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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
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"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Twenty-Nine
“The Travails of Training Trevor"

Disclaimer: You know it, but I feel obligated to say it again. Rowling owns all characters and concepts, no money is being made from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

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Hermione sent off an owl to James Hoover, the marriage counselor Ginny recommended, before going to work Monday morning. Her day started out with Mr. Trevor Spawn showing up to work half an hour late with another lame excuse that Hermione cut short, making it clear in no uncertain terms that she would recommend his dismissal if he continued to show up late for work.

Hermione spent half the morning repeating herself as she briefed Mr. Spawn on department procedures, and found him not paying the least bit of attention to what she said. The morning training ended when Hermione unceremoniously dropped the Department of Standards & Regulation Guide to Testing Ingredients manual in his lap, which weighed exactly one stone, down to the ounce; the landing of the manual in Mr. Spawn's lap made him squeak and grimace, holding his groin in such a way that gave Hermione pleasure knowing she gave him a little discomfort to counterbalance all that he had been giving her.

When Harry showed up to take Hermione to lunch, making sure she wasn't starving herself again, Mr. Spawn fawned over the famous wizard in an attempt to ingratiate himself. The stunned Auror merely shook the smarmy git's hand and made a hasty retreat with Hermione, spending the rest of lunch listening to his friend complain vociferously about the circumstances of working with a cretinous little toad of Mr. Spawn's caliber.

The rest of Mrs. Weasley's afternoon was spent testing ingredients, while her new co-worker relaxed in his new office "studying" the elephantine manual. At three seconds past the stroke of five, Trevor popped his head into the lab.

"I'll be going home now," he announced brightly, as he shifted from one foot to another, itching to leave work as soon as possible.

"Very well, Mr. Spawn. And don't forget to take your manual home to study tonight, as I expect you here bright and early tomorrow morning, and on time, ready to begin testing ingredients," she informed him with a firm lecturing tone. "I'll make it easy on you and inform you right now that you'll be testing aconite, daisy roots, moonstone, juniper berries, and Jobberknoll feathers."

"Awwwwwww," Trevor whinged like a third year being told he had homework to do over the Christmas hols. "You can’t be serious! I just finished school and I have to study more? I was expecting to at least have a break until I started my apprenticeship."

"Mr. Spawn, if you are not prepared to do what is necessary to do your job properly, then I suggest you hand in your resignation now. Take home your manual and study it. As I am the one with the unholy duty of training you, I order you to do it. Incompetence and ignorance are traits we cannot afford to suffer in this department. Good night, Mr. Spawn." Hermione turned her back on him and went back to testing the jackalope carcass laid out on the bench in front of her, making sure it wasn't a jackrabbit with some antlers attached to it with a sticking charm.

As Hermione dragged her weary self up the stairs to the main atrium some time around eight o'clock, she contemplated visiting Calleo, if nothing but to have a sympathetic ear to the horrendous day she had just had, putting up with her new co-worker. Then she realized she had not eaten dinner, smelled like the floor of an apothecary shop located in the seediest corner of Knockturn Alley, and probably looked like a fright.

Calleo did mention to her to feel free to swing by if she felt the need to talk, but she didn't want to seem clingy by stopping by at her first chance, or overstay her welcome by hounding him with her presence. 'He's probably thankful you're not stopping by so he can have a night to himself.' She did remember that he mentioned that he did enjoy her company for dinner, but it was probably far too late now for dinner. Also, she didn't want to impose herself on him, becoming one of those people who stops by and eats others out of house and home. Besides, he had not planned to cook for her that night.

Knowing all the grocery shops in Diagon Alley were closed at this hour, she Flooed home instead, praying Ron hadn't eaten the last of the leftover shepherd's pie from the night before. To her expected dismay, her bane of a husband did eat the last of the leftovers, including the two rolls she was counting on for breakfast the next morning, and the chocolate she had hidden behind a tin of corned beef.

After relieving Pigwidgeon of the marriage counselor's reply tied to his leg, Hermione dined on tinned peaches that were on the cusp of expiring, stale crisps, and a jar of pickled eggs. She swore to herself to restock the cupboard to bursting so she would never be forced to eat such an unsatisfying and appalling meal ever again. Halfway through the peaches, she gave up, chucked the rest in the rubbish bin, and walked away from her half-eaten pickled egg, while promising herself to look at Mr. Hoover's letter in the morning.

She had been tempted to eat the corned beef, but didn't, as it gave her some perverse pleasure to keep it there as a reminder to Ron to never critique her cooking ever again, like he did during their first year of marriage. It was when she was thoroughly fed up one night with his constant comparisons of her cooking to his mother's that Hermione threatened to make corned beef every night for a week if Ron didn't shut up. He never said he didn't like Hermione's food, but his comparisons galled her nonetheless.

Lying in bed with the lights out, her hair still wet from her shower, Hermione imagined what Calleo might be doing in his flat at that moment. Did he read most of the time? Did he stroll about Diagon Alley at night without his mask, wandering about as some faceless stranger? She did recall the tall cloaked figure in Flourish and Blotts, the way his hands turned the page, his boots, his long silhouette back-lit by the candles on the wall behind him. She wondered if he was there tonight, prowling the Potions aisle. Or did another witch come to his flat tonight, so he could offer her tea and comfort? Maybe he was now lying naked on top of her, moving between her legs, making her scream whatever name she wished to call him.

Hermione knew it was a silly notion that somehow she could be just a little bit more special than any other witch that had come through his door. Calleo had probably entertained hundreds of witches with their clothes on and off, and she was just another unremarkable face among the many. Still, the fact remained that her skin itched for his touch, and the sparks of electricity that passed between them when they did touch was a phenomenon that took her breath away. Ron's touch had never made her forget to breathe, or made her think that gravity was arbitrary beneath her feet. Whenever she was at Calleo's flat, she did feel as if she was the only witch in the world, and that the world could be falling down around them and he would still be fixing all his attentions on her and nothing else. It did seem like a very elaborate illusion, but she wanted it to continue, even if she knew it was false. The knowledge that she had been the only witch he had cooked for thrilled her, and that knowledge kept her silly notion alive.

Hearing Ron's return home, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. As she heard her husband rummaging around in the kitchen, her mind wandered back to their upcoming anniversary.

'Four years… has it really been that long? It seems longer.' Snuggling deeper into the covers, the witch continued to silently explore her thoughts. 'Why does it seem longer than that? Aren't the best years supposed to fly by? But then again, these haven't been the best of years.' Hermione wondered if things were truly going to get better or if old habits were going to die hard, and if they both were going to continue growing apart to the point where they led separate lives despite the fact that they shared the same bed and last name.

'Our fourth anniversary. He's going to take me dancing.' She stifled a groan of despair. Ron was taking lessons; she thought that maybe she should as well.

Hermione had a little over four weeks to learn how to do the foxtrot, tango and swing. She couldn't think of anyone who could teach her on such short notice. Having been to all the Weasley weddings, she could vouch that none of the other Weasley men knew how to dance. Bill did a fairly good job of faking it with Fleur at their wedding, but she knew he wouldn't be able to teach her. Hermione really wanted to make an effort, since Ron was going through all the bother to "romance" her and do something special for once.

She began ticking off names left and right until her mind came to Calleo's. He certainly had the manners of a gentleman, and had a refined quality about him that exuded an air of good breeding. Of course, Hermione couldn't come right out and ask him for dance lessons. She didn't want to impose on him any further. He was cooking dinner for her, after all. Besides, he might not know how to dance. If so, she certainly didn't want to cause him any embarrassment, though there was nothing to be embarrassed about with not knowing how to dance.

'Lavender. I need to owl Lavender.'

If it wasn't for the fact that her husband was in the kitchen, Hermione would have gotten out of bed and sent a quick note off to Lavender explaining the situation. As it was, she'd have to wait until the middle of the night or do it first thing in the morning.

A vision of Calleo holding her close, his body pressed up against hers, popped into her mind. Her vivid imagination filled in the blanks, and her body suddenly felt warm, suffused with a fresh flush of hormones.

The door creaked as Ron came into the bedroom. There was the whisper of clothes being shed before she felt the bed dip, and the bedclothes tugged at and adjusted, as he settled in for the night.

Feeling emboldened by her hormones, and the knowledge that Ron wanted to make an effort towards rebuilding their relationship, Hermione stretched out her hand in the dark and stroked her husband's shoulder tentatively.

He stiffened, and took a sharp breath when her hand touched him.

"Ron?" she asked questioningly if she should continue.

"It's late. You should get to sleep," he replied tentatively before rolling onto his side, facing away from her.

Hermione felt deeply hurt at his rejection of her affections. She had wanted to touch him slowly, grazing her fingertips along his ribs and sides, hoping he understood that she would like it if he touched her like that too.

The tears started coming against her will as the now familiar cold numbness swept through her body once more, dowsing any arousal she had moments before.

Without waiting for Ron to fall asleep, Hermione rose and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and collect herself. No doubt he would either start talking when he figured out she was crying, which might make things worse; or he would ignore her, which would still do nothing to take away the pain he had caused by his rejection.

As she sipped her tea, she began writing her letter to Lavender. After three drafts, Hermione finally attached her letter to Pig and sent the owl into the cool summer night.

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

Watching Miss Brown stir the cauldron in front of her, Severus contemplated when the best time would be to start asking the questions he wanted answers to.

"Should I wait until it comes to a rapid boil before adding maca, or while it is coming to a rapid boil?" Lavender asked. Her gaze was fixed on the swirling liquid in front of her as she counted the number of times she moved the spoon in a wide figure eight, creating tiny Corealis effects in the surface of the altered Beam of the Red Oak Potion.

From what the Potions master knew of maca, it shouldn't make much difference. What mattered was how long the potion simmered before bottling, as that would affect the potency of that particular root.

"You may put it in now, Miss Brown. Since the last batch did not have the quick effect we were searching for last time, I recommend we simmer on low for three days instead of one to see if that will affect the potency," he instructed her.

After she added the sliced maca, Lavender stirred it three more times before setting the cauldron to simmer with a swish of her wand. "Three days? That will increase the price dramatically, as those cauldrons will be full for two extra days instead of being put to use making more batches of this stuff. Time is money, Severus. Is there some way to somehow stew the maca beforehand and add it during the final day of the potion?"

"Absolutely not," the dark-haired wizard replied. "We want the ingredients to mingle and act with one another, each ingredient acting like a catalyst for the other ingredients. If we were to skip a step and cut a corner here or there, as tempting as it seems, then this potion would be as effective as if a Muggle brewed it himself."

Lavender bit her lip and looked out the window. "Damn!" the blond witch muttered under her breath as she moved to sit in her chair by the fire. "I was hoping to manufacture this below a certain cost in order to reach a wider market. At this rate, only the rich will be able to use this with the frequency they expressed a desire for, based on our last customer survey."

As she drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, trying to think of more ways of streamlining the production of the potion, Severus thought this might be a good time to casually bring up the subject of Ashwinder eggs. He would have asked her Monday, as she was in a far better mood than last Friday; however, she would have known he was up to something if he started firing questions at her while she was in a highly agreeable mood. Severus decided it was best to wait until Tuesday when they were back in the swing of work, and a constant smile was no longer gracing her face.

"Speaking of production costs, what about the price of Ashwinder eggs?" He steepled his fingers in front of him as he sat on his favorite lab stool, resting his elbows on the lab bench.

"Actually, they are the main reason why I decided it's time to start creating a line of sex potions in the first place," Miss Brown informed him.

"Oh, really? Please elaborate," Severus asked, wondering if irony would rule the day.

"Well, I've wanted to do sex potions for a while now, but with the cost of Ashwinder eggs, I figured the cost would be too prohibitive to the average customer. But lately prices have dropped and look to have stabilized," she explained. Lavender summoned Wonkle for some tea before they started a third test batch that morning.

"Do you have any idea as to the reason behind the price drop?" Severus hoped he seemed mildly disinterested, while not too aloof.

Miss Brown shrugged. "I'm not sure of the reason. All I know is that the price has fallen enough to warrant entering the marketplace."

Severus had contemplated telling Miss Brown the true reason behind the lower cost of that particular ingredient, but decided it might be best to hold on to that information for the time being. It might be a useful bargaining chip at some point, as information was always useful, and Severus was gathering quite a few chips in his corner with the people around him.

Wonkle came back with a tea trolley laden with a full tea service and the letters from the morning owls. As the house-elf finished setting the trolley between Miss Brown and the matching chair that Severus frequently occupied when they were discussing Potions, Lavender snatched up the top letter from the stack of parchments.

"Ah, a letter from Mrs. Hermione Weasley," Miss Brown announced, overly cheerful in her mannerisms.

His curiosity piqued, Severus purposefully strolled at a leisurely pace over to his favorite chair by the fire to pour himself some tea, glancing at the letter as he made his way to his seat.

Without lifting her eyes from the letter, Lavender commented dryly, "You don't have to sneak by and pretend you're not interesting in what Hermione has to say, Severus. You can read the letter when I'm done with it, seeing as this concerns you."

Chafed by Miss Brown's blatant call on his attempt to be stealthy, and vexed at himself over his waning talents in spying, Severus sat down in his chair, giving a small indignant huff. "Well, then," Severus snapped at her. "What does it say?"

Lavender grinned at him like a madwoman, which made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, knowing it involved something unpleasant. "How do you feel about teaching again?" she asked with an odd glint in her eye.

Severus did his best to make sure his mouth did not gape open, but knew he probably had that blank look on his face he detested so much in his students while a professor at Hogwarts. "I beg your pardon?" he said with ill-concealed disgust, his eyes narrowing.

"Mrs. Weasley's husband is taking her to the Grand Royal Supper Club for their anniversary next month. She needs lessons in the foxtrot, tango and swing." Severus' employer leaned over the tea trolley and handed the letter to him for inspection. "She decided to owl me personally, so she wouldn't put Calleo on the spot with her request. Quite considerate of her, when you think about it."

Reading the letter for himself, Severus noted how she did not want to impose upon Calleo's generosity by asking for dance lessons herself, in case he wanted to say no but would not refuse her in person. He would have preferred it if Hermione had come out and asked him herself instead of getting Miss Brown involved, but then he thought of her nature to be more considerate than others. Remembering how Hermione let him pick his own alias, Severus figured she was just being polite; that touched him, since politeness was not a common trait when people interacted with him as Severus Snape or as a gigolo.

"So, Severus," Lavender spoke, bringing Severus back to the moment. "Do you know how to dance, and if so, are you willing to teach her?" She raised one questioning brow while suppressing a smirk, her blue eyes sparkling with glee.

"Of course I know how to dance, Miss Brown. You know as well as I do that any pure-blood worth his salt was taught how to dance by his mother!" he exclaimed.

"Not all," she countered. "Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody are frequently seen at Ministry functions by the punch bowl or off mingling, but never on the dance floor."

"Moody wouldn't dance with another person for fear he'd actually have to touch the person," the wizard noted derisively. He couldn't speak for Kingsley and his reasons.

"So is that a yes? Shall I owl her back that dancing lessons shall begin this Thursday?" the blond witch asked.

Leaning back into his chair, he stirred his tea, despite having no sugar or milk in it, just for the calming meditative action of stirring. 'Dance lessons… another chance to drop more hints? Be realistic, another chance to touch her.' Albus and Minerva had never made an appearance while Severus was in the company of others, and now he hoped that habit would not change. 'Will you be able to control yourself? You barely did last Thursday night. Still, the opportunity to hold her close is quite appealing.' He suppressed a smug grin.

Severus had recently come to terms with the fact that he was physically attracted to Hermione, but he still denied that there was anything beyond the flesh that drew him to her.

"Severus?"

Still studying his tea, he said, "I'll need a music box."

"I have a spare one I can loan you for a while. It's a deluxe model. It does everything," Lavender began to explain. "You can ask it to play songs for any mood you wish: romantic, upbeat, slow — you get the point. You can ask it to play songs for dancing styles, like the waltz, tango and such. You can also select vocal or instrumental versions, and set it to play one song only or play continuously."

Severus was impressed. A few months after the Death Eater Decree, he obtained a week's room and board at a seedy boarding house in Knockturn Alley by bartering away his mother's music box, an older version without some of the extra features of Miss Brown's. Though his mother's could be charmed to play song genres, it did not have the feature of playing with or without the vocals. He wondered how much a music box of that quality cost these days.

"That should be adequate," he replied. Before Lavender could close off the discussion, Severus added, "I'll teach her on one condition. Tell me when you first discovered when I was a Death Eater, and then when you learned I was a spy for the Order."

Ever since Lavender's confession of her near rape and torture, he had been wondering when she had learned of his status as a Death Eater and spy.

The cup on Lavender's hand rattled on its saucer as she attempted to put it down before dropping it. Speaking with a hollow and shaken voice, she asked, "Why do you need to know?"

"There is no need, but I do want to know when my status as both was revealed to you. I prided myself on being able to keep many secrets away from my students during the war, most notably my secret status as a Death Eater. Even more so, my status as a spy for the Order," her old Potions professor replied, fixing her with a level gaze.

Closing her eyes as she tried to regain her composure, Lavender tried not to hyperventilate. Once she calmed down, she answered his question. "I cannot put it into words." She held up her hand to silence Severus’ protests before he could voice them. "But I can put the memory into a Pensieve for you to see. It is too painful to voice those memories."

Severus nodded, agreeing to the arrangement. "Then I will wait until you are ready to present them to me in the near future."

He knew how difficult it could be to drag up painful memories, as on a few occasions he had come close to erasing the memory of his wife's death, by placing it into a Pensieve. He had stood holding the stone bowl, ready to tip the liquid contents out onto the floor so that they could never be retrieved ever again. Instead, he had put them back, knowing that to destroy the silvery threads of thought would be a desecration of her memory, and that part of his penance was to remember his moment of cowardice.

Once he drank his tea, the Potions master excused himself. He went to his office under the pretext of doing some more research for the latest potion, and not for the fact he needed to clear his mind of turbulent emotions.

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

Hermione's fingers itched to grab her wand and hex Mr. Spawn to Hades and back. The previous day, the incompetent fool had not bothered to see what type of juniper berries he was testing. Upon double-checking his work and grilling him on his methods, she realized he had not bothered to see if indeed the shipment was comprised of Sierra juniper berries, as it said on the box's label, and not common garden variety juniper berries that filled a separate box next to it. The rest of Tuesday had gotten progressively worse from there.

Wednesday was not shaping up to be much better. Not only had Hermione had to double-check every test Mr. Spawn conducted, she had to supervise his cutting methods. She also had to correct him several times when he failed to clean his chopping board in between each ingredient, thus tainting the next batch of goods to be tested.

When Ginny swung by to pick up Hermione for their weekly lunch together, the supervising witch rousted Mr. Spawn out of the lab and locked it. Otherwise, she feared she might come back from lunch to discover he had burned the lab to ashes, by mixing a recent shipment of dragon blood with some phoenix feathers she was going to test later that day. Once she told the trainee to return promptly one hour later, after Mr. Spawn finally stopped ogling over Ginny's attributes, the two witches set off for lunch.

As they strolled through a little wizarding enclave near Wiltshire, Hermione had to periodically take a deep cleansing breath for fear she would bite off Ginny's head, as it was the nearest available warm body she could mutilate out of frustration.

"Why don't you just tell Madam Dushka that this… what was the term you used?" Ginny gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Ah yes. That impudent little shit is obviously going to put you and the whole department behind schedule."

"I would love to, but Madam Dushka has made it clear that my yearly performance review hinges how well I can train a monkey to do wizard's work," Hermione dryly remarked.

"You know, I think Percy may have some leverage with her. Do you want me to speak with him on your behalf?" Ginny asked, concerned that this job was driving Hermione into the ground, based on her own knowledge and what Severus had told her.

"As tempting as that sounds, I will not allow any nepotism to interfere with my job, be it for or against me," Hermione declared adamantly. "No doubt if she gets pressure from above, she'll make my life hell as a repercussion for it. It's better to just grit my teeth and bear it. He'll be gone in about six months."

They had reached the little café Ginny had been dying to try out. Once inside, they were seated quickly.

Hermione perused the menu and hoped nothing would take too long to prepare. She had forty-five minutes until she had to be back at work, or Madam Dushka would be harping on her about tardiness.

As they waited for their lunch to arrive, Ginny asked, "So are you going to take dance lessons? Maybe there is an etiquette tutor you could hire to teach you."

Hermione choked on her water. "Sorry about that," she apologized as she continued to hack and cough. Averting her eyes, she admitted, "Actually, I found someone to teach me."

"Really? Who?" The redhead placed her elbows on the table, interlaced her fingers, and rested her chin on her intertwined hands, while wearing a beatific smile.

"Oh, no one you know." Changing the topic quickly, Hermione said, "Ron and I have an appointment with James Hoover next Tuesday night at seven."

Ginny's grin broadened. "That's good news. I think you'll both like him."

The waitress returned with their lunches, and Hermione began to eat, thankful the service was quick. She made a mental note to add this place to her short list of lunch spots.
Ginny began eating, but she had to stop when she started laughing spontaneously.

"What's so funny? Have I got spinach in my teeth?" Hermione asked, her tongue searching for any errant bit of green that may have lodged itself between her teeth.

"No," Ginny assured her, shaking her head while trying to stifle more giggles. "It's just that you complaining about Mr. Spawn reminds me so much of Se-, um, Snape from school."

Hermione almost spat out the bite of sandwich that was in her mouth. "WHAT?" she said, around a mouthful of grilled roast beef, tomato, and cheddar.

"Oh, come on now. Think about it," Ginny chided her lightly. "You've referred to him as the hell spawn of morons, Sir Pinhead, walking proof that brains and beauty cannot go together, the slime that could talk, and the village idiot from the town of stupidity. That sounds just like the tirades that Ron and Harry told me about when Neville was in Potions."

Hermione was about to open her mouth and refute that she was not as bad as that, but retracted it before she opened her mouth. She did sound an awful lot like her old Potions professor, once she thought about it, and now she could empathize with why he had ranted and snarled that particular way. Looking back on it, if she had to teach roughly two hundred students each week, most of which paid as little attention as Mr. Spawn, she might wind up with a disposition as bad as Snape’s after several years of teaching.

"Speaking of which," Ginny added in a more serious tone. "You said you were going to look into how Malfoy and Snape were unjustly persecuted. Any progress on that front?"

Closing her eyes, Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh. "As much as I want to do something, everything has been just a bit too much for me. Between dealing with Ron, the attack at the Ministry, the narcissistic nincompoop, and the rest, I just haven't had the time or energy to look into the matter," she explained while wearing a pained expression on her face. "I do know that when I talked with Harry a few weeks ago, he said Moody told him that Snape and Malfoy poisoned Albus and let the Death Eaters into the castle."

"That's an outright lie!" Ginny exclaimed with outrage. "I am aware of the false charges, but the problem is, how do we prove they're innocent against such claims? Especially since Moody seems hell-bent on persecuting them. I would step forward, but Moody might feel my year of influence under Riddle's diary would be cause enough to be considered a sympathizer, and thus my whole family, especially my father, would be open to public scrutiny and scandal. My parents and Albus made a rather large effort to keep that little fact under wraps and out of the paper."

"Maybe if my mind wasn't so preoccupied with everything else right now, I could think clearly and come to some obvious solution, but right now I feel just like during third year. With the Time Turner, I was running myself ragged and had no time or energy to create a proper defense for Buckbeak. I could have used a Time Turner to make more time, but I was pushing myself as it was. And here I am again, not enough hours in the day, and not enough energy to save two people wrongly persecuted."

"The problem is, there are very few people who have the credibility to address the Wizengamot on behalf of Draco and Snape, and who do not have direct blood ties to someone who was a Death Eater," the younger witch logically concluded.

Ginny furrowed her brow with a look of concern. Leaning across the table, she put her hand over Hermione's in a show of friendly support. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sighing once more, Hermione groaned, "No." She patted Ginny's hand, which was still atop her other hand, in appreciation of her offer. After a moment's pause, she added, "How busy is Dobby?"

"Fairly busy, what with Fleur due in two weeks – but the baby could come at any time now – and Penelope is still dealing with fatigue and morning sickness. And then there's Harry's birthday party next week," Ginny answered.

"Never mind then. It was just a thought," Hermione said dismissively.

"I'll speak to Dobby to see if he can swing by and help a bit with your housework. He has a soft spot for you and all you tried to do with S.P.E.W. Besides, it shouldn't take but a few minutes to clean your flat and do anything else you need, with just you and Ron there," Ginny rationalized.

"I don't want to impose on him—"

Ginny cut the brunette off. "I'll speak to Dobby and see what he says. By the way, I was wondering if you could help me with a little shopping this weekend for Harry's party. I want to head into Muggle London again. There's a shop on Portobello Road that sells cowboy and Indian antiques. If anything, I want a look at some of the stuff they have so I can get the charms and transfigurations right."

"I suppose I could go Saturday morning, before Ron's game which will start at one. Does that sound all right?"

"Perfect!" Ginny beamed.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, with talk of Harry's party, and arrangements to watch the children while Fleur was giving birth and for a few days afterwards.

As they strolled back to the pub with a Floo connection back to the Ministry, they passed an apothecary shop. The clerk was putting up a display in the window, with bottles of men's cologne and promotional material.

Hermione read as she walked by, not paying attention to what Ginny was saying.

"Haunt. The scent of you will haunt her. The newest men's fragrance from Valiant Wizard."

There was a picture of a voluptuous witch, nuzzling her nose along the neck of a dashingly handsome wizard with chiseled features and a chest to match, peeking out from beneath his mostly unbuttoned shirt. The wizard in the promotional ad looked up from the witch in his arms and gave a saucy wink to Hermione, whose mouth was slightly agape.

The memory of her last visit with Calleo came to mind. "It smells very nice. I remember you wearing it the first night I came here. Since then that scent has… haunted me."

Lost in thought, wondering if Calleo told Lavender what she had said about his cologne, Hermione almost plowed into an older witch on her way out of a shop. She would have bowled the elderly matron over if it weren't for Ginny's last-minute yank of Hermione's arm to steer her out of the way.

"You all right there?" Ginny asked, noting her friend's lack of attention.

"Yes, just got distracted for a moment. That's all," Hermione assured the younger witch.

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

The tome in front of him provided Severus with very little information. None of the books he had in his collection at work had much information on edible body paint, especially body paint that changed colors to match moods. Frustrated, he slammed the book shut.

There was one book that had extensive information on moonstone, which — when ground and impregnated into the fibers — could reflect the wearer’s mood, and was one of the components behind Severus' charmed bed curtains. However, the book had nothing on the mixing of moonstone into topically edible potions. There were potions that could be consumed or for topical use, but not both.
'If Hermione were here, she would probably have some interesting theories in combining a topical and edible potion into one. Especially one that should taste appetizing and not like chalk dust mixed with rancid library paste.'
The Potions master summoned another book that might have some information on making potions more palatable. Right after that, there was a knock at his door.

"Enter," Severus called out as he began flipping through the index.

Lavender entered his office with an intricately painted box in her hands. "I brought the music box you requested. I thought I'd bring it today, so you would have tonight to go through and pick whatever music you think is suitable for your… dance lessons."

Looking up from his book, Severus looked at the box and then to his employer. Nodding his head, he said, "Thank you. You may set it down over here." With his hand, he indicated a corner of his desk not covered in books and scrolls.

"May I sit?" she asked, noting Severus' distracted tone and how he probably wanted to be left alone with his books to do more research.

Sitting back in his chair, he indicated with his head and eyes that his employer could use the chair next to his desk.

"I was wondering if you had given any thought as to whom you might recommend for replacement when you go on holiday," Miss Brown queried, cocking one blond brow at her own euphemism of Severus' permanent departure.

"Not yet."

"Well, I would appreciate it if by week's end you could start giving me names and ideas on how to court someone into a position here," she said.

"Don't worry about them accepting. The money alone through a salary and negotiated royalties would have a number of Potion masters and mistresses willing to work for you. Now that your company is established and well-known, you won't have any trouble in recruiting a replacement," the Potions master informed her.

"How fast would it take to get someone here?" Miss Brown asked.

"Are you anxious to get rid of me?" he countered with his own question.

"No," Lavender replied. "As much as I would like to see you stay with me, I would rather see you free. I'm just wondering how fast your own arrangements will take to complete before you are ready to leave."

He had spent many nights calculating this very answer. If Hermione agreed to assist him, then the potion could be ready sometime in November or December, hopefully sooner. It depended on when certain seasonal restricted ingredients came in through Hermione’s department for testing, plus the twenty-one days required to stew the lacewing flies.

"By the time I am certain of my departure date, you will have plenty of time to secure a new Potions master," he answered plainly, turning his attentions back to the book in front of him.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss," Miss Brown said. Severus raised a brow and looked up from his book to regard his employer with a curious eye. "It is regarding the male enhancement potion. I have run the numbers through with the company goblin in the basement. He says that with ingredients, labor, distribution and promotional costs, if the potion has to simmer for three days, then there is no way we can make it for mass production. The cost would be too prohibitive for the demographic market we are going after."

Severus closed his book, knowing that he would not be able to do any more research until this matter was settled. "You've been reading that Muggle economic rubbish again, haven't you? Demographic market indeed," he added with a derisive snort.

"There are some very sound Muggle ideas based on the laws of supply and demand; laws that apply to the wizarding world as well. Commerce is commerce, Severus," Lavender asserted. "If you haven’t noticed, you have been working for me in a business capacity for four years come this October. During these four years, you have helped me build this business from simple soap and hair care elixirs to an empire I'm rather proud of. And before you leave our green and pleasant land to go unto your freedom, which you richly deserve, I want to finally break into this very lucrative untapped market.

“What I am afraid of is that, with a new Potions master, I will lose a level of creativeness that you have hinted most others lack. Your remarks over the years have told me that few others have any innovation left in them, instead doing the same thing year after year with nothing new to add to the world of Potions. And what I'm asking you now is, can we somehow free the cauldrons up sooner for the manufacturing of the male enhancement potion? Is there some way to speed up the last phase from three days to one? If there is no way, then we must end our research on this potion, as it would not be anything but a potion for a very small market, thus not worth the cost for such small manufacturing scale."

A much as he hated to admit it, Miss Brown was right. She had a business to run. If the short, greedy, pointed eared thing called the company's accountant had worked out the numbers, and if the cauldrons needed to be available after one day of brewing, then maybe this potion would have to be scrapped and a new potion would need to be researched and created instead. Still, Severus hated failure. From all the other potions he had read over, this one was the best and most effective one available. It would make men old enough to be Merlin's peers as virile and energetic as a stallion, while giving them the stamina of a long distance broom racer. He did not want to start from scratch once again when he had the perfect potion already simmering in a cauldron; if anything, he would find a way to make it work.

The Potions master wanted to see how well the potion lived up to his expectation after simmering for three days before deciding what was to be done. He made a compromise. "Miss Brown, I will test a sample of the potion tomorrow, seeing if the process can be pared down to two days, though I doubt it will be. If the potion does need to simmer for three days, the only solution may be to buy three times as many cauldrons, so you have the requisite number of cauldrons simmering on any given day to meet demand."

"I have already thought of that. And though I can write off the cauldrons, as they can be used for manufacturing any number of potions, I am at a limit for square footage. To have three times the number of cauldrons would require purchasing additional warehouse space. And since the end of the war, real estate priced in Diagon Alley has skyrocketed and would make the potion equally prohibitive," the witch explained. "I will talk with the goblin downstairs to run through the numbers and find the price point for each additional day the potion simmers."

"Yes, do that. I will continue to meditate on the matter to see if there is another solution," he informed her.

"Thank you, Severus. I have faith that you will think of something, as you always do." Lavender rose from the chair and walked towards the door. When she had her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and turned. "By the way, we just sent out the first shipment of your cologne, Haunt. You may want to check out the full-page ad we'll be having in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. In addition, we'll be having full-page ads in Quidditch Weekly, Wizard Sophisticate, and Salacious Sorceresses. If sales go well, Draco will look into other gentlemen's magazines for advertising."

"I don't care if he shouts it from the rooftops, as long as it sells and I get my cut," Severus informed her curtly, not caring for the business of marketing and promotion.

Miss Brown left without another word.

Severus felt no desire to do any further research for the rest of the afternoon. He felt peevish over Miss Brown informing him of Draco's advertising blitz. Severus wished he hadn't mentioned to Draco what Hermione had said about his cologne. It had given the Potions master pleasure to know that the scent of him and his cologne occupied her mind. And now, what had been said to him in confidence was to be used as advertising fodder for the whole world to see. No one would know the story behind the name, but Severus would – perhaps Hermione would as well. The script across bottle’s front reminded him of trashy romance novels he had confiscated from tittering fifth years at Hogwarts. And now every time he would see that name splashed in the gaudily ornate font on the bottle, he would think of Hermione. It was yet another way for her to invade his mind, the memory of her haunting him in return.

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

As Hermione walked home along Diagon Alley Thursday afternoon, using the stroll as a way to ease the butterflies in her stomach instead of Apparating or Flooing home directly, she wondered if Ron was at the flat already. At least if she left before him tonight, Mrs. Weasley had the believable lie – or rather, a half-truth reason: it was for dance lessons.

Sprinting up the steps, she allowed the exercise to take away the nervous energy building up inside of her.

'Why did you have to ask him for dance lessons?' She knew exactly why she picked Calleo for dance lessons. If anyone would know how to dance and have the grace and patience to teach her, he was the one. Hermione also knew the lessons would give her a legitimate reason to touch him. But as seven o'clock and her time with Calleo drew nearer, she wondered if it was such a wise idea after all. 'Look what happened the last time you were in his arms! You assaulted his hand with your mouth and made a fool of yourself.' As much as she wanted to, the married witch didn't have the heart to regret it. It gave her a warm and pleasurable tingle in the center of her being to remember it.

The memory of it alone was the start of many fantasies she had when masturbating. When Ron wasn't home and she was sure he would not be for some time, she would lock herself in the bedroom and lie down on the bed. In the dark with her eyes closed, she would lick her fingers, imagining they were Calleo's. Thinking of him succumbing to the ministrations of her mouth, she fantasized he would undress her slowly, slipping his hand into her blouse, massaging her breasts slowly and deliberately, tweaking her nipples, then brushing his fingertips over the turgid peaks. Hermione would draw out the scenario in her mind, alternating between him taking her fast and hard, or slowly, making her relent to his advances, protesting, but wanting him to continue seducing her. The fantasy would always end with her coming while she envisioned herself impaled on him, trying to imagine what it would be like to orgasm with something long, thick and hard inside of her for her muscles to grasp at.

Hermione walked through the door to find Ron was already home and raiding the kitchen.

Ron called out from the kitchen, "I hope you don't mind. I was a bit famished, so I started to fix something for myself."
Standing at the doorway to the kitchen, Hermione gave a half shrug. "Not at all. In fact, maybe Thursday nights you could fix your own dinner for a bit. I'm taking a few dance lessons to get ready for our anniversary, and I don't want to eat just before the lessons or I'll get a cramp in my side."

It was a lie, of course. She was still planning on eating at Calleo's and taking dance lessons, but Ron didn't need to know about that. But the excuse for not eating with her husband on that night and future Thursdays gave her an easy out of cooking for him at least one night a week. Since she had restocked the cupboard earlier that week, she knew Ron would not go hungry, even if he did have to fix his own food.

Without waiting for a response from her husband, Hermione headed off to the bathroom for a decent shower. Though their brief conversation was the most friendly one they'd had since Ron's return, she was glad to leave his company for the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Dressing and putting a little makeup on in front of Ron felt utterly brazen. Here she was getting ready for an evening with a gigolo, with her husband fully aware that she was heading out for the evening. Granted, Ron thought it was for dance lessons, but it felt like she was flaunting the situation in her husband's face. And in some sick and twisted way, it gave her pleasure, which was quickly squashed by guilt. Hermione knew that if Ron were having an affair, she wouldn't want him to throw it in her face.

The thought came unbidden to her mind once more. 'What if Ron is having an affair?'

Before the thought even finished forming in her mind, she banished it. When he had taken off during their previous fights, she had hoped and prayed it was not to another witch's bed. Then, thinking on Ron's noble and loyal nature, she didn't think he would ever be the sort of wizard who would cheat on his wife. It seemed contradictory to everything his parents had taught him and the family environment he grew up in. Nice wizards from nice families do not cheat on their wives. This didn't explain Ginny, but Ginny was still in love with another man when Harry started courting her. For Ron, there was no other witch before Hermione, so she knew she didn't have worry about an old girlfriend. With her denial and logical conclusions firmly set in her mind, Hermione decided in the future to try and shower and dress in a more discreet fashion. It was not so much for Ron's sake, but for her own guilty conscience that she had been battling since the day she decided to start seeing Calleo on a regular basis.

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

Severus left Draco and Ginny's company around five o'clock so that he would have time to finish preparing a few last items before Hermione arrived. During his hour visit to Draco's flat, there was talk about all things relating to Hermione.

One thing that keenly caught Severus' attention was the trip to the Muggle bookstore. Since becoming aware of Hermione's job and its fortuitous relevance to himself, Severus had scoured Flourish and Blotts for books on the final destination of his escape. When no books could be found, he knew the Ministry had had a hand in making sure all the books on that particular locale were gone. During a few surreptitious trips to Knockturn Alley and a few sagacious questions, the only books he could find were published in the late 1800s. Whatever information those books contained that wasn't out of date, he most probably already knew himself.

It was agreed that Ginny would make another trip to the Muggle bookstore in the future and buy whatever books she could on the subject of their new home, that they were hoping to reach before the New Year.

Ginny had been the one to ask this time when Severus was going to reveal himself to Hermione. Her reasons for knowing were based more on self-preservation. When Hermione would finally realize that she had been secretly seeing Severus, the pieces would fall into place. Mrs. Weasley would also know that Draco and Ginny most probably knew of her visits “to Calleo” as well, surmised from the simple fact that both men had been spies for the Order, lived in the same block of flats and worked for Miss Lavender Brown.

Draco asked if it would be prudent for Ginny to start dropping hints herself about her knowledge of Severus' whereabouts, to which the older wizard emphatically said no. It would be another way of leading Hermione to the truth of his identity, but Severus had his own reasons for delaying it by doing it all himself. He liked his visits with Hermione. And when the day came when she knew who he really was, she would no longer look at him with warmth and kindness. He would no longer feel her lean into his lightest of touches. The long evenings of debate, discussion and laughter would be gone, replaced with talk of how she could help him and Draco escape. All the friendly atmosphere that had developed between the two would instantly dissipate, leaving old memories of Hogwarts and work for the Order in its wake.

It was selfish of him to continue delaying his own unmasking, but he wanted to savor this fleeting time between them. Just as the Gallica rose blooms only once a year for a very short period of time, their friendship, as it currently was, would bloom only once in his lifetime. One thing Severus learned from his many nature walks and strolls through the Hogwarts greenhouses was to enjoy the seasonal beauty as it presented itself. And when Hermione learned that it had been her old Potions professor she had been visiting, their friendship would go to seed.

============

A/N: The weight of 1 stone is equivalent to 14 pounds or 6.35030 kg.

For those of you not familiar with the great American mythical creature, the jackalope, you can read about it here: http://www.museumofhoaxes.com/tall-tales/jackalope.html

Welcome to my favorite OOC Severus… Dancing!Snape. So break out those old records/CDs your parents (or if you are young enough - your grandparents) listened to when they were young and still do probably, the crooners and song sirens (Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington, Etta James, Harry Connick Jr., etc.). For each chapter with dance lessons, I shall have a recommended list of songs to listen to when reading. Think of it like a soundtrack to this fic, or certain chapters of this fic at least. No, this isn't turning into a song-fic, but the right songs can enhance the mood of the fic when reading. I write with certain songs playing in the background to put me in a certain mood, why not listen to some songs while you read to give you the right mood when they are dancing? If you don't have the songs in your music library, you can always run over to Apple's iTunes, Amazon.com or whatever your favorite music download site is, and click for a listening sample. Or you can turn on your radio to the local big band station or some radio station that streams over the net.

Recommended songs to listen to while reading the dancing lesson portion of chapter 30:
"Nuages" (recommend the performance by Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli)
"He's Funny That Way"
"Embraceable You" (Frank Sinatra is highly recommended)
"Manoir de Mes Reves" (recommend the performance by Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli)
"Teach Me Tonight" (recommend performances by Ann Hampton Calloway, Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald or Chaka Khan)
Sierra junipers grow at 9,000 feet elevation in the California Sierra mountain range.
In my use of moonstone in this fic, it is to provide a visual indicator of one's emotions. So in a way, I am using it in a similar fashion regarding a person's emotions. Here is the HP-Lexicon entry on moonstone:
"Used in various potions (including the Draught of Peace), sometimes in powdered form; Harry had to write an essay (12 inches of parchment) for Snape about the uses of moonstone in potion making. (OP13) Moonstone is found in a variety of colors. Its supposed magical effects include helping a person gain emotional balance. Since Harry spent much of book five emotionally unbalanced, it is perhaps fitting that he was forced to write an essay on the stone's use in Potions-making."
http://www.hp-lexicon.org/magic/potions-enc.html

Good chapter…enjoying Severus’ pessimism here at the end; so typical of him to take the doom-and-gloom outlook of things. ~ Horserider
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After