my toes clench and my hips rise like a cresting wave. Still he teased me with indirect soft touches.
“Severus, please,” I begged. His tongue separated my swollen labia, slithering through the slickness there.
He licked me with long strokes. His groans of enjoyment stoked the fire as he swirled and sucked. Hands buried in his hair, thrashing, I climbed and climbed until I toppled into shrieking bliss, pressing myself against his clever mouth .
++++++
When I opened my eyes Severus was panting as if the climax had been his, hair tipped with beads of sweat. He climbed up beside me and lay with his eyes closed. I watched his face.
Yes, he would have needed to know that he could master me this first time. He could not have borne for me to watch him struggle or fail.
He rolled over and the eyes he opened to me were still black, but as a summer night is black, safe and still. Black as river stones washed by clear water, black as the inside of a nest. We lay face to face.
“Your eyes are green,” he said softly.
“Yes, they always have been.”
“They are beautiful.” He took my hand and laid it on the placket of his shirt. “Undress me,” he whispered.
It took my breath away. This was the fruit of our years together, our struggles, all the times I had held fast to him while standing against him -- that in one evening he might possess and control me, then hand himself to me as easily as a boy shares a toy.
I knelt there and untied his neck cloth. I undid the buttons, kissing each exposed patch of skin, inhaling the scent of damp cotton, the faint remnants of the afternoon’s flobberworm and his own familiar musk. I pushed the shirt open and caressed his skin, lightly sprinkled now with gray hairs as well as black. His small nipples puckered at my touch and when I bent to suck them he gave a soft “Ah,” and thrust his chest against me.
I lavished them with sucks and licks and small bites until he squirmed and moaned, then I pulled him up to sitting. The bed creaked as I moved around to kneel behind him, unbuttoning his cuffs and lifting the shirt over his head. I pressed my warm breasts against his back; his skin was cool and he hissed through his teeth.
Severus leaned his head back into the crook of my neck as I held him. I pinched his nipples and pulled him tight against me.
I sighed and bit lightly at his nape. My hand drifted downward to caress the soft part of his belly and inch under the waistband of his trousers.
I pushed his hand away from the buttons of his fly.
“You wanted me to do it,” I said. He made an impatient noise in his throat that changed to a groan as I rubbed him through the fabric. He grew harder under my hand. My other hand slid downward to cup his balls. He thrust against my palm. I kept up this veiled friction as his breath quickened and his hips jerked and strained under my hands.
Now I worked open the top buttons, wiggling two fingers inside and under his pants to find the silky hardness of his glans. There is a certain place, under the tip -- I teased it gently. Severus arched back against me, thrusting his pelvis against the restraining trousers with a gasp. He was still wearing his boots. I finished unbuttoning him and drew out his cock, red and thick, then pressed him backward against the pillows.
I circled around to look at my handiwork.
Half naked, perspiring, trousers pulled down around his hips and cock standing, the Headmaster was at my mercy now, begging for my touch. He granted me this, lying relaxed and expectant because he wished it and trusted me.
I took my wand from the night stand and undid his boot buttons, yanking off the boots and dropping them to the floor. Socks, then trousers and pants together and I straddled him, leaning forward to rub my nipples against his chest. I was wet again from the kissing and play, and my soft folds came up suckingly against his cock. I laced my fingers in his to hold him still while I kissed him, licking his lips and teeth, biting lightly with a growl.
“Merlin,” he gasped, as my wetness caressed his shaft. That single word from my taciturn lover set all teasing aside. I reached down, lifting and arranging myself to take him in, the feeling of him opening and filling me raising the fine hairs all over my skin.
With a long gasp he thrust upward and grappled me down against him. Games forgotten, we ground together in a passion of groans and cries. He pulled me tight and rolled us over, folding my legs back and biting my jaw.
“God, Jehane --”
“Severus, oh, God --”
He thrust again and again, each one a shock of pleasure.
“I can’t --”
“Yes, come on,” I urged.
His breath came raggedly. I opened my eyes to see his closed lids, lips drawn back in a grimace of pleasure, shoulders straining. He was about to come. I locked my legs around him.
“Ah -- ah --” He shivered, breath held, and threw his head back with a cry. A moment later, it crashed over me as well.
+++++
It seemed very dark in the room. Severus lay on me bonelessly, breathing in the space between my neck and the pillow. In a few minutes I realized that he had fallen asleep.
“Tch,” I said. “Move over.” He rolled off, keeping an arm over my belly. Just before sleep, the tears that had pricked my eyes returned, this time to swell and trickle down my cheeks.
He was whole.
Notes: This chapter was beta’d by Rickfan37 and Gina R Snape. Latin was graciously provided by Delphi.