The Spell

Severus Snape was nervous. He disliked the feeling intensely, not only because it was so rare, but because it indicated that he was not in total control of his emotions. He needed to work on that.

He sat quietly in a brightly lit suburban drawing room. His hosts were plying him with biscuits and tea and chatting about his new job at the St. Mungo's Antidote Department. He indicated that the job was temporary. In a few years, when Slughorn retired, he would return to Hogwarts to teach Potions. He was intensely aware of the sister, staring daggers at him, while she smoothed her already impeccable skirt one more time. She doesn't want me here. He thought. I better get used to that.

Why? He felt in his head, a second before he heard her footfall on the steps leading to the room. They had discovered this talent almost two years ago. The lone Gryffindor and the oddball Slytherin in NEWT Potions ended up paired together. She had reached for her silver knife, while he poured the requisite three drops of dew into the cauldron. The potion had turned a fine clear shade of green, they looked at each other, joyous at having produced such a difficult potion the first time, and became aware of the other's mind. They had been able to feel each other's thoughts ever since.

In the intervening years they had polished this power. It had made them an intensely effective magical team. Of course, the only place they ever really got to team up was in the Potions lab, but that time had created a respect rarely found between their houses, and that respect had given birth to a deep friendship even more rare.

That's why I'm here. He thought back to her. A second later she entered the room. In the deep part of his mind he rejoiced, feeling bathed in warm sunshine. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Hi, Sev."

"Hi, Lily." Her parents made the appropriate noises and shuffled out of the room. Her sister lingered a moment longer, still staring daggers at him. Finally he looked back at her, caught her eyes, and projected a thought towards her. Leave! She scurried out of the room as if she had been stung.

"So what brings you to Muggleland?"

"I live in Muggleland too, you know."

"Yes, but it sounded like a good opening line." Her eyes lit while she smiled.

"It happened last night." He rolled up his sleeve, and showed her the ugly charred sign of the Dark Mark. "I won't be able to see you again. I'm officially a member of the Pure Blood Superiority and other Miscellaneous Evil Movement." This time his smile was forced, brittle.

"God, I hope Dumbledore knows what he's doing." She looked bleak.

"I'm convinced he does, but…" The rest went unsaid. His fear of the task ahead, his pride at being the only one good enough to do it, his loneliness at having to go it alone, all floated through his head.

"You won't be alone." She had caught the thought and answered it.

"I'll have to be. If you're still in my head, we'll both get killed. I saw him last night, he's…" and again the images in his head told her what his words could not. He felt her understand, and her sorrow deepen.

She placed her hands on his face, fingers in his hair. She drew his face toward her and began to kiss him, tender and friendly. He pulled her closer, deepened the kiss, felt his passion and his body rise, felt her respond. The query in his mind caught him by surprise. He actually stepped back and spoke out loud, "But you love Potter."

She smiled at him again, and spoke, "It will be a very bad day when I've only enough love in my heart for James Potter." He heard the words and looked into her mind and saw she meant that. Something in her last few weeks as an Unspeakable had changed her views on love. She caught his thoughts and said out loud, "You'd never believe the half of it." Once more the question of going upstairs entered his mind, this time an image of them making love accompanied it.

"Yes," he whispered into her ear, kissing it.

"Hold on," she said, a gleam of humor in her eyes. As if he wasn't holding on already. He felt the squeeze and the heard the pop that placed them in her room. He heard the lock on her door shoot home, and he quickly cast a silencing spell. For simple magic like that wands and words were unnecessary.

The kiss continued. His lips on hers, tongues stroking, intermingled with sucks, and occasional nips. His fingers twined in her hair, the light of sunset made silk in his hands. He felt her joy at his poetry. You should really write that kind of stuff down. She thought.

It doesn't go with my image.

And this does? Her mind asked playfully.

"Ravishing a helpless little Muggle girl. Oh yes…" He purred back.

She bit him, and his mind focused on the kiss and on her hands stroking his shoulder and back. One of them worked its way up his sleeve to touch his arm. Her finger ran delicately along the now blackened skin, traced along the snake, absolved him of what was to come, and what he would have to do in his role of Loyal Death Eater. She lost her focus when his fingers slid to her neck, and stroked along her collar bone. He slid down to kiss the line between her jaw and the hollow of her neck. She purred back at him, and twined her fingers in his, slowly stroking one of his between two of hers.

Her jumper was in the way, scratchy wool against his chin. He didn't know if he cast the spell or if she did, or if they both did, but clothing vanished. She squirmed against him, stroking her body against his. Smooth skin lightly scented with jasmine and sandalwood rubbed against skin a little too pale, and hair a little too dark.

His heart was beating too fast, his sense of touch too acute. Her lips on his lips, her breasts on his chest, her tummy against his cock, her bush against his leg, her hand moving from his back to his cock. Her fingers skinned back his foreskin, stroked him. Electricity flowed through him. His eyes slid closed as he felt the first spasm hit him. His hips jerked and her hands followed him motion, coaxing more pleasure out of him.

The first thought that hit him was she was supporting his weight. He kept her close but shifted his weight back to his own feet. His head was resting against her neck, and he lifted it to look at her. A fleeting sense of disappointment washed through him. He'd come too quick, but almost before he finished the thought he felt her response. First time quick, second time slow.

Two thoughts hit him. Second time? and Where did you learn that?

She pulled back, took his hand, and led him to her bed. She lay down and gestured for him to join her. He settled on his side facing her. "Yes, there most certainly will be a second time, and blood isn't the only fluid you can work magic with."

He thought about that for a moment. "I guess that shouldn't be a surprise. Is that the kind of thing you do at your job?" He had thought about becoming an Unspeakable himself. He certainly had the skills for it, but Dumbledore had given him a much better offer. Although, if regular sex was part of the job… Maybe Dumbledore's offer hadn't been so hot.

She laughed at his train of though. "Regular research on how magic works, how it came to be, and how we shaped it from wild Sorcery into measured Wizardry is my job. Anything with a very strong emotional content, anything with power of its own can be used to fuel magic." She spoke the words aloud, but his question related to what she was thinking.

"What's the Hero's Farewell?" He asked, stroking her breast.

"Old magic, from the time of the Roman Britain."

"Sex Magic?"

"Usually, but over the years it was tamed down into any sort of valuable token."

"I'm like sex better than any token I can think of."

Horny goat. She thought. "You can't carry sex with you," she said.

"I'll carry the memory."

She kissed him. "Yes, you'll remember this 'til the day you die, and quite a bit after." She kept up the kiss, and he heard her explanation in his head. The Hero's Farewell is a protective spell. One lover to another. By giving something of mine, something with a risk to it…

"Risk?" He stopped kissing her and propped himself on his elbow.

"Minimal, my period's due tomorrow, but in this version of the spell contraception cannot be used. So, yes, risk." She decided to ignore the horror she felt in his mind for a moment to complete the explanation. "Back then many, many women died in pregnancy or childbirth. More than men died on the battlefield. So her risk took the place of his. Her love shielded him from the battles to come. Time passed; understanding of sex and fertility improved. Almost no one dies in childbirth now, and I know that I usually ovulate between day 13 and 15 of my cycle. So the risk is minimal, but the spell is old, and it is satisfied by our actions." She felt his mind settled back down. His terror calm. "No babies for us," she added to sooth him further.

"Sure?" He stared directly into her eyes and felt and heard her affirmation. He continued looking at her, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

"Not to be greedy or anything, but if memory serves the score is Snape 1, Evans 0, and I'd like to see about evening that up."

"Well then…" He returned to kissing her, keeping his mind in her mind as much as possible. What did she like? This little lick here? Yes. That nibble there? Yes, but not as much. His hand brushed the nape of her neck and she shivered delightedly.

"Roll over." He shut his mind quickly, for this plan to work he needed to be in her mind, but keep her out of his. He felt her questioning when she realized he had gone blank, and quickly reassured her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Roll over? Is this some sort of Slytherin kink?" She flipped over, rubbing her ass against his crotch. His breath caught for a moment then he answered.

"Yes, I'll be summoning the whips and chains in a moment." He felt her mind stir at that idea, fear and erotic excitement warring with each other. He buried that deep in his mind for later fantasies. For the moment he settled himself straddling her thighs. Her hair was spread out across her back. He gently picked it up and stroked her back with it, while settling it next to her shoulder.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I know you Gryffindors are all straight ahead go for the goal types, but we Slytherins have a reputation of craftiness. Sometimes the most direct route to something is sideways." He began to stoke her shoulders while kissing the back of her neck. He could feel her body arch against his, hear her small moans, and her mind's encouragement. His fingers lingered on her shoulders and then quickly slid to her sides. She giggled as they caressed her ribs, and inhaled sharply when they skimmed over the sides of her breasts.

He knelt and reached forward to run his fingers from the crown of her head to the crease of her buttocks. Severus stopped when he reached her head, aware that the soft stroke of his penis along the crease of her backside was driving her crazy. He carefully shifted his weight a few more times, relishing the soft thrusts of skin on skin before he felt his own control crack and his mind open. His image of sliding between her legs and slipping into her filled her mind. Her answering thrill of arousal overwhelmed him for a moment. He stopped moving, pulled back, snapped his mind closed again, and said, "Not yet. Not until we're even."

He began to kiss his way down her back, stopping to lick certain especially sensitive spots. He switched tactics and positions often to keep her guessing about what he would do next. She gasped when he bit her left butt cheek, and moaned when he began to lightly stroke her pubic hair. He didn't actually ask her to flip back over, but she knew he wanted her on her back for the next bit. Or he knew she wanted to be on her back for the next bit. With each stroke it was harder to tell whose mind was whose.

He was acutely aware of where she wanted to be touched. Her mind was begging him for it, her body whimpering as he stroked closer and closer to the little nub of flesh. As his fingers drew closer, his mind and hers continued to meld. When he finally began to circle her clit with his thumb the wall he had been so carefully trying to hold onto fell. By then he didn't care anymore about putting it back in place. He could feel her pleasure at his touch, that circles were better than up and down, and that she wanted him inside of her as well as stroking her. He eased a finger inside, marveling at how soft and wet she was, marveling at how it felt to be in her, and how it felt to have him inside of her. The gentle slide of wet flesh, a few more rounded strokes and her legs began to shake. He felt the fire flow through her, the clench of muscles, and the tingle from head to toes. When her shaking stopped he scooted up to spoon with her. Her head tucked under his chin, her back to his chest. Both of their minds quiet for the time being.

After some time she turned to face him. Draping one of her legs over his. "You know, we're pretty damn good at this," she said while stroking his chest hair.

"We're pretty damn good at everything we do together." He smiled back at her.

She reached between them to take his cock and place it against her labia. She shifted her hips to stroke against him, sliding wetly from tip to base. His eyes rolled shut and hands clenched at the feeling. So good. She felt his mind sigh.

"Want better?" She asked.

"Better," he breathed. His eyes lazed open and locked with hers. She rolled him onto his back and straddled him. She slid along the length of him a few more times, until he was as slick as she. Raised him up, and began to lower herself onto him.

Oh, fuck, yes! Echoed through his mind. His thought? Her thought? Didn't matter. Soft, wet, hot, slick, tight, full, stretch, and sting filled their minds. He no longer knew, or cared, which sensations were his, which were hers.

When she finished her descent he felt her begin the spell. She was right. It was old magic, all will and no words. It tasted different than the spells he was used to. His eyes locked with hers, her hands on his heart, his hands on her hips, he felt the power of it flow from her to him. Felt it envelop him with wash of warm comfort. As her concentration began to recede she started to move again. He was aware of the pace, long and slow from tip to base with not a second hurried, not a centimeter rushed, and of the feel of her hips under his hands, but beyond that he didn't know where he ended and she began.

The pace increased as molten gold wove its way through them. Burning pleasure started where they joined and rushed to their extremities, fingers and toes tingling, nipples tight. She took his hands in hers, pinned them to the bed above his head, and lowering her body to his. Their kisses grew erratic, rougher, matching the rhythm of the rest of their bodies.

He flipped them over, raised her hips to his, pushing deeper into her. She arched up to meet him. Heels against his shoulders, hands grasping his buttocks, urging him deeper, and faster yet. He felt the lightning strike them, course through them, leaving them shaking and sated. The spell closed upon him, he was safe.

The light had begun to change when she woke. He lay next to her, sleeping lightly. He was relaxed, comfortable in a way she had never seen him. She saw the muscles in his face begin to tighten and knew he was awake.

"I thought it was a dream."

"Not this time."

"It will be next time." His face darkened.

"And the time after that," she added, "How about we make a deal? Another round after the victory party."

He smiled at the idea, and answered with his voice light and sarcastic, "Hell, you'll be married to Potter and surrounded by fat babies by the time we get to the victory party."

"I'll never be so married I won't be able to have a celebratory shag with you." He looked positively shocked at her words, and then she felt him warm up to the idea of sleeping with James' wife.

"You would like that wouldn't you." This time her voice held a bit of sharpness to it.

"Screw you, and Potter in one fell swoop…I can't think of anything I'd like better. Well, maybe if I could somehow really piss off Black at the same time." She gave him a gentle slap on the arm.

He stretched lazily, and looked at the clock. "I'll have to go soon. Malfoy is expecting me."

"How can you stand that pretentious git?"

"You like Potter. I like Malfoy. To each his or her own. Besides he always picks up the check, his alcohol is good, and now that I'm officially a Death Eater, he's all but jumping up and down to take me under his wing."

"What does he intend to do with you once you're there?"

"Pick my brain, take credit for my work, and use my skills for the betterment of the Malfoy line. I imagine the first thing I'll be doing is something to finally get Narcissa Black to look his way."


"It could be worse." He looked about the room. "This is embarrassing, we actually vanished the clothing didn't we?"

She thought about it, "Damn. Well, I was going to mess with their memories, so they thought we spent the afternoon chatting civilly in the parlor about antidote potions. I'll just have to change how they remember the outfits as well."

Five minutes and a few spells later they were dressed and sitting in the living room, civilly chatting about antidote potions. As he stood up to leave she grasped his hand and kissed him once more. After the kiss she rested her forehead against his and whispered, "You be careful."

"As long as I can do this," his mind closed, tight as vault, and he smiled, an edge of bitterness shining through, "I'm safe as houses. You need to work on shutting your mind as well. Dementors will be around, lots of them. They feed him. That much I learned last night. Close your mind, it's more reliable that that Patronus crap. No feelings, and they'll have no interest in you. I have to go. Malfoy will be looking for me soon."

"See you on the other side."

"At the victory party." He walked out. The sister watched him leave, still looking at him as if he was incarnate evil.