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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 Thirty-Seven:
“Dancing Around the Truth”

Disclaimer: It's getting hard to be original with these disclaimers. Rowling owns it all, except for the plot.

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

There was a note and a length of black silk attached to the door of Calleo’s flat. After removing both items, Hermione read over the note.

-------

H,

Good evening, and welcome. Place the blindfold over your eyes and tie it loosely about your head. It is charmed to adjust to your head, and to remain in place during your stay. The only times it may be removed are when you are in the bathroom, and when you are outside my door at the end of the evening.

Once you have placed it on your head, knock on my door; and I will escort you inside. I look forward to a most unique evening ahead.

Kindest Regards,

C

-------

Nothing could hold back the broad grin that brightened Hermione's face. Thankful that she had decided to wear her hair up due to the sultry evening, the intrigued witch placed the swath of black silk about her head and loosely tied it in the back, feeling the tips of the charmeuse tickle the nape of her neck. The blindfold tightened around her head until it was snug, yet still comfortable.

Reaching forward blindly with one hand, she found the door.

Knock-Knock. Knock-Knock.

Severus opened the door and saw that Hermione had put on the blindfold according to his instructions. He noticed she hadn't bothered with a cloak, chalking it up to the warm summer night.

“Good evening, Hermione,” he greeted her warmly, reaching forward and gently guiding her into his flat.

Once the door was closed, he pulled off his mask, now that he was sure her blindfold was on.

“Good evening, Calleo,” Hermione greeted him in kind while still smiling, her voice just above a whisper.

Severus could hear the slight tremor in her voice. Still holding onto her hand and forearm, he tucked her hand into the crook of his own arm and escorted her to the settee. There, he gently turned her around until the edge of the seat was touching the backs of her calves.

Once seated, Hermione let out a huge breath.

“Nervous?” Severus asked lightly.

“A bit.” Hermione swallowed nervously once more. The butterflies in her stomach were having a parade that included a couple of elephants. too.

“There is nothing to be nervous about,” Severus said soothingly, his voice calm and reassuring.

Deprived of sight, Hermione fixed all her attention on Calleo's voice. She had always loved the sound of it, and now that it was her beacon in this dark world, she could not help but find it sensual and smooth.

The raven-haired wizard had not let go of Hermione's hand since she sat down, since she did not seem to want to release it. His thumb began rubbing in lazy circles around the top of her hand, occasionally stroking along the top of her knuckles before exploring the tender flesh between her thumb and forefinger. He thought she looked a bit vulnerable. He stared openly at her slightly parted mouth, drinking in the color and shape as she was anxiously licking her lips. The way her chest rose and fell with each breath drew his gaze down to her brassiere, its outline visible beneath the pale cotton fabric.

“You did say you trusted me,” he said, hoping to find some way to allay whatever fears she might be harboring. He sounded just like when some nervous witch came to him, asking him to deflower her. Hermione was no virgin, but she displayed all the signs of a witch who was about to embark on her first trip into carnal pleasures.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed. “I'm just not used to being blindfolded or blind.” Hermione gave a nervous little laugh.

Severus smiled. It was thrilling to see Hermione in such a state of anticipation. Watching her at the mercy of his whims gave him a rush of power, and he equally felt awed by the trust she was placing in him. There was no way he could ever trust anyone enough to blindfold him and lead him around for a whole evening. He had spent enough of his life in a position of powerlessness that he would never give up what little power he had gained.

“Just remember to relax,” the wizard instructed her. “Remember what we discussed on Monday. I will do nothing unless you initiate it first.”

Hermione wilted under the velvet caress of his voice. The ball was in her court, but she barely trusted herself in not initiating something with Calleo. If she touched his arm, would she stop there? At what point would it stop being touching and start become fondling?

“I trust you,” she said, trying to keep her voice from sounding strained. “It's myself I don't trust.”

Severus smiled even more. She was completely his to toy with; though he had promised not to make the first move, he did need to help her about his flat, and so that would give him license to touch her. Scooting over closer to her, he noticed her body shift and tense momentarily.

Leaning close enough to whisper in her ear, he murmured teasingly, “And why do you not trust yourself?”

His warm breath grazed her neck and curled about her ear, making a hot chill race though her body. Though the blindfold covered her eyes, Hermione shut her eyes tighter and turned her head away from temptation. “Because,” she barely choked out, her breaths becoming even more shallow and rapid.

He could have grazed her neck with his nose or finger, but he let the sheer proximity of his body heat be enough for the moment. Severus had suffered enough evenings being tempted beyond the limits of his endurance with her; he felt she should suffer a little as well. It was only fair, and Gryffindors were known to be notoriously fair. “Because why?” he asked, letting the warmth of his breath graze her skin.

“Because I want you so badly, and I still haven't made up my mind,” she confessed with a sigh, trying not to moan from the excruciating pleasure of Calleo's breath on her skin.

The strain of his playful seduction was having its toll and so he sat back, giving Hermione a chance to relax.

“Tell me, Calleo, and please be honest,” Hermione began with hesitation. “I'd rather have the truth than some candy-coated lie. And I hope I'm not offending you by asking this... but how many other clients have you become friends with over the years?”

Remembering Ginny's words about Hermione becoming attached, Severus could understand her hesitation. She wanted to know if she was one of many, or was she the first to develop this type of rapport with him.

“I will answer your question if you answer mine first,” the raven-haired man replied. “And I demand the same amount of honesty in your reply that you seek with mine. If you wish for complete explanations, then you will have to be thorough in yours as well. Do you agree?”

With her stomach tightening, Hermione could scarcely think of what Calleo might ask of her to demand such an equal quid pro quo exchange. Hoping she would not regret her decision, she answered, “I will to the best of my ability, as long as you do as well.”

“Fair enough.” Still, he wondered if one question would be enough for Hermione, and if her pending question would lead to the revelation of his identity. “You mentioned that in your dream we were almost making love. Explain in detail what happened in the dream.” Ever since her hesitant answer the other night, Severus' curiosity had been piqued.

Hermione blushed unabashedly. She had been hoping he would not ask about her dream anymore, but since she had questions that she desperately needed answered in order to help her decide on becoming intimate with Calleo or not, she agreed. It helped that she had a blindfold on, as she would not have to see the look on Calleo's face. The blindfold also helped her with her courage, as she found her conviction worked best under the cloak of night. Even at Hogwarts, it was only at night, with its concealing qualities, that she ever felt like engaging in sex or going on rule-breaking adventures. By the light of day, she behaved as any good witch should; but the blackness of night gave her a different kind of confident bravery she didn’t normally have.

Feeling her mouth gone dry, she licked her lips several times before she could form an answer. “Well, as I mentioned before, in my dream we were in the bathroom. After you added the grain to the cauldron, you turned to kiss me.”

“How did I kiss you?” he asked, wanting details. If he was going to confess what she wanted to know, he should at least have the pleasure on having a new fantasy to keep him satisfied while he masturbated later that night, once she had left his flat.

“Passionately.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” she exhaled. It was most distracting to answer Calleo's questions, as he kept stroking her hand, making little electric shocks run up her arm, taking a short detour to her brain before heading straight between her legs. 'If he could do this much to me with a simple touch of my hand, imagine what he could do to my body!'

“Go on,” he prompted her.

“You were kissing me, but you still had your full-face mask on. I don't know how, but we were still able to kiss while you wore it.” Hermione paused before adding, “You tasted like wine.” Just remembering the dream was getting her turned on. “Then suddenly we were on your bed, still kissing. We still had our clothes on, but you were on top of me...”

“Yes?”

“You were grinding against me.”

“And did you like that, Hermione?” Severus asked, letting his voice drop an octave.

Letting out her breath, the brunette witch replied, “God, yes.”

Severus turned her hand over and began stroking tiny undecipherable patterns on the inside of her wrist. “Then what happened?”

“Suddenly our clothes were gone,” she admitted, suddenly feeling the room get warmer, helped along by the tantalizingly subtle touch of Calleo's finger along her pulse point.

“And then?”

“You were rubbing yourself.”

“Where?”

Hermione fought to find the words without sounding vulgar. “Down there.”

Severus was having such a seductively amusing time watching Hermione struggle with the words, yet found himself growing even more aroused with each detail he extracted from her. “Down where?”

“Around... just near... outside...”

“Of your entrance?” Severus queried, completing her thought for her.

“Yes.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, now that she had finally been able to give voice to her dream, and expecting Calleo would now answer her question.

“Then what happened?”

“My husband woke me up,” Hermione said, pleased there was nothing too erotic or uncomfortable to tell him with that statement. “I have answered your question; please answer mine.”

“Since you were so honest with your answer, I shall be with mine. Though I have been on friendly terms with many clients before, I have never been friends with any of them before you,” he said without reservation.

“Though I am your friend, do you still see me as a client?” Hermione asked warily, hoping he would say no.

“That is another question,” Severus said, hoping to get more information out of her. “Answer another question, and I shall answer yours.”

If Hermione was not so desperate to know the answer, she would have dropped this game. Praying he would not ask another equally embarrassing question, she acquiesced with a nod of her head.

“Very well. Do you still see me as a gigolo or as a friend?” Severus decided to go easy on her, gaining her trust and hoping she would continue this exchange of information.

“As a friend,” Mrs. Weasley replied without hesitation.

“As do I,” he admitted freely.

“But Lavender said when she waived your fees that you were being compensated in other ways,” Hermione replied with another question.

'Damn, Miss Brown would have to let her know that! No wonder she thinks I still see her as a client,' Severus silently mused. Deciding to give her a free answer without exacting one in return, he said, “Though I am being compensated, I have not thought about the money in a long time,” he said, twisting the truth slightly. Of course the money crossed his mind every time he worked on a new sex potion with Miss Brown. “When I see you sitting here, I do not care about the money, just the pleasure of your company.”

If he could have truthfully told her that he would forfeit his “fees” to make her more comfortable, he would have, but he was not about to give up a forty percent share in royalties. It was the truth to say that he did not think of the money at all when Hermione came to see him anymore.

Hermione bit her lip, unconscious that an old forgotten habit was returning. 'If Ginny has to pay to see her own lover, I suppose it's not too out of line that Calleo is receiving some sort of fee for my visits.'

“One last question,” Hermione announced, trying to find the strength to ask it. “How many other witches have you slept with while in this occupation?” If she was going to sleep with him, she wanted to know how many had shagged Calleo before her. “Please be honest with me; don't downplay the numbers.”

“I have always been honest with you, Hermione. I may have downplayed how much I know in order to conceal my identity, but I have always been as honest as I can with you,” Severus disclosed. “And I have one last question for you.”

“Go ahead.” Hermione nodded her head, feeling a little confused over Calleo's statement.

“If someday I were to reveal myself, would you still consider me a friend?” Severus asked, waiting with apprehension of her answer.

“Of course I would!” Hermione insisted.

“Truly?” Severus challenged her gently.

“Yes,” she declared. “You have been a friend to me in a time of need. I would not reject you based on knowing your identity.”

“Very well,” he said, sounding a little pleased by her answer, though secretly doubting it. “I do not know the exact number of my past and present clients, but it probably ranges somewhere between dozens and a couple hundred.”

Hermione gave a small gasp of surprise.

“More than you imagined?”

“I had no idea what number to expect, to be perfectly honest.”

“Does it bother you?” Severus asked.

“No...” Hermione paused, not sounding too convincing.

“Hermione? Honestly.”

“A little.” She began regretting asking Calleo about how many others he had bedded. “I suppose it's none of my business. And I guess that if I were to take things... further between us, then I would not be the last.”

“That is a safe assumption.” The ex-Death Eater wondered how long it would take before his last question about her unfailing friendship with him would sink into her mind, and her keen intellect would begin piecing together the puzzle pieces. “Do you have any more questions?”

“No. Thank you for answering them, Calleo. I truly appreciate it,” she said gratefully.

“Now, there are a few things that need to be taken care of in the kitchen before we can begin dinner. Would you care to join me? Perhaps a glass of wine before dinner is served?” Severus offered courteously.

“That would be lovely, Calleo. Thank you, I think I will,” she replied with equal formality, bowing her head and not realizing that he had done the same gesture to her as well.

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

Severus had placed Hermione along the familiar stretch of counter where she had stood at the previous week while he uncorked the wine.

Blind, but finding appeal in the mystery of the noises about her – the pot of water simmering on the cooker, the sizzle of something in the oven – Hermione heard the pop of the cork.

“I think you'll like this. It's a nice Gewürztraminer; it goes well with tonight's dinner,” Severus told Hermione as he poured her a measure of the pale, spicy wine before pouring for himself.

“And what are we having for dinner tonight?” Hermione smiled.

Approaching her, the wizard touched her hand to let her know he was near so she would not startle and knock the glass of wine. Severus went to stand behind her, grabbing her other hand and placing the glass of wine in it. Bending down so that his mouth was near her ear, he asked slowly, “What do you smell?”

Hermione could sense Calleo standing behind her and the heat radiating off of his body. 'If he's going to play this game, I'll teach him!' she thought, setting down her wine glass without taking a sip.

Moving back slightly, she let her body make contact with Calleo's, her back pressed lightly against his chest, her bottom brushing against his groin. Inhaling deeply, Hermione said playfully, “Hmmm, so many smells.” Pleased by the sudden change in Calleo's breathing, she turned around so that she knew she would be facing him. Hermione leaned in to bring her face closer with his neck, letting her breasts brush up against his chest. The sheer thrill of the contact made her nipples pucker so tightly, it was almost painful. Nuzzling her nose along the base of his throat, she purred confidently, “I smell patchouli.” She paused to inhale deeply once more, dragging her nose and cheek along his throat. “So many good smells,” she sighed, desperately trying to keep her hands at her sides, and not reach up to stroke his chest and loop around his neck. “Is this what we're having for dinner?” the witch asked coyly.

Severus felt his eyes roll up into his head as he tried valiantly to not grab Hermione, strip her of her knickers, and ravish her on the spot. Instead, he decided to return Hermione's teasing in spades.

Hermione felt two strong hands about her waist spin her about face so she was facing the counter. Before she could brace her hands on the counter, Calleo's hands grabbed her wrists and pinned them high above her head to the cabinets in front of her. He pressed his whole length along her body. What shocked Hermione was to feel his erection pressing hard up against her bottom.

Bending his head so his mouth was close to her ear, he purposefully breathed along the shell of her ear not covered by the blindfold. In a dangerous growl, he murmured, “Didn't your parents ever teach you that it's not nice to tease the animals?”

To make his point he rolled his hips, grinding his hard cock into her bottom. Though they were both wearing clothes, the sensation was unmistakable.

Hermione could not believe how much her body took over and disconnected from her mind. She was still pressed snugly between the counter and Calleo's body, his strong hands keeping her body taut with her arms stretched above her head. Her own body wanted to surrender like a dog rolling over and exposing its belly. Gasping, she let her head roll back along his shoulder and arched her back, pressing her bottom more firmly against his groin. She could not breathe. She felt like she was drowning in some exotic cocktail of lust, dizzy and floating amid the sensation of Calleo's body so close and hard against her own, the scent of him, and the hypnotic sound of his voice.

Exhaling in a half-moan, she explained, “I'm just returning what you were dishing out to me.” Hermione pushed back against him to spite his deliciously cruel teasing.

“So you think I started this?” Severus confronted her, moving back against her.

“Yes,” she sighed, finding rhythm to their motion. “When you asked me what I smelled.” Hermione's breath was becoming quick.

Moving in time to her movement, he continued to rub himself purposefully against Hermione's rather nice, round backside. His own breaths were getting quite short. Burying his nose into her hair, he inhaled her scent and pressed himself against her with a slight jerking motion this time. “Consider this... payback... for the time... you sucked my fingers,” Severus retorted as he panted heavily into her curls.

Whimpering against her will, Hermione said plaintively, “I said I was sorry. A moment of weakness.” She wanted to reach behind her and rake her nails thorough his hair, but she couldn't, with her wrists still firmly pinned to the cabinet. Hermione hated herself for not wanting this to end. As Calleo picked up the pace, she continued rubbing herself against him with less restraint.

“Tell me, is this as good as in your dream?” the wizard asked huskily, not realizing he was dry-humping her like some desperate teenager.

“This is better... much better,” Hermione groaned, bucking her hips back.

“Just give me the word, Hermione,” Severus pleaded. “Just say the word. Tell me you want me to go on,” he said, sliding his hands down her arms. Reaching down, he cupped her breasts and dropped his head on top of her shoulder. “Tell me if you want to go on, or if you are not ready yet. That you've made up your mind. Tell me,” he begged with desperation.

Hermione's hips ceased rocking. With her hands still in place on the cabinets in front of her, she felt her chest rise and fall in great gasping breaths as Calleo stopped moving. “I don't know yet.” She sighed. “Where is that damn wine glass?”

Severus moved away and reached around, scooting the glass into her hand while avoiding contact with her.

Moving to the other side of the kitchen, he took a swig of his own wine, trying to regain his composure. Noticing the water boiling away on the stove, he added the couscous, sultanas, sautéed carrots and onions, gave the pot a quick stir and put the lid on it.

He noticed Hermione had not moved from her spot, as she clutched her wine glass with a slightly shaky hand, which had been drained of half its contents.

“I'm sorry.” Severus paused before he added, “That was uncalled for.”

“Please don't apologize.” Hermione stopped him, her body tensing as she began speaking. “As much as I hate to admit it, I have to be honest with myself too. I wanted it.” After taking a few steadying breaths, she said, “I can't tell you how many times I've fantasized about what it would feel like to straddle you, fully clothed, rubbing myself against you like that. Sometimes more than that. It's one thing to fantasize about it, it's another to do it. If I wasn't married... I suppose my curiosity and desire got the best of me.” She took one more long swallow of wine before adding, “Please don't regret what you did.”

Realizing there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, as Marf would get everything ready for serving, Severus walked back over to Hermione.

Gingerly picking up the hand not holding her wine glass, he announced, “Dinner is served. Let's move on to the dining area.”

Hermione let Calleo's hand guide her as she walked, while feeling her body thrum with energy and tension. Her senses were hyper-aware of everything: the scent of cinnamon mixed with savory meat, the feel of her skirt brushing against her legs, the movement of air from the door being opened, and the sound of classical music from the other side of the room.

“Here,” he instructed her, helping her to sit at the table.

Hermione noticed that he did not sit across from her but placed himself to her left, giving her bearings.

With a twitch of Severus' wand, a large basin appeared with a jug of warm water. Guiding her hand once more, he instructed her, “Place your hands out in front of you. There's a basin for washing your hands.”

Another flick of his wand, and the water poured over their hands.

After washing and drying their hands, Severus suggested, “Have some bread to start.”

Reaching out, she found the rim of the cloth-lined basket and grabbed a piece of soft bread. Hermione could smell the scent of warm yeasty bread and sesame seeds. “Hmmm, sesame seeds and cinnamon. Middle Eastern cuisine?” she asked.

“Close. You'll have to be more specific than that.”

“Persian?” It was a wild guess.

“Persian cuisine uses many of the same ingredients, but tends to use a lot more rice. Let's have the next course, and you can guess again.” As Hermione began eating the bread, he said, “I didn't have a chance to ask you last Monday; how was the visit to your parents?”

She was thankful that Calleo brought up a topic to keep her mind off the fact that the nearness of him made her appetite disappear, as her stomach was knotted with anticipation to the point of near queasiness. Hermione said, “It was nice to see them. My mum let me drive the Jaguar to the market, so I got in a little driving practice.”

“Jaguar?”

“A very fast model of car; though after the way I drove, I don't think she'll let me behind the wheel of her car ever again,” Hermione confessed bashfully.

“Not a good driver?”

“Well, let's just say that no Muggle car should be driven like the Knight Bus. I keep forgetting that as a witch my reflexes are faster than most Muggles. My mother looked like she was about to have a coronary after I drove. Oh, well. It's not like I want to drive anyway. Floo and Apparition are so much faster,” the witch rationalized.

“And brooms,” Severus added.

“No. I don't like flying. Period.” Her tone brooked no argument. Time and time again, Hermione had told Harry and Ron her personal reasons why she had not mounted a broom after her first year. She was not about to start another lengthy debate about her refusal to fly.

“So what else happened with your parents?” Severus set down his bread and silently gave Marf his cue to bring out the salad course.

“My mum and I got to talk a bit. It suddenly struck me while I was there that by the time I'm in my fifties or sixties, they will have probably passed away. My mum is only in her mid-fifties, and she looks like a witch in her seventies or eighties. I suppose the death of my co-worker is still a bit of a shock to me.”

Severus ignored the salad for a moment, realizing Hermione was finally ready to deal with the topic of death. “Go on,” he prompted her, knowing she needed to give voice to her thoughts.

“It's just that during the war I knew that people all around me were at risk of dying at any moment. At that time of my life, it felt like I was living in a season of death.” She paused for a moment. “Does that make any sense?”

“What do you mean, ‘a season of death?'” Severus knew what she had meant, but encouraged her to go on.

“It seems like my life has been lived in seasons: a season for learning – being in school; a season of death – during the war, where it was no surprise that people died; a season of marriage – where all around me people were getting married, including myself; a season of babies, with people I knew having children left and right. And now it seems like with Marge's death, a winter frost has come unexpectedly out of season.” There was another long pause while Hermione tried to blink back the tears that almost came beneath her blindfold. “I know it must sound silly, but I can think of no other way to describe the shock of it. It's foolish of me to think that death cannot come at any time to those around us. It's just that I didn't expect it to be a violent death, as if the war had returned.”

“The war has never really left any of us. Those experiences will stay with us forever. We just tend to push those memories aside, and try to move forward with our lives,” Severus explained. He had comforted enough war widows to know what should be said in response to such sentiments.

Sensing she was done with her thoughts, Severus directed the topic back to dinner. “Are you ready for the next course?”

“Yes!” Hermione's voice had a false brightness to it. Her hand began searching for the flatware. “Where is my fork?”

Severus let a low and throaty laugh seep up. “There is no cutlery. Tonight, we eat with our hands. Care to take another guess as to which cuisine I prepared?”

“Ethiopian?”

“No.”

“Any hints?” the brunette witch asked, her question ending on an up note of hope.

“Would you care to make another wager,” Severus countered silkily.

“Another wager? Are you going to trick me again, like that other night?”

“Trick you? I did no such thing!” Severus asserted. “It was not my fault you failed to inquire about dessert beforehand.”

“Ha!” 'That sounds like Slytherin tactics.'

“I do not see what you are complaining about. Despite losing, you still had your chocolate.” Severus sat there smugly, daring her to refute it.

“I... I... All right. I agree. However, I will not be fooled so easily this time. If we bet, it shall be for the same thing,” Hermione insisted.

“Do you have something in mind?” The smile was evident in his tone. Severus actually did have something in mind. “How about the loser of the bet shall give the winner a massage?” Hermione's mouth opened, but before she could speak, the raven-haired wizard added, “A massage after dinner, to whichever body parts the winner demands that the loser does not deem too... inappropriate.”

Hermione licked her lips nervously as she contemplated whether she should agree to the wager. Though she was very good in detecting different herbs, identifying foreign cuisines was not her forte. Still, what would be the loss in agreeing to give Calleo a massage if she lost? Hermione would still be able to touch him without the misunderstanding that she was ready to take things further.

“If I don't agree, do you still on plan on giving me a shoulder massage?” she asked, testing to see if this was another trick.

“No, I wasn't planning on giving you one tonight.”

“Oh. Very well, I agree.”

Smiling broadly, he placed the salad platter between them. He was really looking forward to a nice back rub.

“Since you seem to be so mistrusting of me, I will allow you to sample all three items from this platter before demanding your answer,” the Potions master announced.

Plucking a chunk of carrot from the tray, he asked Hermione to open her mouth. He watched her surprised reaction as she bit down.

“Do I taste rose with the carrot?” Hermione asked, sounding perplexed.

“You do. Do you like it?”

“Yes, it's very good. I just never thought of cooking with roses.”

“Actually, it's rose water.” Picking up a couple of chickpeas, he asked, “Are you ready for item number two?”

Nodding, Hermione opened her mouth while wondering what new and wonderful flavors she would experience. The tangy flavor of the preserved lemon made her mouth water as she chewed the soft beans. She hummed in appreciation of the flavor. Despite the exotic and aromatic flavors, she could not place the cuisine. After taking a sip of wine and a bite of bread to cleanse her palate, she was ready for the third salad.

Dipping his finger into the soft and warm aubergine salad that would more likely be eaten with a spoon than a fork, he brought his finger to Hermione's expectant mouth.

Not expecting Calleo's finger, she closed her mouth around the dollop of salad and his digit.

Both paused, unable to move.

Hermione tentatively moved her tongue to lick the soft textured salad off his finger while releasing his digit from her mouth. It was too great a temptation to go back down that avenue once more, for if she did not stop herself, there would be no dinner or dance lessons tonight.

The sensation of the tip of her tongue on Severus’ finger made him want to feed her himself for the rest of the meal, letting her warm and soft tongue stroke his fingers.

“Have you figured out the cuisine yet?” Severus asked, prompting Hermione to respond.

Too distracted from the rather intimate act of Calleo feeding her, the witch didn't bother to analyze the spices or flavors. To regain her mental balance, she went back to the previous topic of conversation.

“I want to thank you for waiting. Most everybody else has been trying to get me to talk about Marge's death, but I wasn't ready until after I saw my parents. It was nice not to be pressured by someone to 'express my feelings' on the matter when I wasn't ready. Thank you.” Her hand stretched out and carefully found her wine glass once more, and she took a sip.

“So this is my last guess,” Hermione stated, ready to move on to another subject. “Egyptian?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus escorted Hermione to the settee. Once the room was cleared of the table and dishes, Severus set about preparing the room by folding the rest of the room's unused furniture against the wall like the previous week. He then set up the massage table, with a loopy swirl of his wand. Though he might have made dismissive remarks about “foolish wand waving” in his classes, Severus was quite talented when it came to Charms and Transfiguration.

“Are you ready?” Severus asked.

Hermione smiled and nodded.

Knowing he should ask again to be “gentlemanly,” he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the witch insisted. “I lost, and it's only fair that I fulfill my share of the bargain. I agreed to the wager; I shall honor my bets.”

Severus supposed there were upsides to dealing with a Gryffindor at times. After casting an Accio and retrieving the massage oil, he began unbuttoning his shirt. Casually tossing his shirt onto the settee, he noticed Hermione startle a little when it landed next to her.

Guiding her up from her seat, he escorted her over to the padded table and charmed the bottle of oil to hover next to Hermione for easy access, since she could not see. Severus toed off his shoes and socks and climbed up onto the table, rather pleased he was the one to receive a massage for once.

“Is there any place in particular that is bothering you, Calleo, or do you just want an overall back rub?” Hermione asked.

“Hmmm,” the wizard hummed as he thought of a response, pleased that Hermione was being so considerate. “Shoulders and lower back, mostly.”

Turning his head to the side, he saw Hermione blindly reach out for the oil and pour a generous amount into the palm of her hand. Severus put his head back down and closed his eyes, awaiting the chance for someone to please him for once.

Hermione could not think of what to say. She didn't want to seem too eager to fulfill her end of the bargain. One thing she knew to avoid sounding too nervously guilty was to say as little as possible. It was gallant that Calleo had offered her a chance to get out of giving him a massage. Still, she had guessed incorrectly. Hermione couldn't berate herself, as she had never had Moroccan food before.

As she rubbed her palms together to warm the oil in her hands, she caught the scent of almonds and realized what type of oil Calleo had provided her. Stretching out her hands, she made contact with his warm skin and stroked her hands up and down along his back by feel alone. Hermione made a point of not touching him sensuously, but with purpose – therapeutic purpose, of course.

Severus let a low groan of appreciation rumble through his chest.

The sound emanating from Calleo only fed her fantasies of what he sounded like during sex. In an effort to keep her mind on the task of giving him a back rub, Hermione focused her thoughts on the muscles beneath her fingers and the mental diagram of muscles she had memorized from her mother's old Gray's Anatomy book earlier in the week.

Running the heel of her hand from the middle of Calleo's spine out towards his shoulder, Hermione murmured, “Trapezius.”

“Hmmm?” Severus heard what she had said, but he pretended not to catch it.

“Nothing, just trying to identify the different muscles,” she explained.

“Yes, that is my Trapezius,” he replied with a slight groan, appreciating the tingling sensation of the muscle being kneaded.

A silence settled between them until Hermione moved onto a different set of muscles. “And these are the... erectors?” she said with uncertainty as she ran her thumbs along the length of muscle that stretched across his ribs near his sides.

“Hmmmm. Yes, you can refer to the group as such,” Severus mumbled back, a pleasant thrill of electric tingling racing along his spine and up onto his scalp, making the hairs stand on end.

Reaching down his back until she reached the waistband of his trousers, Hermione began massaging her thumbs in small circles along his spine. “Let's see. Multifious... Longissimus dorsi...” Higher up the back, she asked, “And this is where the Spinalis dorsi begins?”

“Correct,” the prone wizard replied lazily.

It suddenly struck him that this might be a prime opportunity to ask Hermione a few questions. “Why the sudden interest in muscular structure?”

“While I was at my parents' on Sunday, my mother let me have her old anatomy book from her days at university.”

“Any reason why you borrowed the book?” Severus asked nonchalantly.

“No. No reason,” she said a little too innocently, moving her hands out to his Latissimus dorsi.

“Planning on becoming a Potions mistress someday?” he teased lightly, his voice more of a gravelly growl than playful.

“It's not likely to ever happen, considering I've been turned down by everyone,” Hermione remarked, her voice tinged with bitterness.

“But if an opportunity ever came up where an apprenticeship was offered to you, would you accept it?”

“Of course I would!” Digging her thumbs into Calleo's Rhomboideus major, she felt his back twitch. “Too deep?”

“No,” he assured Hermione. “It's just been a long time since I've had a massage, and my muscles are used to existing in a constant state of tension.”

“I know what you mean. It wasn't until you started giving me neck rubs that I've had a massage more than once a year,” Hermione added. “But as I was saying,” she came back to the previous conversation thread while mapping Calleo's back by touch alone, “who would give an apprenticeship to someone who has been out of school as long as I have? Usually, a master likes to take an apprentice right out of school. I've been out of school for five years. I'm a bit long in the tooth. Besides, apprenticeships don't pay. And until my husband renegotiates his Quidditch contract in November, we need every single Knut we can scrimp together.” Her finger traced along a mole she found near his left shoulder blade, and what felt like an old scar a few inches below that.

“But if an apprenticeship was offered with pay, would you take it?” He groaned once more as Hermione began working on his neck.

“I doubt the pay would be equal to what I earn right now at the Ministry. So, as much as it sounds like a lovely fantasy – if I were ever offered such a position with pay – I must be realistic, as it's never going to happen. One can dream, but that's an unreachable dream. I'll have to take what dreams I can get in real life.” Hermione paused, her hands lying flat on Calleo's back as she realized the implication of her own statement.

Calleo could give her fulfillment of all her wildest hopes of passion that she had given up on long ago. He was the first man to ever stir feelings that she had thought were only trite ramblings written in trashy romance novels.

'It's not like I'm ever going to leave Ron,' Hermione began thinking to herself. Her hands began stroking Calleo's skin lightly, dragging the pads of her fingertips along the tops of his shoulders to his arms, then down his sides, and completing the circuit by bringing her fingers up along his back to the base of his neck. 'If I don't seize this opportunity, am I going to regret this for the rest of my life? If I do this, will I hate myself? And can I do this without the thought constantly screaming in the back of my mind that I'm betraying Ron? Could I live with myself if I do this? Or should I say 'sod it all' and do as I want for once, consequences be damned? What if Ron finds out? Ha! Like he would ever care at this point.' Her heart and her mind resumed their old battle of desire and needs versus honor and fidelity.

Severus noted the change in the pressure and purpose of Hermione's touch, from kneading to gentle stroking. She seemed quiet and distracted; Hermione had affected that same quality about her when contemplating if she wanted to take things further with him on Monday night. Still, the sensation of her fingers gliding across his back was soft and tender, lulling him into a state of relaxation. He could have laid there all night and have her continue touching him that way until he drifted off to sleep, if it wasn't for the sensation of his skin feeling electrified where she touched it.

Not wanting her to dwell upon her thoughts for too long, Severus hummed and said, “That was nice. Thank you. I truly appreciate the massage.” Lifting himself up off the table, he escorted Hermione back to the settee while he put back on his shirt and charmed the massage table to put itself away.

Noting her continued silence as he sat next to her, Severus prompted Hermione with an observation. “You seem preoccupied.”

“Sorry.” Hermione rubbed her hands together and up her arm, spreading the remnants of the almond oil over her skin. “I was thinking about what you said during our last meeting.”

“Yes, go on.”

“The married women you've slept with; have they ever regretted it afterwards?” When Calleo did not answer immediately, she added, “Do they feel guilty afterwards that they had done it?”

“A few,” Severus replied honestly. “But most have carefully thought it through before taking that final step.” Reaching out, he picked up her hand. “Do not rush this. You do not have to make a decision tonight or this week.” He remembered how he had begged earlier that evening, but pushed the memory of it from the front of his mind.

Calleo's patience was not making it any easier. Hermione wanted nothing more than to reach over and straddle Calleo, and feel his hands on her hips as she rubbed her breasts against his chest and ground herself against his crotch. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and explore the planes of his face with her lips. More than anything, she wondered what her name would sound like as he murmured it in her ear. The way his voice sounded back in the kitchen, as he pleaded with need and desire, had almost been her undoing. To hear him beg for her once more would surely break her resolve. Instead of giving voice to the conflict in her head or the needs of her body, she mutely nodded.

Hoping to lighten the mood as they passed time while dinner settled prior to their dance lesson, Severus said, “So let's say for the purpose of discussion that you were offered a Potions apprenticeship. What languages would you study?”

“Languages?” Hermione asked. “You have to study languages?”

“Yes, of course. Many of the ancient Potions texts you would have to study as an apprentice are charmed with anti-translation spells,” the Potions master informed her.

“Really? All the Potions texts I've come across are translated,” Hermione replied.

“That's because you've never had access to a Potions master's private library.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “You said languages? How many languages does an apprentice have to learn to become a master or mistress?”

“Five is the minimum.”

“Five?!? If I were to pursue a Potions apprenticeship, which of course I never will as it will never happen,” Hermione added dismissively, “which ones should I pick? There are so many.”

“Well, I recommend learning one romantic language, as once you've learned one the rest are fairly easy to comprehend. One of the Germanic languages would be good. Greek is also highly recommended, as a lot of Russian words – once you learn the Cyrillic alphabet – are rooted in Greek. Chinese wizards have thirty-five centuries of Potions history going back to the Shang Dynasty, so being versed in Classical Chinese – which most of the books prior to the Zhou Dynasty have been translated into –would also be highly recommended. And I would suggest one of the Indian languages, either Hindi or Sanskrit. If you want to read the more philosophical Potions texts that involve theory, then I suggest Sanskrit.”

“And this is what your friend or acquaintance, a Potions master, once told you?” Hermione asked, expecting Calleo to throw out the habitual sentence.

“Not exactly,” Severus said somberly, his voice dropping in tone and pitch. He was walking along the thin edge of blatantly coming out and giving undeniable hints to his identity, or leaving just enough for Hermione to come to her own conclusions.

Puzzled by Calleo's sudden change in his voice, Hermione wondered what he meant by his statement and then realized he might have been talking about himself. But Calleo had never said he was a Potions master; he had said it was merely a hobby. Then she recalled their conversation earlier in the evening; she stomach tightened with the memory of it.

'I may have downplayed how much I know in order to conceal my identity, but I have always been as honest as I can with you.'

It suddenly struck her that she might know who Calleo was, at least his non-gigolo persona. Tamping down her curiosity to just come right out and ask if he was indeed a Potions master, she sought an oblique answer.

“How many languages do you know, Calleo?”

“It has been a while since I counted them.”

“Well then, list them and I'll count,” Hermione offered.

“All right. Spanish, French, German, Latin – of course, Greek, Russian, Hungarian, Arabic, Sanskrit, Classical and Vernacular Chinese, and a smattering of Korean, Dutch, and Swahili.” He watched Hermione sit there in silence, her mouth slightly agape. “How many was that?”

“Eleven if you count Chinese twice, fourteen if you include the last three at the end.” Hermione didn't know what to say. She had no idea that Calleo was so learned. Why someone as well-educated and well-rounded as Calleo was working as a gigolo was beyond her comprehension.

More memories of previous conversations with Ginny about the Death Eater decree came back to Hermione. 'There are some jobs the Ministry turns a blind eye to: Trash picking. Begging. Prostitution.'

Questions flew to the forefront of Hermione's mind. 'Who is Calleo, really? Is he a Death Eater? Do I know him already? Has he charmed his hair and voice so I don't recognize him? What does he look like without his mask? Is he really a Potions master?'

Though Severus could not see her eyes, he knew her mind was working furiously to put the pieces together. His stomach roiled with anticipation that perhaps this was the end of their friendship as they had both grown to know it. He would miss these evenings of long hours spent talking together with Hermione. It was nice to having a dining companion for a short while, instead of dining alone. How ironic that during his years at Hogwarts, there had been times he wished he could be left alone in peace to eat, and he had done so for most nights for the past four years. Now, Hermione had joined him weekly for supper, and he hoped she would continue to do so once she learned who he was. The ex-Death Eater waited for the slew of questions to begin.

Severus was surprised when Hermione asked, “I think dinner has settled. Shall we begin our lesson?”

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

The tall raven-haired wizard had verbally guided Hermione through several basic tango steps, practicing them without music.

Setting the music box to play, Severus drew Hermione close as they moved together while strolling, rocking, and doing the eight-count basic. He gave her commands of which steps to use. She got used to the movements and the way he guided her.

Hermione let herself be pulled close to Calleo. Earlier, she had been on the verge of demanding to have her blindfold removed so that she would know who he truly was, but stopped herself. The only thing that would be satisfied by this course of action would be her curiosity. But by confronting her companion, the illusion that had sustained her starving soul for weeks would shatter, and she would no longer be able to continue what could only be called a glorious lie.

She had helped feed this lie herself and was just as much to blame. It was a mutually agreed upon lie that had turned into honest mutual attraction.

Remembering that Calleo had confessed earlier that he had been as honest with her as he possibly could had eased some of her concerns. Knowledge that Lavender Brown would never put her in immediate danger with a Death Eater also allayed her fear that Calleo might be a dangerous man. Granted, Draco Malfoy was one of Lavender's gigolos and a Death Eater, but he was an ex-Death Eater and was a member of the Order.

Hermione had briefly entertained the idea that Calleo was actually Severus Snape, but had immediately dismissed it as ludicrous. Sure, Calleo and Snape may have both had black hair, but other people she knew had black hair as well. Professor Snape would never be attracted to her. The old Head of Slytherin loathed Gryffindors, despised Harry Potter and all those who were close friends of his – especially her – and was known to not have a warm or compassionate bone in his body.

Calleo must be someone she was merely acquainted with, or perhaps met once briefly, but would recognize upon regarding his face. Besides, she was attracted to Calleo, and Hermione had never been attracted to her foul-tempered, arrogant, cruel, disdainful Potions professor who seemed to take perverse satisfaction in instilling fear and dread in his students. Even when dealing with him as a member of the Order, Snape had always been brusque, and treated each comment and suggestion of hers during the meetings with contemptuous skepticism. Besides, Severus Snape would never lower himself to become a gigolo, or at least he never seemed the sort who would. Draco Malfoy was a rather arrogant and proud individual himself, and he had done just that. Still, Hermione could not be falling in love with Snape. Not ever.

Cocooning herself in denial and willing to let the pretense of anonymity prevail, Hermione pushed all speculation of Calleo's identity aside and just lived in the moment. The feel of Calleo's chest pressed against hers, his strong hand grasping hers, the brushing of his legs against hers made reality seem like some obligation to deal with at another time. The scent of his cologne, the heat radiating from his body, and the disorientation of direction as he spun her about the room pushed aside those plaguing thoughts. Hermione focused solely on the world of music, emotion and sensation, and did not drift back into the plane of cerebral thought.

Severus pushed apart their bodies, and instructed her to turn and step, then to turn her hips the other way and step once more before drawing her back into his embrace. As the song ended, he instructed her to gently lift her leg and hook it around the back of his leg. They ended the dance in a simple pose of entwined figures. They continued dancing to other songs. Severus gave her instructions with less frequency, so that an hour later no words were needed. A small trickle of sweat ran down the middle of Severus' back.

Perspiration dotted Hermione's brow and chest. Hermione could feel her blouse sticking to her back, and she could tell Calleo's shirt was sticking to him where their bodies met, pressed against one another. The heat coming off Calleo's body made his cologne more pronounced, and the scent of sweat reminded her of sessions of sex on hot summer nights with Ron – but the scent of Calleo drove her to maddening distraction. It didn't help that the tango was a dance that exemplified restrained passion, mirroring her own battle to keep her desire contained.

Severus observed a single drop of perspiration run down from under Hermione's blindfold, along her hairline to her jaw. As it traveled down her neck, he licked his lips, tempted to use his mouth to remove the vagrant drop. It settled along her collarbone to rest before making a hasty retreat between her breasts.

Unable to stand watching the sweat caress Hermione's skin in ways he could not, Severus suggested they stop for some refreshment before continuing.

Once seated, a tray with two tall glasses and a large pitcher of some fruity cool drink appeared, chilled with ice.

“Lemonade?” Severus offered.

“Yes, please,” Hermione sighed.

“You look a bit overheated. Shall I cast another cooling charm?”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she replied, thankful for a chance to cool down. It was good to get a little physical distance between her and Calleo, as just being in his arms made her head swim and spin in a deliciously overwhelming way. It reminded Hermione of the first time she got drunk and how the world seemed to float out from under her feet.

“Here,” Severus said as he carefully placed the glass in her hand. He proceeded to cast a cooling charm that swept across the room like a sudden waft of chilly air.

The sudden drop in temperature felt wonderful, in addition to the large gulp of sweetly tart lemonade. The sudden change in temperature chilled her skin, making her nipples pucker, and Hermione hoped Calleo wouldn't notice.

“Delicious,” Hermione said in order to keep her mind from the fact that her nipples were protesting against the fabric of her brassiere. “It's been a little while since I've had lemonade. It seems the wizarding world is forever stuck using pumpkin juice for everything that's non-alcoholic.”

It was at that moment that Hermione remembered the last time she had consumed lemonade. It was near St. James in the park with Ginny. The coincidence seemed too strange to ignore.

“I've only recently discovered the drink myself. I find it quite a bit more palatable than pumpkin juice, as well,” Severus said after swallowing a long sip of the pale yellow beverage.

“Oh, really?” Hermione said, unable to hide the suspicion in her voice. “Where did you learn the recipe from?” She tried to keep an easy smile upon her lips, but found it hard.

“From a friend,” Severus casually answered her while waiting for the confrontation to begin, suspecting Hermione finally realized who he was.

'Well, that eliminates Ginny,' Hermione thought, as she could not imagine Snape and Ginny being friends. It was too preposterous. A genuine smile returned to her lips as she leaned back, her posture becoming relaxed once more.

Severus wondered if she was playing a game, or if she was she genuinely skirting upon the realization and then quickly extinguishing the idea in her head to avoid reality. He had dealt with his own bout of denial of obvious facts, but had needed to face them squarely upon the death of his wife. Knowing it was best not to press the point and to let Hermione come to her own conclusion in time, the wizard let Hermione hold tight to her delusions.

“I have a Potions journal that I thought you would like to borrow,” Severus stated.

“Really, which one? I might have read it.” Hermione felt more at ease now that they were back in the familiar territory of intellectual discussion.

“Obscure Oozes & Fabulous Fluids. It's a relatively new publication. I have their first issue.”

“Oh! I just got that by Owl Post this week at work, but I haven't had a chance to read it Is it any good? What am I saying? I don't think you would have offered it to me if it wasn't,” Hermione said, laughing at herself.

“Yes, it is rather good in that it takes articles from abroad. Normally one would have to subscribe by albatross to read articles by wizards from other continents,” he said with an air of distraction. Severus watched as Hermione took another sip of lemonade before placing the cold glass along her pulse point.

Severus recommended which articles Hermione should spend her time reading, since her free time was so sparse. By the time they had both finished their drinks, they were ready to resume the lesson.

As he guided her up from her seat, Hermione noted how Calleo's palm had alternating patches of hot and cold from holding his drink.

“I thought we should review the foxtrot a bit before resuming the tango,” the tall wizard informed her.

“Yes, that would be a good idea.” Hermione extended her right hand out in wait for Calleo to grasp it.

Severus instructed the music box to play. He stepped up to Hermione and pulled her close as they began to move.

Listening to the music, Hermione suddenly stopped. “I know this song.” Turning to cock her head slightly, she listened and suddenly felt a little giddy. “This is the song in my music box.” Severus was somewhat puzzled by her statement until she clarified by adding, “My parents went to America during the war. One of the things they brought me back was a Muggle snow globe with a music box in the base. I just wish this song had the lyrics so I could know the words to the song.”

“I can rectify that,” Severus told her. “Repeat song from the beginning with lyrics. Play,” he commanded the enchanted music box.

They began dancing once more as the voice drifted over the room amid the soft tinkling of the piano, and the gentle rhythm of the drums, guitar and bass.

“I left my heart... in San Francisco,
High on a hill... it calls to me.
To be where little cable cars
Climb halfway to the stars.
The morning fog may chill the air
But I don't care...”

Hermione tried to memorize the lyrics despite the distraction of being in Calleo's arms. She recalled a picture of her snow globe in her head: the little cable cars climbing the hills; the Golden Gate bridge in the background.

As the song ended, Severus twirled Hermione away and then back into his arms. Another instrumental version of some unknown song began to play.

“Thank you. I always wondered what the words to that song were,” Hermione said quietly.

“You're welcome. So did your parents go to San Francisco while in America?” Severus asked with great interest.

“Yes, there and many other places, too.”

“Really. What was San Francisco like?”

“Well,” Hermione began, trying to recall what her parents told her and using the memory of the local landmarks in her snow globe to guide her. “They have cable cars that function like buses that go up and down the hills there. My parents rode one and said it was rather quaint.” Severus hummed, encouraging her to continue. “They were there during the summer and said it was unbelievably cold. They were shocked to be in sunny California only to be freezing in the middle of summer in San Francisco. They said the fog rolls in and makes the place unbearably chilly.”

“Go on.”

“Let's see. They also went to this prison called Alcatraz that is on this little island in the middle of the bay. It's not a prison anymore; it is a tourist attraction now. But just having them tell me about the cold weather and a prison on a rock in the middle of the frigid water just made me think they were describing Azkaban,” Hermione casually commented, trying to discern if Calleo had any reaction to her mention of Azkaban prison. Since there seemed to be no physical reaction to her comment, she figured Calleo was definitely not a Death Eater.

Severus studied Hermione, trying to determine if she was indeed toying with him at the mention of Azkaban, or was only relaying facts he requested. To keep his own mind as preoccupied as hers, he asked, “So where else did your parents travel to while in America?”

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

Without her sight, Hermione could not check the time to make sure she was not staying too late. It made no difference as she had told Ron that she might be back late. Still, the time flew. It wasn't until they stopped dancing and had another glass of lemonade and some chilled fresh fruit that Hermione asked about the time.

“Eleven-thirty?” Hermione said, repeating what Calleo had just informed her, sitting up straighter with worry about how late she had stayed.

“Correction, eleven-thirty-one,” Severus amended his previous statement.

Collapsing back onto the settee, Hermione sighed. Popping the last slice of tree-ripened peach into her mouth, she shrugged as she said, “I shouldn't worry. I told my husband I'd be home late anyway.” It still didn't stop the little knot of guilt in her stomach from making itself felt.

Severus just finished an exceptionally juicy plum before commenting, “Afraid your carriage will turn into a pumpkin if you don't leave in time?”

Hermione ignored the rather blatant reference to Muggle fairy tales, as the witch that inspired that particular fairy tale had seen her wand snapped in half for breaking International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy laws. It was her fault, due to her flamboyant antics of turning mice into coachmen, and rags into haute couture and glass footwear.

A melancholy smile graced her lips. “I have to admit, this has probably been one of the most romantic nights of my life.” It saddened her that a night like this had to happen with a man she wanted so badly, but could not allow herself to have. 'Why did I marry someone like Ron instead of Calleo?'

“Come now,” he challenged her. “The most romantic night of your life?”

“Yes.” Of course she meant it. Not the first time she made love with Ron, nor her wedding night filled her with even a fraction of the passion she had experienced this night. From his caresses to the way he fed her during dinner, or the way he ground himself against her in the kitchen; none of these could ever be eclipsed by any memory of her time with Ron.

“Truly?” Severus understood the gravity of her statement.

“Truly.”

They sat in tense silence as they sipped their drinks. Severus contemplated removing her blindfold, but then stopped himself. He would let Hermione have this one perfect night. It would not be ruined with revelations of his identity that she would no doubt find disturbing. Monday was but only four days away. There was much they had talked about tonight, and he had given her many hints along the way to lead her on the path to answers. Four days was plenty of time to let her think on their conversation.

Picking up Hermione's hand that rested next to his, Severus brought it to his lips for a simple kiss on her palm. “Then I am glad to have given you something to remember so fondly.”

Hermione felt his breath upon her palm and the brush of his lips. When he didn't remove his lips from her hand, she began tentatively exploring his face. Her fingertips brushed along Calleo's cheekbones and slowly down to his jaw. She felt Calleo's own hand move from her wrist to the crook of her arm, his own fingers making lazy circles on the inside of her arm. It seemed strange to touch another man who was not her husband so intimately, but thoughts of Ron did not surface during her exploration. Reaching Calleo's chin, her fingers brushed against his lips; his breath was warm, and his lips soft. Moving up his face, she traced the profile of his nose, marking the slope of it until her fingers reached his brow.

Severus reached out with his other hand and wrapped it around Hermione's waist, pulling her closer.

Hermione let out a small gasp of surprise as she felt Calleo's possessive hand about her waist. She continued discovering his face by touch alone. Stroking his brow, she was pleased by a gentle relaxed sigh coming from Calleo.

He never knew that the simple stroking of one's brow could make one so drowsy. Closing his eyes, he let Hermione continue touching him tenderly. When he leaned into her touch, he was pleased when she repeated the simple action of rubbing his forehead.

She decided that being held so close to Calleo in this manner was quite different from dancing. There was no music to give reason as to why she was in his arms. Hermione reached Calleo's hairline and decided to satisfy her curiosity on one point. She wanted to feel what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair. The action of her fingers sliding though his locks was met with a sigh of approval. Emboldened, Hermione raked her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping the scalp lightly, and she was rewarded with a pleasure-induced growl from Calleo.

Pulling Hermione closer still, Severus moved the hand that wasn't around her waist up her back to the nape of her neck, stroking the skin with the pads of his fingers.

Hermione couldn't breathe. The sensation of Calleo's touch on her neck made her head spin faster. She pulled Calleo to her even more and buried her face into his shoulder. Both of her hands were busy running her fingers through his hair.

Sitting back, Severus pulled Hermione on top of him so that she was straddling him.

Hermione was intensely aware that she was in the exact position she had fantasized herself in earlier that evening, straddling Calleo on the settee. Throwing caution to the wind and wanting another fantasy fulfilled, she began grinding herself against Calleo as she kept her face buried against his shoulder, her fingers still running through his hair.

Severus' hands ran down her back to her waist as he started to guide her movements. Planting his feet on the floor, he began grinding back up against Hermione.

Burying his face against Hermione's shoulder, he began nuzzling her neck, grazing his nose along her throat. Moaning, he said with desperation, “Do you have any idea how badly I want you?”

Hermione immediately stopped and removed herself from atop Calleo, short of leaping off his lap. She loved the feel of Calleo's hot breath on her neck, but once again, she had found herself on the precipice of temptation. Resolving to be firm with herself, Hermione said, “This can't go on. We can't keep winding up in these situations. I'll give you my answer next Monday. If I decide that I can't do this, I still want to come visit you and have dinner and wonderfully long conversations. But we can't keep falling into these...” Hermione panted trying to regain her own breath. “I'll give you my answer next Monday. I promise.”

Severus adjusted himself discreetly before sitting up. “Very well. And if you decide you cannot take things further, I will refrain from tempting you and myself into these compromising positions. As must you,” he warned her politely. This time it may have been instigated by him, but he still felt the incident in the kitchen was Hermione's fault.

Nodding, Hermione agreed. “I think it's time for me to go home.”

Severus guided her to the door to bid her good night. Before he reached to open the door, Hermione turned and embraced him in a hug. He returned the hug with the same intensity, feeling her trembling arms wrapped around his chest, her small hands pressed into his back. She smelled of sweat and something indefinably sweet.

Once the door was closed and Hermione was on her way, the raven-haired wizard sank down on the settee and sighed. Leaning over with his elbows on his knees, and holding fistfuls of hair in his hands with frustration, he muttered to himself, “This has got to stop.” It mortified him that he had wound up begging her for more, twice.

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

The door clicked shut and Hermione was finally able to remove the blindfold. Blinking to remove the fuzziness of her eyesight, she found the three-candle chandelier hanging in the center staircase well of the building rather bright, though normally it would seem quite dim to her.

After rubbing her eyes, her vision finally became focused. She looked at the length of black silk in her hand, and decided to take it home with her as a souvenir. She would put it in her escape box with her letter from Calleo and the other secrets she kept from Ron.

As she descended the stairs from the fourth floor, her gaze was fixed on the third floor door in front of her. Walking by, she remembered that Draco lived there. Hermione stopped and glanced up to the fourth floor. It was another strong coincidence. Snape and Malfoy were both spies together for the Order. It would be only natural that they would somehow stick together. Hermione violently shook her head, certain that Snape was not the man occupying the fourth floor flat, and that it was some other black-haired wizard with a prominent nose – by what she could feel, anyway – and with a knack for Potions.

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A/N: Charmeuse is a type of weave of silk. Very soft, matte on one side and satiny on the other. Often used for making blouses.
Sanskrit has often been described as the language of scholars in India. And to learn more about the variety of Chinese language, I highly recommend visiting this web site: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_language
In regards to the comment about being able to understand other romantic languages once you have mastered one, if you have a problem with that you can take it up with my college linguistics professor, as he made that statement. (This is true, as they are all related under the common root of Latin, I believe. ~ Horserider)
“I Left My Heart In San Francisco”: Written by by George Cory and Douglass Cross.
I've always had a theory that long distance mail via overseas was sent by albatross, as owls just could not make the journey over the ocean. (Works for me! ~Horserider)
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After