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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"
Chapter Sixteen
“In the Heat of the Night”
Disclaimer: (Sung to the song, "We Love You, Conrad" from Bye Bye Birdie)

We love you J.K.
Oh, yes we do
When we write fanfics
We think of you
We know you own this
Don’t sue!
Oh J.K., we love you!

============
Sitting in the VIP box with Harry and Ginny, Hermione still felt a little awkward around both her friends. Ron had sent the Potters tickets for the weekend game against the Falmouth Falcons, and had not informed his wife of his actions till that morning.

The last time Hermione had spoken with either Harry or Ginny, it was a rather tense situation in both instances. She had ordered Ginny to stop seeing Malfoy, then later that week confronted Harry over assumed facts of Snape and Malfoy's participation in the death of Albus and Minerva.

They all smiled uneasily at one another.

The VIP box was located right next to the spouse's box. It was usually referred to as the wives' box, as there hadn't been a female player on the team in five years. Though Hermione would have preferred to have some more time apart from her two friends until tempers and feelings cooled, she would rather sit with them than in the wives' box having to listen to Christie Kidd and Nicole Stewart prattle on about their husbands' latest endorsement contracts and the money involved, the latest society gossip, and their thinly veiled insults directed at her. They would give Hermione patronizing looks of pity, as she never wore the latest fashion and had to work for a living while her husband sat out most games on the sidelines.

Hermione was in the midst of asking Ginny about Fleur's condition, as she had been put on bed rest a few days prior, when Mrs. Kidd sauntered over to the VIP section with Mrs. Stewart in tow.

"Hello, Hermione," Christie greeted her in a sweet singsong voice that belied the disdain she held for Mrs. Hermione Weasley.

Because Hermione's back was towards the pair as they approached, she had no idea they were behind her until the one spoke. Her back went rigidly straight and her eyes narrowed to discretely tell Ginny and Harry that the two visitors were not welcome.

Hitching a none-too-convincing smile on her face, Hermione turned around. "Oh! Christie, Nicole. I didn’t notice you," she replied with false sincerity worthy of Lucius Malfoy, while letting her actions speak louder than her words.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?" Nicole asked, while an ungracious, arrogant smirk played across her face.

Hermione felt like she was back at Hogwarts with Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, the superiority complexes, vain arrogance and derisive attitudes included.

Even though she was involved in the final battle with Voldemort, helping Harry when the time came for the last spell, the press only mentioned Hermione in passing and she was never interested in fame because she saw what the press had done to Harry. So the fact that the two witches had never heard of her before Ron joined the team didn’t surprise Hermione. However, she was irritated enough to put these two harpies in their place, and she decided to make the most of the situation, hoping that Harry would play along.

"Christie, Nicole, this is my oldest and dearest friend Harry." She paused for dramatic effect. "Harry Potter."

The effect was priceless, as Christie's and Nicole's faces fell. Both witches' mouths were agape as they looked from Hermione to Harry. It was clearly written across their faces that they didn’t think Hermione had neither the clout nor prestige to be associated with someone as famous as Harry Potter.

Harry, picking up on the situation from Hermione's attitude, and sensing the same elitist arrogance exuding from Christie and Nicole as he had from Malfoy on the train his first year, quickly chimed in. "You know Hermione doesn't like to brag, but if it wasn't for her and Ron's help during the final battle, I don’t think I would have lived to see today. You'd all be kissing Voldemort's robes if it weren't for them."

He hated playing the fame card as well, but having heard before how the two witches had treated Hermione, Harry wanted to put them in their place for good. No one treated his friends like that. Ever.

Christie began to stutter; Harry had said You-Know-Who’s name out loud. "Oh He-Hermione, um, erm, did I mention that we're having a garden party tomorrow. You, Ron and Harry are more than welcome to join us." She beamed an all too brilliant smile at the famous wizard.

At this point Ginny cleared her throat, itching to jump into the fray.

Turing towards her other friend, Hermione said, "And this is another dear friend, Ginny."

Ginny extended her hand out to the twin bints and gave a convincing smile. "Christie, Nicole. I've heard so much about you."

"Ginny," Christie and Nicole replied in unison, the former witch shaking her hand.

"Oh please," Ginny charmingly pleaded, "call me Mrs. Potter."

Words could not describe the looks on Christie’s and Nicole's faces. If a picture were worth a thousand words, then the look on both their faces would have rivaled Agnes Hortensia Bladderpus' semi-autobiographical eighteenth century epic opus, "My Life As A Courtesan Hag: Volumes I through VIII," in terms of length to describe it.

Their eyes darted to the ring on Ginny's finger, then to Harry's left hand for confirmation. They both grinned broadly at Ginny, through their smiles never reached their eyes.

"Yes, so nice to meet you both," Nicole said in disbelief.

"Yes, we must go. Hope to see you all at our party tomorrow? Ta!" Christie bid the group farewell, noting the chilly reception at what she hoped was an opportunity to further climb the social ladder through association of the famous couple.

Once the two biddies were gone, the three friends burst into gales of laughter not caring if they were heard or seen.

"Oh, Harry! I can’t tell you how long I've wanted to do something like that. Thank you so much. You made my year," Hermione said, as she regained her breath.

"Anything for you," Harry replied with a smile, his hand waving dismissively as if it were nothing. "Your previous descriptions didn't do them justice. They're worse!"

Hermione turned to Ginny. "And you were perfect. I have never seen a blow dealt so deftly. They both looked like you hit them upside the head with a haddock."

"No problem, Hermione. Can't let two stupid cows like that insult our friend now, can we?" the redhead added.

The tension between them had dissipated when faced with a common enemy. Before they could talk further, the announcer's voice boomed throughout the stadium.

"Good afternoon witches, wizards, and children of all ages. Welcome to the Chudley Cannons home game against the Falmouth Falcons!"

A cheer mixed with a few boos rose though the crowd. Hermione, Harry and Ginny sat back down in their seats to watch the players as they flew out onto the pitch.

"It's another lovely afternoon here at Chudley Stadium, so let's introduce the players! Number 13, Chaser for five years, William Kidd!" Another cheer swept through the stadium. "Number 86, Chaser for the Cannons for six years, Frickard Stewart! Number 99, Chaser on the Chudley team for six years, Richard Bent! Number 36, Beater for four seasons here, Chip Dentille! Number 76, Beater for two seasons, Harry Schtump! Number 9, Seeker for the Cannons for seven years straight, Wally Bristol! And filling in for Randall Bagger, welcome Number 42, Keeper for four years, Ronald Weasley!"

With the announcement of each team member there was a loud cheer, but when Ron's name was called out, the three in the VIP box looked at each other in brief shock before clapping, whistling, and shouting at the top of their lungs as Ron flew a lap around the stadium before taking his place before the goal posts. Ginny placed two fingers to her mouth and let out a shrill whistle that could be heard halfway across the pitch.

'I never could figure out how to whistle like that,' Hermione thought as she stuck a finger in her ear to preserve her eardrum.

When they stopped cheering, Harry turned to Hermione. "Why didn't you tell us Ron got the starting slot for this game?"

"I didn't know till just now," Hermione confessed. 'Guess that explains the smile he was wearing last night and this morning.'

"This is fantastic!" Ginny squealed with delight.

Hermione hugged Ginny back and turned to give one to Harry as well. She wondered if Randall was all right and looked about the wives' box over Harry's shoulder as she hugged him to see if Wendy, Randall’s wife, was around. Wendy was one of the few players' wives who was sincerely amicable towards Hermione. As much as she liked the idea of her husband having a chance to prove himself on the field more often, Hermione hoped it was not as a result of the misfortune of others and more on the basis of the team's coach finally seeing Ron's talent.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Weasleys accepted The Potters' post game invitation to dinner at their house. Hermione spent most of her time in the kitchen with Ginny, fixing dinner. Since the heat wave that had descended upon London the day before made using the cooker in the kitchen a rather unpleasant prospect, they fixed cold items to eat.

As Hermione leaned against the counter with a glass of Sangria in her hand, Ginny was de-seeding the cucumbers and chopping them finely for gazpacho. Since Ginny had never been able to convince Harry to take vacation time off, she’d taken to learning the native food of places she wanted to visit. Her latest culinary obsession was Spanish cuisine.

The men were in the living room reliving the whole match in enthusiastic tones, especially when both of them were talking about the Cannons’ score of 450 to the Falcons’ 290. The volume was kicked up a notch with the addition of a few glasses of the fruity chilled wine.

Hermione listened a moment, making sure the men were still in the other room talking before she spoke to her friend. "Harry says counseling Thursday night went well." She picked up a slice of orange that had been floating in her drink and began nibbling at the wine soaked slice of fruit.

Ginny nodded, not saying a word, instead fixing all her attention on the dicing of various vegetables for the cold summer soup she was preparing.

Turning her ear towards the door that was closed between the kitchen and the living room, Hermione did a final confirmation of Harry and Ron's location to ensure privacy before she spoke once more. "So, have you owled him it's over?"

The steady rhythm of the knife rocking and chopping on the block of wood ceased. Except for the bleeding of Harry and Ron's voices through the closed door, the kitchen became eerily quiet. Hermione held her breath sensing the tension in Ginny's posture and the loud measured breathing through the redhead's nostrils. The younger witch’s gaze remained fixed on the cutting board in front of her.

Swallowing hard, Ginny answered, "Not yet."

"Oh."

The metronomic sound continued once more as Ginny said flatly, "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't bring this subject up in my house when certain people are in the next room." Those people being Harry and the most temperamental of her six brothers.

"Oh. Sorry," Hermione muttered contritely.

Shrugging, Ginny continued chopping away.

Hermione went back to nibbling on her slice of orange, trying to find a delicate way of asking questions she wasn't sure her friend would answer. She wasn't sure if she could wait until next Wednesday to ask the one burning question in her mind.

"Harry mentioned yesterday that during counseling, there were some things brought up… and he said they stung a bit," she nudged gently, while trying to sound nonchalant.

Ginny sniffed loudly and brought her right arm up so she could wipe away a few tears on her upper arm. Finally stopping, she laid down the knife and looked at Hermione.

"You want to know if I told him about us?" Ginny asked in a whisper, one eye fixed on the door in case her brother and husband suddenly came bounding into the room.

Feeling foolish for not having waited, Hermione gave her a sheepish look and nodded.

"No." It was a definitive answer that told Hermione she never would tell Harry. "Can we drop this topic… please?" She gave another large sniff and used her left arm to wipe away the tears from the left side of her face.

'Why can't I just leave well enough alone,' Hermione chastised herself.

There were times she had wondered if Minerva had lived, if she could have trained her to become an Animagus. In all likelihood, the young witch would have probably been a cat, as her curiosity was by far one of her strongest traits. It was partly her curiosity that had brought her this far. If she had just watched Ginny and reported back to Harry instead of asking Ginny's explanation for her actions, she would not be here watching Ginny mincing green pepper with restrained sorrow and resignation. Then again, Ginny might have just left Harry, holding good on her promise if Draco died by her husband's hand, wand, or word. If Hermione had done things differently, she and Ron might be coaxing Harry out of the bottom of a bottle over the fact his wife left him, and not listening to him excitedly comparing Quidditch techniques Ron used during the game with those used by Keeper on the Puddlemere United team. Maybe it was better that her curiosity drove her to confront Ginny instead. Still, Hermione had told herself before that she wished she were ignorant of certain facts.

At that moment she made a small vow to herself to start minding her own business and not seek answers to questions that did not want to be answered. Hermione would not wonder or try to piece together information revealing who her gigolo might be. He wore a mask for his own reasons, probably to remain anonymous. To try and discover who he was might ruin the precious secret she had with herself and the image she had of this mysterious man. Nor would she ask Ginny any further questions about Malfoy. The one exception to this vow would be to learn why Moody was so bent on persecuting Snape and Malfoy, and if the things Harry said they had done were true. She was curious about this problem, but more importantly, what was being done to the ex-Death Eaters was wrong, and she wanted to correct the situation.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were times Severus missed Hogwarts. Despite having to deal with students who constantly threatened to do bodily harm to him and others with ill-prepared potions during class, there were definite benefits to the job.

Besides the extensive library at his disposal, there was the scenery. Though he lived in the dungeons and was viewed as a secluded man who abhorred all things living and bright, that was far from the truth. Well, except for the secluded part.

On March evenings after curfew, he would wander to the semi-tropical greenhouses on the south side of the school to inhale the heady scent of orange blossoms. Their pungently fragrant scent invaded his whole being, reminding him of many things. Their fruit, which was equally sweet and tart, showed how nature must find balance between two opposites. The leaves, glossy and green, reflected the vigor and health of the living things that grew in an ideal environment. Severus wondered at times if he would have been healthier and more vigorous as a lad if his family and school life had been more ideal. Their flowers, which bloomed while fruit hung ripe on the tree, showed abundance and the fertility of life itself. Their flowers, which made a crown for his bride once, reminded him why he did what he must at times and why he would never be a coward again.

The long passageways of Hogwarts provided him his daily exercise, allowing him to stretch his legs after standing in one spot for long periods of time, lecturing to the class or peering into cauldrons. The fresh air helped dissipate the fumes that clung to his clothes and allowed him to regain his sense of smell, which became dull during the day, being constantly exposed to the same odors for hours at a time.

The beauty of the surrounding countryside changed with the season, which gave him a perspective on the passing of time. The living colors of summer would change to the fiery and fleeting hues of autumn, signaling the approach of winter's sleep to come. The snow and bare branches hid the promise renewed each spring when life returned to the world. There were times he wished the students went home for a week during the middle of spring so that he could go out among the new green grass, bluebells and sun-bright daffodils, and let his bare feet feel the warm living earth without spotty youths laughing at the bitter old man quietly reveling in the simple joys of spring in the afternoon sun. Instead, he would take his nature walks in the early morning hours before the population of the castle would stir and ignore his simple desire to shed his footwear. Severus Snape may have been a cynical and unsentimental man, but that did not mean he still did not hold a sense of wonder for what nature gave each and every year without fail.

He was perceived as a man who had a vacuum where his heart should be, and if there were some small piece of flesh residing where his heart should be, it would be black to match his hair, his eyes and his robes.

Severus usually wore black robes, giving himself an air of intimidation in the classroom, a tactic to reign control in a room with dangerously toxic substances around, but it hid all manner of stains from ingredients and potions constantly dripping and splashing on him during the school year. After so many years of wearing black, he had continued dressing in a similar fashion. Even with the summer heat, Severus wore black, but not the frock coat he donned to keep warm in the chilly dungeons in Scotland; instead, he wore a light-weight linen shirt under a cool cotton cloak that hid his features as he ventured out into Diagon Alley for a rare jaunt. If the nomadic tribesmen of the Sahara could wear black in the blistering sun, surely he could wear it during a muggy, yet bearable heat wave now that the sun had set.

He had been feeling rather cooped up during the day. Perhaps it was the fact that he could taste freedom. What amazed him even more was how an idea, something abstract, could have such a palpable quality to it. Hope was something he had little to spare of over the years, but now it was a growing seed inside of him, aching to grow and bloom.

His Saturday night client had come and gone quickly, seeking only a quick shag, as she had other plans to meet up with friends later that evening, which meant that Severus was free to take care of some personal and business matters. However, he quickly found he could not concentrate on his correspondences that lay scattered about his desk in his study, and decided a trip to Flourish and Blotts would be in order. A little distraction to clear his mind of Hermione Weasley and her uses was needed before he could go back to his papers.

Business hours in Diagon Alley always ran a little longer during the summer, as people tended to stroll well into the evening, stopping here and there to browse and shop. It was after sunset when Severus ventured outside, as he preferred the cover of night and his cloak to conceal him from passersby. As there were fewer people there than during most times of the day, he found it easy to make his habitual long strides along the cobblestones. His boots were too warm, especially in the balmy evening, and he appreciated the feel of the heels of his summer shoes make contact with the worn stone under his feet, sensing the muscles in his thighs and calves stretch and grow more limber with each step.

There were times he cursed the Ministry for revoking his Apparition license, and this was one of them. Travel via Floo was still available to him, and he could have gone to Hogsmeade instead for a good stretch of his legs, but that would mean jostling through a crowded pub where he was more likely to be seen, resulting in people whispering, pointing, and staring at the known Death Eater. As he was not allowed to have a Floo connection in his own home, that meant he would have to deal with the evening crowds at The Leaky Cauldron and The Three Broomsticks. If he couldn't have a nice long walk, at least he could add a few more books to add to his purchase list for Miss Brown to procure.

Sweeping into the bookstore, he noted the time on the door. He would have almost two hours in which to lose himself before making the short jaunt back to his flat.

The store had a few bibliophiles scattered about the many rows of bookcases, but those few people were so entrenched in the books they were browsing that no one noticed him slip off to the unoccupied aisle where the latest Potions books were shelved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione and Ron Apparated back to their flat from Number 12 Grimmauld Place and were immediately assaulted by the overbearing heat within their home. Since they had the windows shut during the day, the temperature had risen and remained trapped even though the sun had gone down.

Striding over to the windows, they threw open all the sashes and could immediately feel the cool air beginning to seep into their flat. Being up on the third floor of a walk up had its low point at times, but on evenings like this, they were able to have a steady flow of fresh air unhindered by the neighboring building their window looked out upon, which was only two stories high.

A quick swish of Hermione’s wand and some cooling charms began spreading their effect through the room, aiding the evening breeze. It was still warm outside, but at least it was cooler than the interior of their home by at least ten degrees Fahrenheit. Sitting on the couch, Hermione could feel the heat that had permeated into the very frame and stuffing of the couch. It was too hot to sit or lie anywhere, as many objects, despite the charm, retained the heat of the day.

Sweat began beading on her brow. Looking at the fireplace screen, she contemplated striping down to her bra and knickers… or less while sitting on the couch, as the bedroom had a smaller window with a less direct breeze and would be one of the last rooms to cool down. The fireplace screen could at least give her some momentary privacy and a chance to run and put something on in case someone decided to Floo over unexpectedly.

Needless to say, if she stripped, Ron would take that as a free license to get frisky with her. A bout of slap and tickle with her husband was not exactly what she had on her mind that night, as the mere thought of Ron's sweaty body on top of her in conjunction with the oppressive swelter of their flat made her feel physically overwhelmed from the heat.

Walking about their parlor, Hermione started fanning herself with her own sleeveless blouse, pulling it to and fro like a bellow.

"It's too damn hot," she complained to no one in particular.

"I could run a cold bath?" Ron offered.

As much as she detested cold baths, it was beginning to sound appealing.

The silence in the room seemed almost as oppressive as the heat. Saturday and Sunday were his nights home from his second job at the pub, as sometimes Quidditch games could go on until the wee hours of the morning until the Snitch was caught. So they both stood there with nothing to say to one another as the room cooled too slowly for either of their liking. Hermione cast another round of cooling charms and headed off to the kitchen to see what they had for beverages she could cool for the both of them.

"Care for some juice?" she called out from the kitchen.

"Got any lager? Hear the Yanks take theirs ice cold. Sound right good to me about now," he answered from a spot on the floor in front of the window.

Rummaging around, she saw that they were out. "No, but I've got tonic water and some limes."

"Nah, just some ice water."

A few minutes later she emerged from the kitchen with two beverages, one glass of ice water, the other was chilled tonic water with a whole lime reamed and juiced into her beverage.

Sitting on the floor next to Ron, hoping the breeze would pick up some more, silence descended upon them once more. They both drank and continue to stare out the window.

Earlier in the day, Hermione and Ron had talked with ease while in the company of Harry and Ginny. The conversation between the four had the relaxed quality of when they were back in school, but now that they were alone, it seemed as if they had nothing to say to one another.

Growing uneasy from the quiet, Hermione said, "So how long do you think Randall will be gone?"

Ron had mentioned during their dinner at the Potters’ how had he gotten to play that day instead of sitting on the sidelines.

"Don't know," he answered. "The owl from his mum was rather vague, but he did feel the need to be with his father in case he doesn't make it through. Rotten luck, that poor fellow. It's not his fault he went hiking into an unmarked dragon reserve while on holiday in China."

Hermione shook her head in sympathy. It seemed not every wizarding government held to the same standards, especially when it came to marking the boundaries of a dangerous magical beast habitat.

"What type of Chinese dragon was it?" She was curious and hoping that Ron's interest in dragons could lead to a discussion on the matter.

"I think Wendy mentioned they think it was an Earth dragon, though the details are rather sketchy."

She was hoping he would go on, but he just sat there staring out the window once more.

"So they're not sure." Ron just shook his head and continued staring out into the night. "What are some of the differences in the symptoms between a run in with an Earth dragon and a Treasure dragon?" she asked, hoping to lure Ron into a conversation. Perhaps if they could discuss a subject that he was once interested in, it would ease the growing fear in her mind.

"Don't know really." Ron shrugged. "Charlie's the dragon expert. Maybe you could owl him and he could tell you."

Suppressing the urge to huff in building exasperation, Hermione seized upon another topic. "The new Red Sprite 3000 model is out. Do you know what type of charms they used on the broom?" She had hoped to talk about something in which their interests crossed paths.

"I just fly the bloody things, I don't make them," he said glibly.

Suddenly the heat of their flat wasn't the only thing she wanted to escape. Despite her sincere efforts to start a friendly conversation, it seemed Ron would rather not talk at all. Any exuberance he used to have regarding topics he used to talk about when he was younger had been replaced by a sort of boredom and disenchantment with the world as he aged. Whereas Hermione still held a curiosity about her surroundings, Ron seemed to not care, as long as the world kept on working and wasn't broken or out of order. He had not inherited his father's sense of inquisitiveness.

She knew she was being petulant, but it angered her that he was willing to talk at length at Harry and Ginny's, but now that he was at home, he didn't want to talk with his own wife. Maybe it was the heat that made him feel too lethargic to want to have a discussion, but Hermione felt slighted and, as a wife, taken for granted.

'I cook, I clean, I do the laundry, I do every bloody thing it takes to run this house, and I work too. I put up with his halfhearted attempts at shagging me. And all I ask for is a little conversation!' She could have come out and confronted her husband about what she was feeling, but the resentment inside of her that sprung back to life wanted to hoard itself inside of her, so that it would grow and fester.

"Fine." And icy chill pervaded her tone. "If you don't want to talk, I understand." Hermione felt hurt, overlooked and under appreciated.

"Not now, 'Mione," Ron whinged, "it's too hot to talk. Maybe another night. Besides, I'm in the mood to do something else with our mouths other than talk," he said, setting his drink down.

He grabbed an ice cube and ran it up along the back of her arm, then along the top of her shoulder near her neck. Leaning over, he licked the melted water off her skin.

She sat there rigidly, letting him trail the ice over her skin. She hated the feel of the ice on her body; never caring for the shocking cold sensations it left on her epidermis. When he began licking the water left behind, she knew she should have felt a little more appreciative of his gestures, as this was promising to lead to some foreplay, a rarity in the Weasleys' sex life, but instead it irritated her. His hot tongue made it to her pulse point on her neck, and coupled with his leaning into her, made the room seem even more stifling.

"Did you ever think for once that maybe a little conversation would actually put me in the mood?" she said peevishly. Hermione knew saying this just might sabotage a chance for some foreplay before sex, but she was too vexed to care at this point.

Sitting back up and looking at his wife with a frown, Ron said, "What do you mean for once?"

"You always assume I'm in the mood. Didn't you ever think I might need a little coaxing to get me in the mood?" she retorted.

"I thought you enjoyed sex, but I guess I was severely mistaken!" he said, a little indignantly.

"It's not that I mind sex at all, I just like to be put into the mood once in a while before you pounce on me, stick your willy in and out of me a few times and then come, and leave me unsatisfied," she tartly answered back. "It's different for women. We're not always in the mood to just jump in the sack and fuck at a moment's notice."

Ron's mouth hung open and he looked at her as if he didn't recognize the woman beside him. "Well…"

He was searching for words and Hermione knew then that what she had said hit him below the belt. She could have phrased it more delicately and with sweeter, pleading tones, but the bitterness inside of her demanded she make him feel as hurt as she was.

"Well, a couple nights ago, you seemed to like it. In fact, you were right hot for me. You were in the mood then when I came home and found you finger fucking yourself!"

Hermione blushed hotly at the memory of it, recalling the thoughts of Calleo that had aroused her, and it embarrassed her that Ron would bring it up again. She wanted to strike at the heart of Ron's ego, where his prowess in the bedroom was concerned.

"Yeah, I fucked you and then you had to orgasm just before I could. Thanks a whole lot! You always do this," she ranted, glaring at him. "When you do actually get me in the mood with a little foreplay, once in a great while, you stick it in me and come, not bothering to wait until I get a little satisfaction out of it, leaving me frustrated as hell. For once, for once I'd like to actually have an orgasm while you're pounding your sweaty body into me. Just cause you explode as fast of one of your brothers' Wildfire Whiz-Bang fireworks doesn't mean I can."

Realization of her statement hit home, making him go red. She had just accused him of being a lousy lover, never giving her an orgasm and less.

"So you faked it… all of them!" She nodded defiantly, daring him to refute her statement. "Well, maybe if you weren't so fucking frigid, you'd actually enjoy a good fuck. But I guess that's too much to ask from such a controlling bitch like you!"

She gasped as if he had actually struck her. Sorely tempted, Hermione was on the verge of commenting on his size, but decided if she did say what she was thinking, there would be irreparable damage between them. Eventually they could work out their differences after cooling off, but attacking the size of his manhood would leave a permanent scar. Not that what he said was any less damaging.

Closing her eyes and biting the inside corner of her mouth to stop herself from speaking, she heard him continue to say, "Maybe if I had a wife who could appreciate me instead of finding constant fault with me, maybe that would inspire me to put in the considerable effort it would take to melt an ice queen like you."

Her eyes snapped open and she gave him a look worthy of vengeful Valkyrie. Knowing this argument was spiraling out of control and her restraint was a hair's breadth from snapping, she stood up and threw her drink in his face before storming out of their flat. The only thing she took with her was her wand.

As Ron shouted and complained loudly that the acid from the lime was stinging his eyes, she didn’t bother turning back to see if he was all right.

'Go fucking blind, for all I care right now!'

Staggering out into the hall and slamming the door shut, she made her way down the steps with decreasing speed. By the time she hit the last step at the bottom of the stairs, she slumped down on the tread and began sobbing.

'How is it that my life has become so miserable?' she wondered. The only joy she seemed to have found in a great long while was the company of a gigolo, someone she had paid to be kind to her. 'Bloody terrific,' she thought defeatedly. 'The only happiness in life and I have to pay for it.'

Hermione was a pragmatist who knew you got out of life what you made of it, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, there was little satisfaction derived from her efforts.

'Fine! I'll make my own happiness,' she fumed.

If Ron couldn't give her the level of companionship she craved nor the intellectual stimulation she desired, she would find it other ways, namely with her weekly visits to Calleo. But as much as she wanted sexual fulfillment, she swore to herself that she would not seek the sexual services of her gigolo. Being a woman of strong principle, she would not commit the physical act of adultery with Calleo or any other man. She had taken Ginny to task for carrying on an affair with a man whom she loved. It would be beyond hypocritical of her to shag a man she didn't even love, though she was beginning to wonder if what Ron said was right. Perhaps she was too uptight to enjoy sex with another man, too controlling to let herself go and enjoy the moment.

'No, don’t even go there. Not even to prove him wrong,' she scolded herself, shoving thoughts of bedding Calleo from her mind. Hermione hoped it was just the fact that Ron was an inconsiderate lover and she was not frigid.

After giving a haphazard swipe at the tears that had finally ceased, she noticed that she’d left her cloak back in their flat. Hermione wasn't about to go back upstairs and face her husband, only to grab her cloak and leave once more, so she set off into the night.

It was still warm, but she felt naked without her cloak at least draping over her arm. Once Hermione thought about it, her cloaks were all-purpose, neither light for summer or very warm for winter. They would have felt heavy and too warm, even carried on her arm. Looking about, she noticed a few others had left their cloaks at home. As she headed down to Diagon Alley proper, she figured that as long as she didn’t Floo anyplace, she would be fine without her habitual garment.

Gaining distance between herself and Ron, she felt her heart slow down and her breathing calm. She was still furious at her husband, but at least she didn't look like she was ready to hex the next person who would cross her path.

As she passed by Flourish and Blotts, she remembered her thoughts from Thursday night. Hermione was thinking of doing some intensive browsing and now was a good a time as any. Besides, when she was upset, Hermione found the company of a good book always took her mind off of her problems for a while. It was escapism, but what a wonderful way to whittle away some time before having to deal with one's problems once more.

Turning back around and heading for her most favorite shop in the whole world, she squared her shoulders and opened the door. Her nostrils were filled with the familiar scent of paper, ink, leather and paste. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. It had been far too long since she had been in the establishment.

Hermione had taken to avoiding the bookstore, as she could not afford to buy the books she browsed lovingly and longed for. To avoid temptation, she made a point of not stopping in and looking at the latest arrivals. To glance through them was equivalent to a hungry child with no pocket money being set free inside of Honeydukes.

Tonight though, she was set to get back into the habit of extensive browsing, mainly reading what she could within an allotted time, gleaning bits of knowledge and information when she could. If the book was interesting enough, she would mentally bookmark it so she could come back another time to read some more.

'So many books, so little time,' she silently lamented.

Her eye caught the section sign reading, "Family/Home," and she meandered over to the shelves she never bothered looking at until now. It was not as if she didn't believe Ginny's revelation about marriage, children and divorce in the wizarding world, it's just that she would like to know more about the subject instead of relying on the information second hand, where key details might be left out. Now was her chance to read up on the binding properties of children and divorce between witches and wizards.

The section was towards the back of the shop, and as she passed the Potions section, she caught the faintest traces of a familiar fragrance. Stopping, she inhaled deeply and remembered where she had smelled that cologne before.

The sense of smell was an amazing thing to Hermione, for when she identified the scent, she was taken back to her first night with Calleo. He was wearing some cologne that had haunted her ever since. It was so intoxicating, she wished she had a swatch of cloth with the cologne on it so she could inhaled deeply and privately revel in its heady perfume when Ron wasn't home.

Wondering who smelled so wonderful and thinking about asking the man what the name of his cologne was, she walked back and peered down the aisle; she saw a cloaked figure in black.

Hermione’s eyes fixed on the tall, lean figure, and studied his form in profile. His hood was up obscuring his hair and features, but she saw his hands turn the page of the book he held. They were the same hands she recalled from Thursday night.

'If we were to cross paths in public, you would not know who I was without my mask. Nor would I approach you in public. Beyond these walls, we are but strangers to one another,' she recalled his words in her head.

Remembering how her curiosity had made a mess out of things earlier that day, she tempered her impulse to go up to him and turned around to walk away. She would not ruin the one good thing she had in her life right now by approaching a man who was most probably her Calleo.

If she wanted to know the name of that fragrance, she could damn well wait until next Thursday and ask Calleo himself during their appointed time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The bookshop was a pleasant distraction for him. Severus had quickly found a few tomes he would like to add to his library, and given the fact that it was late, it was unlikely anyone would come in and buy them before he could get Lavender to send one of the house-elves first thing in the morning.

When he had been bartering away his goods one by one before he started working for Lavender, he would come into Flourish and Blotts and look about the shelves longingly, knowing he could not buy anything there, as the store had hung a sign saying "No Trading, Money Only." It seemed that several other Death Eaters had approached the proprietor about bartering, but those first few exchanges had made the owner change the store policy to accept Galleons only and not goods.

Now he had enough money to buy whatever he wanted. Granted he could not pay for them himself directly, but he could make a list and Lavender would make the monetary arrangements so that he had his heart's desire where the printed page was concerned. Severus had promised himself years ago that if he found a way to make decent money under the Death Eater Decree, with its limited job prospects, he would never deny himself any book he wanted.

He was about to close and put back an updated edition of an advanced medical potions book he had in his personal library when he heard light footsteps pass by his aisle. Ever in spy mode when out in public, he pretended to still be reading the book and heard the person stop, then take a few steps back.

The edge of his hood cut down his peripheral vision so he could not see who was standing just at the edge of the aisle, but he could feel their eyes upon him. Before the former spy could turn his head to try and glance who it was, while keeping his face concealed with his hood, the person walked away.

Curious as to who would scrutinize him, he walked to the end of the aisle and peered out. Most of the patrons were towards the front of the store, but there was one woman walking towards the back.

Surmising that it was her who had passed by, he slipped towards the back of the store to an advantage point where he could view her without being seen. Severus peered between the tops of some books on the raising of toads for fun and profit and the bottom of the shelf above. He recognized her hair and thin frame.

'What are you reading Mrs. Weasley?' he asked, watching her pull three books from the bookcase in front of her. He was standing in place where he could not read the sign identifying the section she was in. Despite having spent many an hour in the establishment, he could not recall what type of books were housed in the corner where she was standing.

Hermione scanned the first book quickly and he could tell she did not find the information she was looking for, reshelving it in its proper spot. The second book appeared to have some key information, as he saw her fingers quickly scan the page, going over the same spot two or three times before flipping to another chapter.

As she read, he watched her. Her hair was piled up on top of her head exposing her neck. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse and a simple, flowing, long skirt. He glanced about and noticed she didn't have her cloak with her. Without her cloak on, she looked positively half dressed. He could see the white outline of her bra straps through the thin cotton material and the way her blouse tapered. He could also see the slope of her torso as her shirt dipped towards her waist before flaring out at the hips.

However pleasant her silhouette was from the rear, his eyes kept traveling back to the nape of her neck. A stray tendril had escaped from the bun on top of her head and was tickling her neck. One hand swiped at the errant lock grazing her skin as Hermione continued to read the book held in her other hand.

By the time she swept her hand over the back of her head in order to pull the tendril off her neck a third time, Severus was tempted to tuck the misbehaving lock up in her chignon himself and fasten his lips to the portion of neck the hair kept caressing.

Once he realized where his mind had wandered, Severus physically shook his head to stop where his thoughts were treading.

'This is no time to get attached,' he chided himself. 'You remember what happened the last time that occurred.'

Taking a deep breath, he turned to look to see what time it was. A quick glance towards the front of the store said they would be closing in fifteen minutes. Turning his attentions back to Hermione, he caught her just in time as she was putting the second book back. Mentally making note which book it was on the shelf, he saw her delve into the third book frantically looking for some piece of information. When she seemed to have found it, she gave a great troubled sigh. She read for five minutes more before the chimes sounded that the store would be closing soon.

Watching her put the third book back, Severus saw her make her way to the front of the store and out the door.

Now that she was gone, he strode back there quickly and examined the spines of the books she seemed intent of gleaming some information from.

'Interesting indeed, Hermione.'

His finger ran over the spines of "Marriage and Divorce in the Modern Wizarding Age," and "The Magical Contracts of Marriage and Children."
============

A/N: “We Love You, Conrad”: Music by Charles Strouse / Lyrics by Lee Adams
A lovely illustration has been done, inspired by this chapter by Lana Manckir, located on both my Tumblr page for this fic:
http://atdlhea-betz.tumblr.com/post/129949740780/art-what-could-have-been-by-perselus-and-they

And in the WIKTT archives here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/whenikissedtheteacher/photos/photostream/lightbox/2043255027?orderBy=mtime&sortOrder=desc&photoFilter=ALL#zax/2043255027
It shows Hermione and Severus in Flourish & Blotts.
I had fun with the team member names. I really did. Richard Bent (bent dick), Chip Dentille (chipped tooth), William Kidd (billy goat), Frickard Stewart (sounds like 'fuck 'er'), Harry Schtump… need I explain to you why it's soooo wrong to have a name like that? And Wally Bristol? For you non-Brits, Wally is a term for someone stupid and Bristol is a rhyming slang term for breasts (Bristol Cities - titties). Randall Bagger (sounds like 'randy bugger')
A Red Sprite is a lightening strike that occurs between the tops of thunderclouds and the lower ionosphere in severe storms.

B/N: Arrrrgggghhh…so near, and yet so far from her discovering her gigolo’s true identity! You really had me going there, I thought she was really going to find out! Love how her sense of smell is so in keeping with what that of the Potions Master must be like, and I’m just bouncing up and down with tension from this last chapter as I cheer Hermione on for hitting below the belt with Ron! Whoo-hoo, you go, girl!  ~HR

B/N: Wootang! More power and all that. I mean, seriously, what girl hasn’t been there at SOME time in her life? I could tell you a story, hunny. Anyway, c’mon, c’mon. Let’s go. Where’s the next bit?  Siren
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After