"Did you know they were my parents?"

"No. I never knew your parents' names, and why are they still using the false surname? I assumed the fact that the elusive daughter's name was the same as yours was some sort of karma," he said, smirking in a bitter sort of way. "I almost called you two weeks ago so that we could coordinate ducking out on these dinners."

"I'm trying to imagine that phone call," she said, grinning at him. The sheets were the same temperature as they were. Everything was soft and warm and lovely, their conversation broken up by lingering kisses. "Your voice on the other end—"

He cut her off with a kiss, tongue probing. He rolled so that he was partially on top of her, the sparse hair on his chest tickling her naked breasts. She pulled him closer, lifted her leg to wrap around his thigh.

He broke the kiss, laughing, and pressed his forehead to the curve of her neck. "What are we going to tell your parents? We didn't even clean anything up. The stew probably congealed in the pot."

"Mum made stew? Wow. She must really like you."

"That will probably change."

"Why should it?"

He ran a long finger down her body, tracing a nipple, following the line of Dolohov's curse scar, sliding between her folds and settling on her clit. She didn't breathe. For a long moment, he didn't move his finger, just stared into her eyes and kept still.

"I was your teacher," he said, his finger beginning to swirl against the sensitive nub. "I'm significantly older than you." His lips trailed across her throat, dragging wet kisses from her jaw to her pulse point. "I was your mentor—and in a field you didn't end up pursuing, I'm told." He withdrew a bit as that thought came to him, propping himself up on one elbow to look down into her face thoughtfully. His finger didn't stop its swirling.

"Don't stop," she gasped, arching into him. "Severus, don't stop!"

"I'm professionally appalled," he informed her. He resumed kissing her, though, sliding down in the bed so that his lips were level with her breasts.

"I couldn't continue with potions," she said, grabbing him by the wrist and keeping his hand where she wanted it. She ground her hips up into his touch, and he grinned against her breast. "Every time I walked into a lab, I missed you."

"So you went into banking?" he asked, putting his hands on her hips and putting his chin low on her stomach. He looked up the length of her body at her. His black eyes were dancing.

"Gringotts pays me to rob them," she said, pulling her legs up and rising back on her elbows so that she was looking at him between her knees.

"They what?"

"Security, Severus. I work in banking security. I test different branches' protections and advise them on updates and such. I travel a lot. I get paid a ridiculous amount of money. And I don't have to think about potions, because whenever I do I miss you so badly I end up sleeping off a bender on the sofa in George's office."

"George's…?"

"George Weasley." She lay back so that she wouldn't have to look at him. It was almost embarrassing, telling him to his face that his death had shattered her. She should've been stronger than that. "He borrows my couch from time to time when he gets to thinking about Fred, so it's sort of a symbiotic thing."

He moved, and she thought for one awful instant that she'd upset him, that he was getting up. But he just shifted forward so that he could wrap his arms around her. He rolled them on their sides and squeezed her to him. All she could smell was his skin. It was wonderful.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She sniffed, realizing belatedly that she was crying again.

They'd been doing this in cycles all through the night. Giddy, clingy love-making interspersed with holding and crying and apologizing. And talking to fill in the gaps.

"It was a condition of the deal. They secreted me away, and I didn't contact anybody."

"Not even me."

"You were getting hurt, too. I was the focus, but you would've been collateral damage. Or worse, they could've attacked me and you could've died instead."

"So you let me think you were dead!" Rage burned through her like it hadn't since she'd first seen him standing in her parents' kitchen. "You, what, looked in the papers and saw that I wasn't suicidal and decided—"

He cut her off with a kiss again, so she bit him. He growled, rolling them, pinning her to the mattress. She struggled, but he was bigger and she'd learned all of her best defensive moves from him. She writhed, but he maintained the upper hand. She squirmed, tried to get the leverage to buck him off, but he kept her beneath him, held her tighter.

"Dammit, Severus, let me g—ah!"

They'd both shifted just so, and the head of his cock had slid between her folds. They both froze, eyes locked.

"Ah," she breathed again, lifting her hips, watching his eyes flutter closed. He settled into her, slowly, slowly, slowly sinking in. His sack was soft against her oversensitive flesh. His cock was hard inside her, throbbing in time with the heartbeat she could see in his throat.

She lifted her head and kissed the underside of his jaw, the exact spot she'd kissed him the very first time. They hadn't been lovers before, but there had been glances and touches. She'd made a habit of kissing his cheek, but most of the time she hadn't been able to reach his cheek, so she'd kissed him just there on the underside of his jaw.

Severus shuddered. His eyes snapped opened, and he looked at her for a stretch of stillness. Then he was moving, thrusting, pistoning in and out to hit that particular spot inside. The bed was thumping against the wall like a damned cliché, but neither of them gave a Niffler's tit.

They were finally together again.