"Winky, bring tea," Severus ordered, exactly ten minutes later, as he released a rather pleasingly mussed Harry, opened the door to Mrs. Liltington, and accused, "You. You sent your pixies to try and—"
"Find you. Yes, I did. I was concerned—and that's all you can prove because I've said as much. Now then," the lady said, breezing past the wizard and sitting down on the sofa, "shall we come to the point?"
"Sure," Harry replied, looking at Severus. "Why'd you set up this meeting, anyway?"
"It was to be a private one between Mr. Se—"
"Yes, but the plan has now changed. We didn't actually say that only you and I were to be present, and I would like Harry to remain."
Harry sat down with Severus in the two chairs across from the sofa and waited.
"Oh, very well," Liltington told them.
Winky appeared with tea.
"But I have no desire to speak to you in the presence of your house rat."
"Thank you, Winky. That will be all."
The house elf "popped" out of the room—leaving a shower of bright sparks to cascade over Liltington.
"Showy little thing," she huffed. "Now then, the purpose of this meeting is to discuss your second date, but it seems clear to me that it may not be necessary."
"Ah, but my marrying Harry is necessary if I'm to fulfill my contractual obligations."
Looking annoyed, Liltington said, "Yes, that's true. How good of you not to forget it."
Harry laughed. "I don't see why you're so upset about it. Our getting married means that you'll have another success on your hands—of one sort, anyway. Do you always try to eat your clients?"
The courtship consultant purpled, but she did not reply.
Severus cleared his throat. "Harry and I wish to be married. We will be so, and then I shall un-enchant her on our honeymoon."
"Yes," Liltington said, brightening, "the sex—I mean—your honeymoon."
Harry could see that the lady still believed she had a shot at having Severus for supper. "My contract with you was about getting Severus wooed—it doesn't matter if I do become pregnant after the wooing—you can't touch him if he marries me."
"Damn you for a reader!"
"You can't damn anything," Severus replied. "You're neither a god nor a wizard. Now get out. Our meeting is over."
"You may, of course, attend our wedding to see to it that the event occurs, but afterward, I. Never. Want. To. See. You. Again."
"Ingrate!" Liltington spat, puffing off in more smoke than she had ever left behind.
Coughing, Harry said nervously, "Well, so all that's left is to get married, then."
"So it is," Severus replied, his tone entirely too steady.
Somehow, Harry knew that this meant he was as nervous as she. Oddly enough, she found it quite reassuring, but she was not entirely certain that matters were so simple.
"Severus, I know you don't mind my being a witch, but what if . . . what if I get pregnant when—"
Before she could complete her question, Severus had risen from his chair and knelt before her. "I should have thought of this before," he said, waving away the last lingering traces of Liltington's ire. "Harry James Potter," he said, inserting the correct name in the bit of dialogue that seemed standard in every one his students' romance novels, "would you . . . do me the very great honor of becoming," no, too pompous, "would you make me the," no, not that one—Harry won't believe me if I say 'happiest of men', but . . . "would you," damn it! he thought—worrying that he was losing the moment and his nerve—what should I say?
"Would I?" Harry prompted, her lips twitching in amusement.
"Don't laugh at me, Potter! You try proposing and see how easy it is!"
At once sliding down from her seat to kneel with the wizard on the floor and looking up at him, Harry asked, "Severus Sebastian Snape, do you believe that I wish to marry you?"
"Yes," he answered crossly, "but that's not a proposal."
"Of course it isn't. Contractually, you have to ask me."
"Damnation!" exclaimed a leprechaunian voice from just under the window.
Severus threw his arms around Harry and hugged her, hiding his grin in her hair. "Yes brat, I would believe it. I do," he said, pulling away so that he could see Harry's face. She's so happy, he thought, dazedly. I make her happy. "I will make you happy if you marry me. I promise. Say you'll marry me?"
"Ask me, you git, and I will."
Severus arched an amused eyebrow. "Harry, will you marry me?"
"Hell yes, I'll marry you!" she exclaimed, falling upon Severus in her enthusiasm and knocking him to the floor.
Immediately, Severus rolled them over so that he was looking down at Harry, who giggled.
"You. You're really worried about my topping, aren't you?"
"I am not," Severus said, blushing.
"Bah," Harry mocked.
"Humbug," Severus replied, leaning down to kiss her.
"Pork roast!" Winky called worriedly from the threshold of the room. "Winky is thinking that Sir would like his dinner now."
Severus and Harry both laughed.
"This is ridiculous," Severus murmured. "My house elf has become our chaperone," he told Harry, as he helped her up from the floor.
"No," she said, "it's not ridiculous."
"What is it, then?"
Harry looked around at all the dustless books, at the little desk in the corner and the slightly shabby, though terribly clean, furniture, and smiled before turning to consider Severus again. "It's home."
Marcus Gordon fell out of the line with the other students waiting to board the carriages that would take them to the train station and then home for the Yuletide break—leaving Ambrose Blakeney to hold his place—to speak to Professor Potter.
"Ma'am?" he asked.
Harry turned her attention from some Third Years and tried to glare at him, but she could not manage it. Smiling, she asked, "Yes, Mr. Gordon?"
She already knew what he wanted.
"Professor Slughorn said I had to ask you," the Seventh Year replied, expectantly.
"Did he? About what?"
"My Potions final, Professor. He said you would know my mark because uh, you had someone else grade it, just to be sure."
"Yes. That's true."
"Who said, Mr. Gordon?"
"Professor Slughorn, Ma—Sir."
"What about Professor Slughorn, Mr. Gordon?"
She's enjoying this! Marcus thought, annoyed, but doing his best to hide it. "Professor Potter, please." I did apologize. "Did you ask someone else to look over my final exam of the term?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," Harry replied, turning her attention to a First Year girl and shepherding her back into line. "What about it?"
"Well, I'd like to know who it was—Professor."
"I'm certain you would, Mr. Gordon."
"Professor Potter," Marcus said, after taking a deep breath. "Would you please be good enough to tell me who marked my final?"
"I asked Severus Snape to look it over."
Enjoying the look of pure horror on the boy's face, Harry remarked, "Tone, Mr. Gordon."
"Yes, Sir, but . . . but why?"
Leaning closer to Gordon, Harry whispered, "Because it put Professor Slughorn's nose out of joint."
Marcus chuckled, but stopped almost at once. "Oh. Uh—"
Taking pity on Gordon at last, Harry said, "Mr. Gordon, I asked Mr. Snape to review your work in both Potions and Defense. I thought that, if your work was up to his standards, you might be interested in having both of our recommendations."
A feeling of elation rushed through Marcus then, and he could barely contain the yell that was poised to issue from his throat—but then he realized that Professor Potter had not said anything about Snape's actual opinion of his work, and his face fell. "I . . . I see, Sir."
"No, you do not, Mr. Gordon," a deep voice said from behind him.
Marcus turned and came face to face with his old head of house. "Professor Snape, Sir!"
"I'm no longer a professor, Mr. Gordon. You'll have to grow to think of me as 'Master Snape'."
"Yes, Sir," Marcus replied automatically, flushing at himself for his own nervousness. "Why, Sir? I mean, why, Master Snape?"
"Because I will be the Defense Master in charge of Aurors-in-Training at Novitiate One, where you will be beginning your training in the spring. Congratulations, Gordon."
"Thank you Sir, Ma'am, Sirs!" Marcus exclaimed, all pretense of calmness gone.
"Go share your news with Blakeney, Gordon," Harry told him, nodding in the other boy's direction, "and don't tell him—too soon—that he's made it into the Corps, as well."
"Oh, thank you!" Marcus exclaimed again, rushing back to the line, leaving Harry and Severus smiling in satisfaction after him.
"That was mean," Severus remarked.
"You would know," Harry quipped, sliding her hand through his.
Neither of them paid any heed to the students gawking at them.
Almost three weeks later, Harry stared in chagrin at herself in the mirror. "You can't be serious," she said to Hermione.
"You should have read all the way through Professor Snape's addendum," the other witch said, adjusting the ring of flowers in Harry's hair.
"He really put in that I had to wear a dress?"
"We've been over this. I think you look lovely."
"Some friend you are."
"After the last few hours, I think I'm a very good friend, indeed."
Harry flushed. "Sorry. Was I that big a pain?"
"'I'm a wizard! I don't wear dresses! You'll never get me into—'"
"Right. I was that big a pain. I'm going to kill him."
"That would be counter-productive to getting yourself un-enchanted, now wouldn't it be?"
"He's supposed to love me!"
Hermione smirked. "Everyone loves you, you prat. Here," she said, handing Harry a scroll.
"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Hermione replied primly. "Fred and George said to tell you 'happy wedding night' when I gave this to you. It's their wedding gift to you. Wait!"
"What?" Harry asked, stopping her effort to unroll the scroll.
"I have no intention of being here when you open that. Good luck," she told Harry, kissing her friend on the cheek and quickly exiting the room.
Ron rushed into it on Hermione's heels and found Harry staring, gobsmacked, at the scroll.
"What? What's wrong? Can you even breathe in that thing? Harry? Harry?"
Harry began to laugh. "I love them. I take back every threat. Perfect."
"You're babbling," Ron told her, seizing up the unrolled parchment from the floor. "What's so funny? Who do you love?"
"Fr—Fred . . . and Geo—eorge. Go on, read . . . it," Harry urged, through her chuckles.
Ron scanned the document and blushed so deeply that his freckles were lost to it—and then he started laughing, too. "My brothers," he said, when he could finally draw breath again, "aren't having anything to do with my wedding plans!"
It was a serious Ron and a smiling Hermione who shortly later led an excited Harry down the aisle of the Great Hall toward Severus and Filius and Minerva—and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore which was being held aloft by Dobby and Winky in the place in which, usually, a living officiant stood.
Because the International Confederation of Wizards had not yet had occasion to elect a new Supreme Mugwump—they were yet debating the merits of the proposed candidates, thorough vetting of all Supreme Mugwumps a point on which every member of the Confederation could agree—Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore remained their leader, even in death. He retained, therefore, the full powers of his office, among them the ability to perform marriages for members of the Confederation; Severus, as it happened, had been inducted into the organization after Albus' posthumous request was made on his behalf by Filius Flitwick—something that the new Master of Defensive Magics for the Auror Corps had learned when he had told Portrait Albus his and Harry's news. They had both, of course, been delighted when the former Headmaster had offered to officiate at their wedding.
Harry searched Severus' impassive face for any sign of doubt as she stepped up on the small podium and took his hand. It was very warm.
As warm as his eyes, she thought, her worries receding. He wants this.
As if in answer, Severus squeezed Harry's hand slightly.
She's real. This is all real, he told himself, almost unable to believe it.
"Oh yes," Portrait Albus murmured, "this is real, my dear friends."
Harry and Severus drew in a breath as if one already, and waited.
"My dear friends," Portrait Albus repeated, somewhat more loudly, "we are gathered here on this great—and unusual, I don't believe anyone will mind my mentioning—day to see two of our favorite people become wed. I am not one for long speeches, but I think it safe to note that, whatever Harry and Severus have faced together in the past, whatever they will face in the future, their mutual strength and love for each other will carry them safely through their life together, as it has always done, and their future will be a happy one, indeed. And now, the vows. Harry James Potter, do you come now to be wed to Severus Sebastian Snape?"
"I do," Harry replied clearly, her fingers tightening in Severus'.
"And do you, Severus Sebastian Snape, come here to be wed to Harry James Potter?"
His thumb caressing Harry's hand, Severus replied firmly, "I do."
"Excellent!" Portrait Albus exclaimed, grinning widely as the assembled guests laughed. "Now then, one other point, courtesy of Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley."
"Ron, what did you do?" Mrs. Weasley and Hermione chided him at once.
"Shh!" he hushed them, turning to smile back unrepentantly before focusing on Albus' portrait again.
"What other thing?" Severus asked.
"I was just getting to that," Portrait Albus replied mildly, waiting for silence to fall. "I'm given to understand that marriage is a partnership—"
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, sounding pleased.
"—and that it would be well for you to remember it."
"Is . . . is that a vow?" asked Harry.
"Marriage," Severus replied, "is a partnership, and I will well remember it."
That sounds pretty good, Harry thought, her mind running through various possibilities of 'partnership'.
"Harry?" Portrait Albus prompted.
"What? Oh!" she exclaimed, as people laughed mildly. Worriedly, she turned to glance at Severus—she knew he hated to be laughed at—but he seemed amused. "Marriage is a partnership," she said quickly, "and I will . . . ."
"'Well remember it'," Severus whispered.
"Well remember it," she finished, swallowing hard.
"Harry and Severus, is it true that you have come here today to be wed to one another in the presence of those who love, respect, and admire you?"
"It is," they replied.
"And you both promise to treat each other with love, respect, and admiration as you begin your new life together, do you?"
"Why then, as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, I now affirm you to be wedded partners, and wish you friendship, love, and many years as proud parents as you go forth to face your future together. . . . Go on then, kiss," Portrait Albus urged, as the Hall erupted with the cheers of their friends.
Harry and Severus did not have to be told twice, and, as their lips met and sealed their commitment, deep in the Ministry for Magic's Hall of Records, a tiny book with too many pages to count flipped open to reveal their names written next to each other; the book was much the same as the scroll—too long to ever unfurl completely—which rolled open at the same moment in the dusty library in which the members of the International Confederation of Wizards kept their important documents to reveal the change in marital status of one Severus Sebastian Snape, and also to note that, by default, one Harry James Potter had become one of their number—despite the fact that he was a witch.
Acting Supreme Mugwump Rufus Scrimgeour was quite put out, indeed, when he made the discovery the following morning; for the mere presence of even a temporary witch's name on the Scroll of Membership meant that, henceforth, any witch might become a member of the ancient and "traditional" Confederation. He was certain then that Potter had enchanted himself for the express purpose of altering history, ruining his morning tea, and forcing him to change his already painstakingly prepared speech that he was to present at the next meeting of the mugwumps.
The old-timers will never forgive me for this. I'll never be elected Supreme Mugwump, now!
What stung most of all was the fact that he, the Minister for Magic, had not even been invited to the damned brat's wedding.
"People notice that sort of thing."
There were more speeches and jokes and cheers at the reception. Hagrid returned Liltington's pixies to her at some point, Harry noticed, while Remus was talking to her about something that barely registered in her mind; she was too busy watching Severus as he eavesdropped on Filius whispering quietly with the Weasley twins under a large portrait which should have had milkmaids in it but held Albus, instead. Severus found himself deeply gratified by how genuinely happy his guests seemed to be for him, and attempted to be gracious. For the most part, however, neither spouse could remember much of what had occurred after speaking their vows by the time they Disapparated back to the door of Spinner's End.
"Don't even think about carrying me over the threshold," Harry warned.
"Nervous?" Severus asked, opening the door with a flick of his wand and standing back to allow Harry to enter first.
"Terrified," she admitted, staring at the floor. "I thought I might bolt before the wedding—that's your fault," she accused.
Severus reached down to cup Harry's chin and gently raised it. "I knew you wouldn't," he whispered, "dress or no."
"Compulsion component," he retorted, smirking at his temporary bride.
Harry's eyes widened in vexation. "That's what Remus was telling me! There never was any compulsion component!"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Snape," Severus replied, turning away as he removed his cloak and tossed it over a chair. "Unfortunately, you're here of your own volition."
"Severus, look at me," Harry ordered.
He slowly turned to do so.
"You're terrified, too, aren't you? That's why you're trying to pick a fight."
"Who says that I'm—"
"Trying to pick a fight? You put me in a dress! You brought up the compulsion component, you—"
"There was no—"
"I know that! I know I'm here because I want to be—don't you?"
"When I saw you in the dress, then I knew," Severus replied, swallowing nervously as he attempted to unbutton his frock coat with unsteady fingers.
"Let me do that," Harry said, approaching him and knocking away his hands.
"Wou—ould be m—more comfortable n—naked, I think," she said, her voice shaking even as her fingers nimbly undid Severus' buttons.
"Has there never been anyone else for you, at all?"
Harry stopped her hands. "The most experience I've ever had with a girl I uh, I got with myself these last few weeks, and . . . and the only experience I had with a boy was . . . was with Ron—but we were drunk, and he was thinking of Hermione—do you really want to hear about that?"
"No," Severus replied, carding his fingers up through Harry's hair to pull free the circlet of flowers and cast it aside, "but I suppose that must have been confusing for you."
"Yeah, it was," Harry said, leaning her forehead into Severus' chest, "but I got over it."
"I'm glad. . . . My own experience was more frustrating than confusing."
"I . . . I fell in love with an older girl, someone who amused herself with me, for a time, but she would never giver herself fully to me because she was promised to another—someone from a wealthy, pureblood family—I am relieved now that I never had her."
"You don't mean Narcissa Malfoy, do you?" Harry asked, looking up into Severus' eyes and not liking the pain in them that he tried to hide by closing them. "Look at me. Let me see you."
Severus opened his eyes.
"Tell me. It's all right."
"I don't mean Narcissa. I mean her sister."
Feeling Harry stiffen, Severus said quickly, "When she was younger—before she fell into madness—she was brilliant and vivacious, interested in many of the same things as I," he explained, fearing that it would not be enough.
"Oh," Harry said, for she had no other reply.
"Does knowing make you regret—are you disgus—"
Harry shook her head to clear it. "I'm not disgusted with you or by you. It's in the past. It doesn't matter. Really, it's fine. It would be . . . it would be wrong for me to blame you for—I mean, she must have been different, then."
"Of you? Yes." A lot of the tension Harry could feel in her husband seemed to drain from him then, and she leaned closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Do you . . . want to tell me about the wizards?"
"There was only one," he replied, embracing her tightly, "only one who mattered. His death, his murder, was the reason I came to Albus to tell him of the Horcruxes."
Harry pulled back a bit to look at Severus in confusion, and then she realized whom it had to have been. "You really have a thing for Blacks, don't you?"
"Regulus," Severus admitted softly, "he was . . . he is my past, as well, Harry."
"He favored his cousin," she responded, considering Severus' old loves, "and I—Severus, you've a type, don't you? Black hair, slight frame—is that why you're interested in me?"
"You're not a 'type', Harry, you're my wi—spouse, you're the person I . . . I love now."
"Good. That's good because I love you, too."
"How is it possible?"
Harry smirked. "Let's not worry about that. It just is. We love each other, and . . . and I really think that we should be naked," she asserted, returning to her task of disrobing Severus.
He did not object, but allowed her to remove his frock coat, and then his waistcoat, and then his cravat, but when her fingers reached down to unbutton his trousers after pulling his unbuttoned shirt tails free of them, he stopped her.
"We never did discuss the un-enchanting—how it would occur."
"You discussed it. With Miss Granger, I presume?"
"Who else?" Harry answered, smiling. "She said that it was 'a simple matter of sexual relations', so um, I guess we should have them."
"Then my turn, I think," Severus whispered, turning Harry gently so that he could unfasten the tiny clasps that ran down her back, which he did by gliding the pad of one thumb over them while murmuring a spell to aid him, making sure to caress her creamy skin with the fingers of his other hand as it was exposed.
He had spent the previous evening practicing this maneuver on a transfigured hat rack, but Harry's response to his efforts was far more interesting than the dress-maker's dummy's had been.
Harry was shaking with need by the time he unfastened the last clasp and slid both hands up the inside of her dress to push it off of her shoulders. The green silk fell away with a hiss, and Severus gasped.
Harry was nude but for the matching silk mules upon her feet.
"Aren't we shameless?" he purred.
"Wearing a bra is one thing, but that . . . contraption Hermione tried to put me in was too much. I'm so—"
"Beautiful," Severus told her, running his hands down her sides and then over her arse to cup her buttocks.
An "oh!" escaped Harry's lips as she leaned back into Severus; encouraged, he continued his tender ministrations by lightly moving his hands over and around her body to caress her belly and then dance them teasingly over her erect nipples.
This caused Harry to whisper something unexpected.
"Was that Parseltongue?" Severus asked, suddenly more excited than he had ever thought possible. "What did you say? Say it again!"
["More,"] Harry breathed out, reaching her arms up over her head to clasp the back of Severus' and thread her fingers into his hair as she continued her translation. "I said more, please," she begged, as Severus caressed the sides of her breasts with his palms. "Harder."
"Not yet," he repeated, worrying her left nipple with one hand while his right one snaked down her belly to her mons and then slid further between her legs to stroke the wet flesh he found there.
Harry moaned and spread her legs, and Severus slowly coaxed her cunt open, his fingers lightly exploring the outer edges of her labia while being careful to avoid her clit. But Harry had no desire to be teased, and undulated her hips into his hand, uttering something between a laugh and a moan as she found something of the friction she needed.
"I see you're going to be difficult," Severus said thickly, thrusting his prick, now painfully hard, against her arse.
["T—touch me, p—please!"]
Severus did not need any translation to tell him what Harry wanted then.
"Like this?" he asked, gliding his thumb over her clit in rapid strokes while his other fingers played over her drooping, dripping folds. "And this?" he asked again, as he closed his other hand over her breast and squeezed it.
Harry hissed her affirmation.
The scent of Harry's arousal was driving Severus mad, and, as she unwittingly clenched her fingers in his hair and pulled, Severus gave in to his own need and moved to lift Harry out of her shoes and into his arms, carrying her to the sofa, where he placed her atop his chest and outstretched legs as he settled into the cushions.
Harry stretched her neck up and turned her head to find Severus' mouth with her own, and their tongues darted against one another in time with Severus' fingers, which played over Harry's breasts.
But Harry was not content to remain thus for long; she wanted the feel of Severus' cock against her palm, to feel their naked skin together. Threading one limber arm between their bodies, she reached for his twitching prick, restrained by the tight layer of soft fabric between them, and attempted to stroke it.
"Yes!" Severus cried, his head falling back. "Do more of that."
"I'll do better," she promised, rolling herself over to kneel between Severus' legs and reaching down to undo his trouser buttons.
They both gasped as his cock sprang from his loosened clothing and Harry's hands closed around him—Severus, because her touch felt better than anything he had known, and Harry because Severus was as frighteningly well-endowed as she had believed he would be.
"I . . . I'll do what I can," she told him, concern lacing her voice. "I'm not sure I can suck all of you."
"Say that again."
"What? Suck?" she asked, grinning when Severus groaned ecstatically.
"Suck. Yes. Suck."
["Suck,"] she assured him in Parseltongue, adjusting her position and lowering her mouth onto Severus' cock, delighting in the feel of him straining not to move beneath her.
Harry rewarded Severus for his restraint by enthusiastically slurping up and down the top half of his throbbing shaft while rhythmically squeezing the rest of his cock with her fists. By accident, her tongue flattened itself against the underside of his prick, and Severus whimpered in response to the friction. The sound elated Harry, for she had never thought to affect Severus so profoundly with just a lick, so she kept doing it—tracing a vein she felt beneath her tongue and sucking—and soon he was thrusting up to meet the downward motion of her mouth in an unconscious undulation that ended more abruptly than either of them had planned.
Severus, breathing too rapidly to speak, opened his eyes to find Harry watching him avidly as she licked his semen off her face. It was the most lascivious sight he had ever seen, and it made his cock twitch in an almost painful aftershock of pleasure.
"S—sorry for that."
"I'm not. You taste good."
"You've never tried it?"
"No. Why would I have?"
In response, Harry crawled up Severus' body and kissed him soundly before he could protest.
"It tingles against my lips and tongue," he told her, after breaking the kiss to breathe again.
"I guess it does, a little."
"You're very odd."
Severus smirked. "I don't mind it."
"Good. Perhaps you'd like to tell me how I taste?" she asked mischievously, drawing back to wantonly spread herself open to Severus.
He could not help himself. He grinned.
"I'll let you know," he said, hurriedly positioning himself between Harry's legs and latching onto her clit with his lips.
"Did I hurt you?" Severus asked, pushing himself back up and looking as though he might stop touching Harry altogether.
"No, just . . . go more slowly," Harry urged, reaching out for Severus, who allowed himself to be guided back into position. "Oh, nice—yes—don't stop that," she said, as he flicked his tongue over her clit. "Don't . . . stop!"
Severus stopped in confusion. He had only done "this," as he thought of the act he was trying to perform on Harry, a few times, and Bellatrix had never provided him with any instruction. "But you said that I should."
"No, I said 'don't stop'. I don't want you to—Severus, lick me. God, just—oh!" Harry exclaimed, as Severus began running the bridge of his nose lightly over her labia, ending each stroke with a flick of his tongue on her clit. "Oh, that's . . . that's perfect," she assured him, pulling up her legs to spread herself wider for him.
Yes. Yes it is, he thought, accepting Harry's unspoken invitation at once by plunging his tongue inside of her tantalizing folds and fucking her with it as deeply as he could—until he again found that he had to breathe. Changing tactics, Severus lightly sucked at Harry's clit while sliding his thumb inside of her clenching cunt and worked her with it, learning the landscape of her inner skin and adding another digit to his explorations as he completely forgot his earlier self-consciousness. She likes this!
As if in answer, Harry drew her thighs tightly up around Severus' head and squeezed, babbling utter nonsense.
Restraint charms, he thought. I'm going to need to learn restraint charms.
The thought of Harry bound beneath him drove Severus to full hardness again, and, instinctively, he reared back onto his knees, grasped Harry's thighs, and pulled her forward until his prick was poised to enter her.
Harry's eyes flew open and she whimpered.
"Do you want this? Do you want me?" Severus panted.
"Do it. Please. Fuck me."
With one rough thrust, Severus pushed into Harry—but when he saw her cringe in pain, heard her yell, he tried to withdraw.
"No!" Harry insisted, wrapping her legs around Severus' back and pulling him more deeply inside of herself, as deeply as she could. "Don't stop. Please, please, please don't stop."
Severus discovered then that a begging Harry could not be denied, and his hips began to piston out of his control, in and out of her—none too gently—but she took it, she took him in a glorious spasming of interior muscles and thrusting hips that forced all conscious thought from his mind—and then he was screaming, too, as the flesh in which his cock was encased became like a vise, grew rough, and squeezed such a powerful orgasm from him that he lost consciousness before Harry's transformation was complete.
"Se—oh—fuck—yes!" Harry screamed, as she felt the change—and her orgasm—take her, but she had been waiting for it, and, despite her pleasure, he made certain to push Severus over and off of him before they became painfully stuck. Laughing and gasping, Harry thought, It's good to have my upper-body strength back, even as he regretted losing the sensation of having Severus inside of him.
Sighing in relief and happiness—the brief soreness of his female form forgotten—Harry spooned his body into his husband's, drew one of the other wizard's arms over him, and allowed sleep to take him, greatly comforted by how loved he felt, and by the satisfying weight of his bollocks resting between his thighs.
His last conscious thought was, My turn is coming.