Serendipity: All Needs Met. All Desires Fulfilled
Summary: Four people damaged by war and circumstance find solace in the unlikeliest of places.
I’ve spouted enough about it. This is my jab at the dreaded MLC—a reworked first chapter of something I wrote on LJ a while back, which will be developed in due course. Un-beta’d for the time being—if you spot any typos, please let me know. Any comments would be welcome.
NC-17
Part 1: The Wounded.
Chapter 1: Severus Subdued.
Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of choice ~ Jane Austen .
~ *~~*~~* ~
It had been a little over five years since the Ministry had forced Severus Snape into a marriage of inconvenience. Five interminable, god-awful years since he had been obliged to share his private space, his bed, his body with that… that… creature! Severus slashed a ‘D’ on the parchment in front of him so violently, it almost gouged a hole right through it. Twenty years he had been a spy; twenty sodding years and this had been his reward. Why couldn't that bloody snake have succeeded in finishing him off? Hell couldn't possibly be any worse than this.
He dipped his pen in the ornate ink-well, silently contemplating the red ink dripping off the nib. The war had taken its toll, claiming the young and the old, the innocent and the experienced with equal indifference. Who of his acquaintance had not suffered a loss? So much death and destruction... Such... waste. None of his contemporaries had survived; all those he had sworn to wreak vengeance on in the hot temper of youth had passed beyond the veil-even that scabby werewolf, Lupin. Sighing, he stared at the first-year essay with unseeing eyes. In truth, he had developed a grudging respect for the mangy mutt in later years-although he would have rather poked his eyes out with red-hot needles than admit it. And now there was peace, and an even greater sacrifice being demanded...
'Sod it!'
Severus dropped the quill as his hand started to tremble violently. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of it with the other hand, pressing it to his body in an attempt to ignore the numbing pain spreading down his arm. This was happening far too frequently: Delayed Post-Cruciatus Curse Syndrome, the medics called it. Incurable. Liable to strike at the most inconvenient of times and no doubt triggered, at least in part, by the stress he was forced to endure in his current situation. Sometimes, Severus almost welcomed these episodes; they were a grim reminder of the choices he had made, what had been lost and, despite everything the Fates had thrown at him, that he had survived. But for the most part, they were just an aggravating memento from a time he'd rather forget. Irritably, he slammed the lid of the ink-well shut with his good hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The ramblings of the latest batch of dunderheads to clutter up his classroom seemed of little significance. It could wait until tomorrow.
As the seizure began to subside, Severus opened his desk drawer and rummaged for a phial of analgesic potion. He was in luck. Uncorking it, he tipped back the contents and almost choked as a loud crash followed by a shriek, broke the silence. The door flew open and, in a tangle of limbs, two small children fell into the room, shattering his few precious moments of solitude.
Severus leapt up.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he roared.
‘She started it.’
‘Did not.’
‘Enough! How many times do I have to tell you that I will not tolerate fighting in the living room?'
‘Sorry, Daddy.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
Severus regarded his twin daughters sternly. ‘That’s better; but be warned. Any more bad behaviour, and the trip to Florean’s on Saturday with Auntie Minerva will be cancelled. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ the twins chorused.
‘Very well,’ Severus said ruffling their hair. ‘Now, go to your room. I don’t want to hear a peep out of either of you until dinnertime. Understood?’
Severus suppressed a grin as the girls shuffled obediently off. They were the only good thing to have come out of his sham of a marriage, the only thing that made his continued existence worthwhile. Severus conjured a glass of firewhisky and sat down in his favourite armchair. Two children. Who'd have thought it? Parenthood had never been part of his life plan and being forced into fatherhood... He'd been filled with terror and self-disgust at the prospect, rutting with a woman he despised, impregnating her by Ministerial decree. Severus shuddered and gulped down his whisky. At least she'd consented to taking a Potion that ensured a multiple birth, but still...
He'd tried to bury his head in the sand, pretend it wasn't happening, but it was impossible to ignore his wife's bulging abdomen, and in due course, the twins were born. For three days afterwards, he stayed away, refusing to have anything to do with them and drowning himself in a several bottles of Ogden’s and self-pity instead. It had been Minerva who had forced him to go to the hospital wing at wand-point with the threat of being on the receiving end of a very inventive and embarrassing hex if he didn't start behaving like an adult. Scowling with indignation, he had looked into the cots only to find himself captivated by the tiny bundles he had been partly responsible for creating.
Poppy Pomfrey had swooped in then, picking Eileen up and insisting he hold her. Protesting vehemently, Severus had tried to back away, swallowing down embarrassed tears, but Poppy would have none of it. And so, awkwardly and a little reluctantly, Severus held out his arms. It was a moment he would remember with unswerving clarity for the rest of his life; in a split second, everything changed. Gazing into the eyes of his newborn daughter, Severus' heart filled up with an unfamiliar emotion, and he knew there and then he would lay down his life for her and her sister without giving it a second thought. At that moment, too, he understood his beloved Lily's choice and finally forgave her for it.
Oh, Severus adored his daughters all right: Cassandra, with her wild bushy locks and hazel eyes so reminiscent of her mother and Eileen who was the image of his. Conversely, though, Cassandra’s intellect and mannerisms were uncannily like Severus’ whilst Eileen was blessed with the personality and imagination of his wife. It was amazing, he thought, how two siblings could be so different. It was no wonder that they fought all the time; they were as mismatched as their parents...
He sighed. Two down, one to go.
Yawning, Severus stretched out his legs. It had been a long day and tonight… he took a very large gulp of whisky and tried not to think about it. He would have to drink a damn sight more before he could face the weekly sexual congress demanded by his marriage contract. Picking up the Potions text he was currently reviewing in an effort to take his mind off it, he downed the dregs of the glass and and began to read.
~ * ~ * ~
Severus glanced at the clock as the hand moved silently to ‘Time for bed.’ No point in trying to delay the inevitable. Reluctantly, he made his way to his bedroom. A cry from the twins’ room, however, made him stop in his tracks. Yes, there it was again. He opened the door quietly, Eileen was moaning in her sleep. A nightmare? Carefully, he sat down on the bed and gently grasped her shoulder. Instead of waking as he expected, the little girl sat bolt upright and with vacant eyes began to speak.
‘I should not be, I should not be,’ she wailed.
‘Hush, child, hush,’ Severus whispered trying to calm her.
‘NO,’ the little girl cried. ‘I shouldn't be. I don't belong here.’ She turned her head towards at her father. ‘You do not belong here.’ Eileen woke up and burst into tears.
‘It was just a dream, little one. Just a dream.’ Severus held his daughter, rocking her gently until her breathing quietened.
‘It will be all right, Daddy,’ she said, yawning. ‘You’ll see.’
‘Go back to sleep, Eileen.’ He gently laid the little girl back down and tucked her in, crooning all the while until she dozed off. He kissed her forehead, tenderly.
‘Goodnight, my princess.’
Severus got up and silently left the room. Eileen's words, however, had rattled him. What in Merlin’s name was that all about? He sighed. There was no time to consider the matter now. He had a duty to perform.
Entering his bedchamber and astutely ignoring the woman silently waiting in his bed, Severus quickly disrobed behind the screen, which the house-elf had set up for the occasion, and grasped his cock firmly. Once he'd coaxed an erection out of it, he wrapped his dressing gown around himself before emerging. A flick of the wrist lowered the lights even further; the near darkness being essential for him to be able to perform. In the dim, flickering candlelight he could pretend she was someone else. Severus regarded the witch he was forced to be intimate with, focusing on her long, messy hair fanned out all around her. He inhaled sharply. If only it were her.
Quickly discarding his dressing gown, Severus climbed into bed. ‘Are you prepared?’ he spat.
‘Yes.’
Without further ceremony, Severus moved into position between his wife's legs and, after some fumbling, found his target. He pushed home with a grunt, then half-closed his eyes to keep up the fantasy as his hips thrust forward:
Ye-ess... ohhh, ye-ess. Tight… so tight for me, my love. Oh, gods, I... love you…
‘Finished?’
‘Yes,’ Severus gasped, rolling onto his back. ‘Thank you, Sybill. You may leave now.’
~~ * ~~
Once the door had closed, Severus quickly got out of bed and summoned his house-elf. The little creature nodded, but did not utter a word and went about his business, stripping the bed as he'd done every week since the Trelawneys were married. Severus grabbed his dressing gown and his wand and left him to it.
In the bathroom, Severus stared at his naked body in the mirror over the washbasin, his top lip curling in disgust. As if she would ever have been interested in looking at that. Snarling at his reflection, he braced himself before casting a cleansing charm more suited to removing the encrusted remains from the bottom of a rusty old cauldron than cleaning the human body. The sensation was akin to being flayed alive, and he winced as his normally pallid skin took on the appearance of a freshly boiled lobster. But it was not enough to eradicate the repugnant act in which he’d been compelled to participate. Still feeling soiled and used, Severus turned on the shower, and with the water as scalding hot as he could stand it, angrily scrubbed himself down with a loofah, paying particular attention to his already much abused and sore genitals. He let the water pound against his scalp, wishing it could somehow rid him of the memory-get her smell out of his head, but there was no cure for that short of an Obliviate. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, he turned the water off. This was as clean as he was going to get.
After he had towelled himself dry, Severus reached for the palliative ointment he had prepared in advance and applied a generous amount to his tenderised skin. He moaned in appreciation as the soothing balm alleviated the soreness, making a mental note to procure more ingredients as his personal stocks were running low. Yes, a visit to the Apothecary's was well overdue, and there was that Potions text he'd ordered waiting for him in Flourish and Blotts... He could go to London. Make a day of it...
By the time he had finished in the bathroom, there was a clean nightshirt and a freshly made bed waiting for him. Pulling back the covers, Severus climbed in gratefully, lay on his back and tried to calm his agitated mind, but it was no good-it was never any good. Images of a certain bushy-haired witch kept floating unbidden to the surface. Sighing, he slid his hands down his body to his already hardening cock.
Hermione Granger. Yes, Hermione fucking Granger. Champion of the underdog, heroine of the wizarding world, young, lovely and even more unobtainable than Lily had ever been. Severus grunted. Yet another round of unrequited love. You'd have thought he'd be used to the pain of it by now; it had been his constant companion since adolescence, after all...
'Hermione...'
Regaining consciousness in St Mungo's after the Battle of Hogwarts, paralysed and with no idea of how he'd managed to survive, she'd been at his side and no doubt witnessed the blind panic in his eyes. 'Everything's all right, Professor. We won. Voldemort's dead and you're safe. You can't move or speak because of a spell; you need to keep still while your neck muscles and vocal chords heal, that's all.'
Over? It's over?
She'd gently brushed his hair off his forehead and applied a cool, damp flannel. It had felt heavenly; to this day, he could still recall the lavender scented water she'd used if he closed his eyes. 'I wanted to be sure there was someone here when you woke up, so you'd know what had happened,' she explained, dabbing his cheeks. 'I volunteered, in case you were wondering.'
If he'd been able to, of course, he'd have yelled at her to fuck off and leave him alone, but that was not an option available to him, so he'd had to lie there and suffer her clumsy attempts at nursing him-or that was what he'd told himself, at any rate.
It'd seemed like every time he'd awakened, she'd been there, prattling incessantly about war trials and how Harry bloody Potter was demanding he be given a full pardon and a medal for his 'brave contribution'. As if he'd ever given a shit about that and... Good God, didn't she ever shut up! The girl could talk a glass eye to sleep, as Granny Snape would have said. She must have known how much he'd have hated her seeing him like this, but nothing short of a hex seemed likely to deter her. Sometimes, she would bring the newspaper or a book and read to him, which, he'd had to admit, went a long way in relieving the boredom of lying on his back and staring at the ceiling all day with only his thoughts for company.
The Potter brat stopped by, eventually, full of contrition and misplaced hero-worship. You've got my memories. Give them back to me, you bastard. Severus had shut his eyes as the only form of protest he'd had, and the boy had taken the hint and left. A few minutes after he'd heard the door closing, Severus noticed a fruity aroma filling the air, and his nostrils flared. He opened his eyes to see Hermione peeling a tangerine. It was an old, familiar smell; it reminded him of Christmases long past and Lily, but it was all so hazy...
'It's all right. Harry's gone.' Hermione smiled.
Good.
'Sorry. I'm hungry. I'd give you some but...'
He was being fed by a tube. Yes, rub it in, why don't you?
'Although,' she bit her lip thoughtfully, 'I don't see why you can't have a little taste...'
He watched, unbelieving, while she carefully bit into a segment and squeezed some of the juice onto her fingers. Then, inching closer, she pressed her fingertips gently to his mouth and smeared the juice over his parched lips. An explosion of sensation assaulted his brain: the juice, her skin. Her scent was making him dizzy while her hair tickled his face, and he'd cringed in mortification, wanting to pull away and wanting to suck her fingers at the same time but unable to do either.
'Did they tell you they straightened your nose?' she said a little breathlessly. He gave her the best glare he could muster under the circumstances, and she giggled. 'Oh, don't worry-it's as big as ever. The Healers thought you'd be able to breathe better if they re-set that old break, that's all, so they fixed it.'
The next day, there had been no sign of her-or the next. No one bothered to tell him why, and inexplicably he'd started to worry-although, in all likelihood, she had simply buggered off, having found someone more worthy than him to annoy. And yet, he knew it wasn't in her nature to just stop coming without any explanation.
The following morning, the Healers released him from the stasis spell. Croakily, he'd asked after Hermione and was told she was married-just like that-to Ronald Weasley, of all people. Severus had felt strangely hurt at the news-she'd never mentioned a romantic attachment to Weasley in all the weeks she'd sat beside his sick bed. It wasn't until the Ministry announced the Wizarding Re-population Scheme and Compulsory Marriage Act a few days later that he'd realised she must have been given a tip-off-probably from Arthur Weasley-and got married before it came into effect, thus effectively avoiding being snapped up like a prize heifer by some randy pureblood. It wasn't until then, either, when she was forever out of his reach, that he'd realised how much he wanted her. But by then it was too late.
'Hermione...'
Picturing the smiling face of the woman he longed for, Severus cupped his balls with one hand and lightly caressed his cock with the other, reclaiming his body for his own pleasure once more. In his fevered imaginings, Hermione rode him hard as he sped up his movements, breasts bouncing, her hair flying about her head like some wild, living thing. .. Hermione yess, like that tied to his bed: a supplicant, blindfold, dripping wet with anticipation. Fuck... Hermione naked on an enormous silver platter, born aloft by house-elves, an offering to him, the conquering hero. Sweet Nimue... Hermione, his blushing bride, virginal and sweet, his for the taking...
'Gods...' With both hands around his cock, he flexed his hips... 'Mine... all... mine... Fuck, ye-esss...'
Still panting, Severus reached for his wand to clean up the mess. Why he put himself through this pointless torment every week, he didn't know. She was happily married, if the Prophet was to be believed. And even if she weren't, even if there wasn't a husband and an iniquitous law between them, he'd have no chance with someone like that. He had to face facts. He was just a sad, desperate old git lusting after someone twenty years his junior and wanking himself into oblivion every night to stave off his despair. But he knew that tomorrow would be no different, and that next week, and the week after that, he would continue using her to make him feel clean and whole again. It might be pathetic, but it was all he had. And so, with the thought of a well-fucked, sated Hermione still very much on his mind, Severus drifted off into a troubled sleep.