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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
- 40
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- 42
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Forty-One
“Illusion Is the First of All Pleasures” or “Elephant? What Elephant?”

Songs recommended for this chapter during the dancing portion of this chapter:
“Where or When” (The version sung by Frank Sinatra is highly recommend. The versions sung by Harry Connick, Jr., Carla Cook or Ella Fitzgerald are also good.)
“Nostalgias” (A tango song. The versions performed by Marconi, Orlando & Juanjo Dominguez or by Florindo Sassone recommended.)

Disclaimer: Gimme a break! Another disclaimer? Go look at a previous chapter for a decent one.

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The door swung open.

Hermione tried to stifle her barely audible gasp of surprise, but failed. Snape was standing before her with a half-mask on. Now able to see the lower half of his face, it was clearly unmistakable to Hermione that he was her former professor. All of the remaining doubts or wishing that it wasn’t true flushed themselves right out of her head. If she didn't know beforehand who he was, she surely would have recognized him by now.

Severus observed Hermione's reaction; he had expected nothing less. She stood in the corridor outside his flat, unable to move. Since she had not immediately fled, but appeared to be considering it, Severus took this as a sign that there was hope for the situation after all. Indecision was merely a chance disguised as uncertainty.

Bowing low in his formal manner with an out-swept arm, he said in his warmest and sincerest voice, “Hermione, I'm so glad you came. Welcome.”

She blinked. It suddenly struck her that she was still standing outside Snape's flat, and she had the choice to enter or walk away. Snape's welcome pushed her into action. Grasping on to the tiny thread that remained of her vaulted Gryffindor courage, she did the polite thing and accepted his invitation into his home.

As Hermione walked past him, she began stammering out an apology. “I... I'm sorry. I'm just surprised to see you in a more revealing mask,” she explained, thankful that at least it sounded like an honest reply. Hermione was surprised to see the ex-Death Eater in a half-mask, so it was a truthful statement.

Severus could have asked if what she saw met with her approval, but that was pushing the boundaries for the moment. Instead, he reverted to the usual itinerary of letting her rest first. “Please, have a seat,” he offered. Reaching for her elbow to escort her, as he always did, he noticed her flinch from his touch.

Her simple and instinctual reflex was like cold steel piercing his chest and wounded him to the core.

Hermione whipped her head to look at him with shameful remorse. “I'm sorry,” she said hastily, then looked away. “I'm not myself tonight.”

Severus felt the familiar walls of emotional detachment going up in defense of the rejection he had expected from her tonight. He was momentarily stunned when Hermione came back to his side and settled her hand around the crook of his elbow, accepting his original offer to escort her to the settee. Her hand trembled, though she kept her touch feather light upon his arm. Hermione's nervousness was apparent from her uneasy gait to the way her breathing was erratic and strained.

She thought her knees were going to give way from underneath her. Hermione should have leaned on Severus' arm for fear of collapsing to the ground, but barely gathered the courage to accept his arm.

Once her cloak was removed and she was seated, Hermione still could not relax. Her legs trembled in expectation of Snape to give up the game and confess his true persona. Looking up into his face, she saw him give her an unreadable smile.

‘She knows.' After he analyzed the way Hermione had flinched from his touch and did not greet him with her usual warmth, Severus surmised that she had figured out his identity. The trepidation in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

Hermione watched his face as the realization of her reactions sunk into him.'He knows, I know.'

As soon as the dawning crossed her face, Severus came to the undeniable realization. The urge to bark, ‘I know you know, I know!’ forged within him, but he refrained, deciding that it would be best if he waited for her to make the first step. He would not be the one to force an end to this enchantment that had spun between them, though it seemed the short fairy tale they had lived had ended.

Sitting himself down on the other end of the settee, though not as close as he normally would have, Severus asked, “How was your weekend?”

The wizard was aware of Potter's birthday party, and was sure this would provide a neutral ground on which to converse.

“It was...” 'Stressful, shocking, confusing, hellish, humiliating, depressing, draining.' “... interesting.” Hermione did not have the energy to lie convincingly, so she took the vague and diplomatic path.

In Ginny's last letter to Severus, which he received earlier that morning, the redheaded witch made mention of Hermione looking rather distracted, and she attributed it to being informed of the mortal nature of a wizarding divorce.

“Care to elaborate?” Severus prompted her.

Mentally scrambling for anything but her immediate thoughts to fill the conversation, Hermione blurted out, “Trevor almost completely burnt down the lab Friday afternoon.”

In a moment of complete empathy, Severus slapped his hand over his forehead and groaned. His eyes still hidden behind his hand, he queried, “And just how did the imbecile manage to pull that one off?” There was exasperation and disgust in his voice.

'There's the old Snape I remember,' Hermione noted, though she quickly realized it was not directed at her, but in sympathy of her plight. “Trevor set a box of Ashwinder eggs on top of a shipment of phoenix feathers.” She noticed him visibly wince as he realized the result of the situation. “Without,” she added with dramatic tension in her voice, “checking to see if the Freezing Charm on the Ashwinder eggs was about to expire.” Hermione watched Snape pinch the bridge of his nose through his mask, and his mouth grimace. “I had stepped out of the lab to get some paperwork in my office when he did that. By the time I got back, smoke was billowing out of the lab and Trevor had gone to get a cup of tea, essentially leaving the place to burn down.”

“Would you care for a cup of Turkish coffee, or better yet, a stiff drink?” Severus really felt a strong pang of empathy for Hermione.

Hermione was secretly thankful that she had recalled the accident in the lab, for it gave her something impersonal to concentrate on other than the fact Snape was sitting right next to her, and he had been working as a gigolo for God knew how long. Her eyes quickly passed over the bed on the other side of the room, forcing her mind to not even contemplate the sight of Snape naked on the bed shagging some random witch, much less herself.

“I think a cup of tea for my nerves would be in order,” Hermione replied. Continuing on with her tale, she elaborated, “And today the work crew was still cleaning up all the fire damage, so at least I didn't have to work in the lab today.” She omitted the fact that she was allowed part of the day off, and had gone to the cemetery to visit Albus and Minerva's graves.

A tray with tea service appeared on the table in front of them.

Severus poured Hermione a cup of tea. “Milk?” He knew how she took her tea, but asked anyway.

“This is regular tea?” Hermione asked, noting there were no obvious floral or herbal scents. Severus gave a gentle nod of his head. “Yes, please.”

As she accepted her cup of tea, making a point of grabbing the saucer so as not to make contact with Severus, Hermione noticed the cup and saucer had the same geometric pattern as the first night she came to his flat. That first night, she had confessed her moral conundrum after discovering Ginny's infidelity. With hindsight illuminating the truth, Hermione surmised Snape probably helped guide her to the decision to not tell Harry anything, but to lie. She could not blame Snape. If she were in the same situation, Hermione would have manipulated Snape to keep herself and her friends safe from an Auror's wrath. She did it as a teenage girl to Dolores Umbridge, so it all depended on how much one felt the need to lie to save one's own arse.

“Did anything else of interest happen?” Severus asked, wondering when Hermione was going to drop the facade of politeness and confront him about his true identity.

Hermione wondered if Snape was being polite or was fishing for a specific answer. Perhaps he was wondering when and how she had figured out who he truly was, and if she was going to back away from her promise of friendship no matter what the truth revealed.

Pausing to take a sip of her tea and contemplate on just how aloof she wanted to sound, Hermione finally mentioned in passing, “A friend of mine had a birthday party, and one of my sisters-in-law had her baby.”

“How was the party?” Severus inquired, continuing the casual conversation. He wondered how long this banter of small talk would continue before Hermione would demand an end to this pageant of pretense.

“It was enjoyable,” Hermione lied easily, though unable to stop a faraway look from coming into her eye as certain events flooded back into her mind.

“And how is your sister-in-law and her baby?” Severus asked, not really concerned at all.

“She and the baby are fine,” Hermione reported. At the last moment, she added, “Though with all the nieces and nephews I have, when it comes time for them to start going to Hogwarts, they could practically start their own house. There will be so many of them.” Her tone was not exceptionally kind; it sounded rather derogatory, and she meant for it to, bearing in mind the number of children her brothers-in-law had sired recently.

“How many are there now?” Severus could not recall any specific number, though Hermione has noted the total number of relatives in the past who had been packed into the Burrow for family occasions.

With one hand holding her teacup, her other hand began ticking them off. Severus watched her fingers tally the names that she mumbled silently, each child marked by a tap of her fingers against her thumb.

“Sixteen and one on the way,” Hermione answered.

Severus was momentarily thankful that he was no longer teaching at Hogwarts, for he did not have to dread the day when the next generation of Weasleys was going to darken the doorstep of his Potions classroom. “And somehow your mother-in-law feels that having enough grandchildren to fill nearly three Quidditch teams is not nearly enough?” he remarked, remembering Hermione's complaints about Molly's nagging her to have children of her own soon.

“After what I learned this weekend, I don't think I'll ever have children with my husband,” Hermione remarked sharply.

“And what was that?”

“Remember when I mentioned that I had recently learned about the inability to divorce once children were born?”

Severus nodded so that she could continue.

“Well, I haven't had much time to contemplate the full repercussions as to why a divorce was unattainable once children were born. A friend of mine informed me of the consequences of such an action.”

Hermione shivered, feeling her mortal soul asserting itself that it was still alive, despite the fact she had briefly entertained the idea of divorcing Ron. Of course if she ever did divorce Ron, it would have to be before she found herself corporeally bound forever to her husband if her monthly potion accidentally failed.

“Really?”

“I know, I should have understood what the implication of 'magically bound' implied, but I haven't had much time to contemplate such a matter, especially since I feel particularly adverse to the idea of motherhood. At least if my husband was the father.”

Hermione suddenly realized how that last statement could be misconstrued by Snape, considering that she had promised him that she would give him a reply regarding becoming lovers or remaining platonic friends. She prayed Snape would not remind her of her promised answer.

“Anyway,” Hermione soldiered on, hoping to bury her previous remarks with more conversation, “I've purchased a few books in order to understand what my mother-in-law purposefully omitted when she supposedly told me everything involved with a wizarding marriage.” She could feel the rage building inside of her as she mulled over how she had been misled by so-called family.

The memory of Snape's cutting words the night before her wedding came back. Setting down her teacup, she closed her eyes and valiantly held back the tears. Now would be the time to confront Snape about how she felt he had been mocking her behind her back; however, now that she was in his presence, she sensed none of the petty righteousness she’d thought he might be harboring. Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him with unshed tears. Instead of finding the gloating brute she expected, she found a patient man sitting next to her, offering her tea and sympathy for a while.

Hermione wanted to pound her fists against his chest and ask him why. 'Why did you have to be so right? Why didn't I listen to you and run far and fast away from my impending doom? Why didn't I leave the kitchen with you, each going our separate ways, never setting our eyes on the Burrow or each other ever again?'

Her shoulders slumped, and the tears began to fall quietly.

On cue, Severus produced a neatly pressed linen handkerchief for Hermione to blot away the tears and blow her runny nose.

“Thank you,” Hermione choked out in a thick whisper.

Severus sat there quietly waiting for Hermione. What exactly he waited for her to do, he could not foresee. A distraught woman was an unpredictable creature. She could go from weak and simpering to vengeful and spiteful in a heartbeat.

“I suppose you're getting rather tired of me coming over here and constantly crying,” Hermione said hesitantly.

It was the first hint that Hermione expected Snape to revert back to the person she remembered him to be, and the meaning of her comment was not lost on him. Severus had understood that Hermione would question if he would become his familiar acrimonious self. He had spent every night since Thursday wondering that same question.

With his mask and anonymity, Severus could pretend to be anyone the client wanted, and for the past three years, it had been a game to him. Each client was a test of his acting ability, though he always drew the line when he started getting bored, a client's tastes got too bizarre, or a witch became too emotionally attached to him. Now it was reversed. The gigolo had become too attached to the client, and Hermione was the one weighing if things had gone too far between them. With his mask removed, would any part of him that she had associated with “Calleo” remain? When Hermione would eventually regard him, sans mask, would his psychological mask take the place of his physical mask and thus shut his heart off from the world, as he had done for years before? Even Severus wasn't sure if any of the tenderness he felt for Hermione could come easily without the use of a mask or blindfold. Or was it all an act, one that fooled even himself?

Severus, for all his brittle and glacial exterior, still had a heart like anyone else. For a brief while it had begun to feel once more under the warmth and sincerity of Hermione's attentions. Would some part of his “Calleo” personality survive the transition to a man with a known face and notorious past? He hoped it would. A part of his mind berated the fact that he had become too attached and that rejection was part and parcel of the deal, yet the part of him that craved for Hermione insisted that he not give up until she flat out refused him.

They sat there for a moment in silence as Severus contemplated how to answer Hermione's question.

“The only thing I am tired of is how you allow your husband to insult you,” Severus replied, providing an answer that would deflect from the persona Hermione expected. Knowing that if he didn't watch his tone, it would rise in anger, Severus made a concerted effort to keep his voice soft and consoling. “Abuse is abuse, whether it is by the end of his wand, the end of his fist, or the end of his tongue. You have made it quite clear he ignores you, and of the times you do speak with each other, he is quick to put you down. Emotional abuse is a rather powerful weapon if wielded correctly. Your husband seems to know your Achilles heel. He attacks your intellect, your looks and your... femininity.”

Hermione listened intently to what Snape said, hating the fact that he was right. Four years ago he had said similar things that night at the Burrow, but tonight he delivered his sentiments with the tender sympathy of an old friend. It hurt to know that she had allowed herself to reach this point, that she had allowed Ron to hurt her so much over the years. It scared her more than anything else that it took an outsider to point out the obvious. Hermione had denied that Ron's derisive remarks and put-downs were abuse, but Snape had pointed out that abuse was abuse, even if the scars were not physically visible.

'Where has the strong person gone – the one that stood up for the oppressed?' she wondered about herself. When had she finally become the one who needed someone to fight for her, since she seemed unable to defend herself?

“Excuse me,” Hermione barely choked out, and bolted for the bathroom.

After quickly shutting the door, she braced her back against it in some pointless attempt to keep Snape out. Hermione slid down the door, breaking into hysterical sobs, until she was seated on the floor with her knees pressed uncomfortably against her chest, making it harder for her to draw breath and wail her heart's lament.

It wasn't difficult for Snape to note that Hermione had run to the bathroom instead of to him for comfort. Hermione's mournful cries were easily heard through the thin interior door.

Hermione could not bring herself to throw herself into Snape's arms. She had expected him, in his long-awaited moment of triumph, to relish in her anguish and point out with sadistic glee that he was right all along, and that she had made a grave mistake; that she should lie in the bed of her own making. Instead, he had continued to sit there and pretend to be the friend she had come to rely upon in her many hours of need.

How was it that sweet and lovable Ron, her own husband, had turned into the monster; and the snide and sarcastic ex-Death Eater had become the man who helped her to discover love and true companionship?

She slid sideways, her back still against the door, until her face was pressed against the cool tile. Sprawled along the bathroom floor, she pretended she didn't notice that Snape had opened the door after performing a Reverse Hinge spell, so the door would open outward instead of into the bathroom.

Severus saw her lying on the bathroom floor and crying her heart out. A familiar burning settled in his chest; the seeds of hate began to grow. Severus had always disliked Ronald Weasley, but now he began to hate Hermione's husband with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. It was that thick-headed boy that had brought Hermione to his doorstep seeking comfort and companionship, who had caused her such grief when he disappeared for a week while making Hermione worry about his safety – though Severus thought she should have spared no grief for such an insensitive half-wit. The boy frequently insulted her and treated her with thinly veiled disdain, according to Hermione's descriptions.

Severus wondered if he was any better. He knew that part of the reason why she was there on his bathroom floor, sobbing her heart out, was due in no small part to himself. They had grown attached to one another when he was only Calleo, and now she knew who he really was. He could imagine how confused Hermione must be, unsure if he was still the same angry and distant man, or was he truly the person she had come to know recently.

Gazing at her prone form, still shaking with racking sobs, he could see her bony spine above the neckline of her blouse, and the thinness of her person; Severus wondered if she had forgone eating once more. He hated himself for bringing her pain, after he had grown used to the idea that he was her source of comfort. Now that she knew who he was, Severus knew her frank confessions would not be forthcoming. Hermione was now isolated in her pain, alone and unable to unburden herself to anyone else, and would have to suffer this agony alone.

Severus stepped into the bathroom and around Hermione. Sitting down on the floor next to her, he waited until she looked up to regard him. He said nothing. Severus merely held his arms out to welcome her, offering comfort. He would wait for her to come to him, unable to bear the thought of Hermione flinching from his touch again.

Red-rimmed eyes – teary, swollen and weary – gazed at him. Hermione reluctantly crawled along the floor like some lame beggar, and collapsed into Severus' arms. A fresh wave of tears and wailing came forth, as she curled into his embrace.

“Shhhh,” Severus cooed soothingly, stroking Hermione's back. This only seemed to make her cry with more intensity, her wails telling of her anguish. Severus stopped stroking her back and held her tighter; hating himself for the pain he continued to cause her to suffer.

Hermione laid there in Snape's arms, trying to comprehend how she came to be lying on his bathroom floor being comforted by him, of all people. When he opened the bathroom door, she was expecting his whole facade to be wiped away with the sight of her lying on the floor, howling and keening like some wounded creature. Anticipating him to bark at her to get up off the floor and do something other than blubber like an old woman, she was stunned when he sat himself next to her and said nothing, instead willing to embrace her and give her comfort once again.

Unwilling to analyze Snape's motives at the moment or whether his intentions were sincere, Hermione allowed herself to be held, knowing that if she began to dwell on how she was being offered solace by Snape, she would not find any emotional respite. She found sanctuary in the same set of arms she had flung herself to many times before, but now she knew who they belonged to. As he stroked her back, it wrenched at her heart even more. Over the weekend, she had convinced herself she could not love Snape, that she had loved an illusion, a fantasy born from dire need. Snape's tenderness, when she felt her life could not be any worse, undid her more than if Snape had yelled at her or reverted back to the man she remembered.

Hermione hated herself. She hated that she was such a hypocrite, just as Snape had predicted with his question about her unwavering friendship; she hated that she had become like those she abhorred.

As her weeping subsided, Hermione just allowed herself to continue lying in Snape's arms. She made herself stop thinking, as her mind was taxed beyond cohesive thought, after she’d spent all weekend and that day questioning and analyzing Snape's sincerity, and her own emotions. Hermione was a woman who had found that her intelligence had served her well, but now her intellect could not fix her life as it was. Instead, she just let herself feel.

Slowly, her breath stopped hitching and the tears ceased, yet still, Hermione lay enveloped in his arms. With her cheek pressed against his now tear-drenched shirt, she listened to his heart beat, and felt his lungs expand and contract with each breath he drew, his body warming her where it made contact. To be held by Snape was presently more enjoyable than being sprawled out on the chilly tiles feeling alone. At least with another warm body to cling to, she didn't feel quite so desolate. With her head still tucked underneath his chin and her hands clutching to his shirt, she continued to stare past his knees to the counter opposite of them. She let herself be lost in the deep blue color of the tile and the dark browns of the vanity cabinet, her eyes tracing the pattern of the wood grain as an act of meditation.

Severus sat on the cold floor, noticing Hermione's even breaths, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep in his arms once more. That fact was refuted when she sniffed and wiped at her nose with his handkerchief. He did make note, with a slight smirk, that after she wiped her nose, her hand went back to clutching his sodden shirt. It gave Severus hope that Hermione could come to terms with the fact he, Severus Snape and former professor of hers, was still her confidant and friend.

They had spent more than a half-hour sitting on the hard tile floor, and Severus was beginning to feel it. Part of his right leg and his arse had gone to sleep, and his joints were beginning to protest to the rather uncomfortable conditions. The added weight of a witch in his lap compounded the numbness growing in his lower extremities.

Severus shifted, and with a bit of levity said, “As much as I would not mind sitting here the rest of the night on the bathroom floor with you, I think my body will be extremely displeased and would prefer the comfort of a soft cushion underneath me. Perhaps we could take this back to the settee?” He would have suggested the bed for her to lie down upon, but as she had never been near his bed, Severus thought it was prudent to go back to familiar territory.

Hermione shifted and sat up. Sniffing, she said, “Sorry.” Her eyes were downcast.

“Don't be,” Severus replied gently, lifting her chin up to look at him. Their eyes locked and neither could look away for the moment.

She could not remember at the moment what color Snape's eyes were, if they were black or brown. And with his wine-red mask on, it was even harder to tell. Regardless, she could not stop staring, wondering what Snape looked like without his mask on. She had memories of him from years ago, but they all seemed faded and uncertain, mostly a caricature of a hook-nosed man. She could have used a Pensieve to remind her of what Snape had looked like before, but those memories would be from a time she had found him repulsive. Hermione wanted to see him with new eyes from this fresh perspective.

Temptation to reach out and remove his mask rose within her, but she suppressed it. As long as Snape was going to allow this spellbound time between them to continue, she would let it happen without questions or satisfaction of her curiosity.

Severus rose and extended his hand to help Hermione up. Once she was on her feet, he saw her body sway and her eyes go unfocused for a moment. Hermione reached out and clamped both hands onto Severus – one on his arm, one on his shoulder – to steady herself, before she regained her senses.

“When was the last time you ate?” Severus asked with concern.

“I had dinner just before I came here,” Hermione replied.

“How much did you eat?”

Hermione turned her face away to avoid answering him.

“When was the last time you had a real meal?”

“Friday night,” she confessed. “Since then, I haven't had much of an appetite.”

Severus wondered if her lack of appetite was due wholly to Ginny's revelation of Wizard divorces, or if Hermione had realized prior to showing up tonight who he was. It was a matter to think upon at another time. What mattered now was getting Hermione to the settee and putting some food into her system.

Once he escorted her to her seat, Severus called out, “Marf!”

A house-elf with a knobby nose, a wisp of hair coming off the top of his head, and a clean pillowcase for clothing suddenly appeared in front of them.

“Yes, Master!” Marf replied with an extravagant bow, looking very pleased to be of use to his master.

“Miss Hermione is hungry. Please fix us a tray of some sliced-up cold chicken, cheese, fruit, crackers, bread, and a fresh pot of tea,” Severus instructed the creature.

“Yes, sir!” Marf disappeared with a shimmer and a tendril of smoke, along with the tea service.

Hermione was rather pleased Snape said “please” when requesting food and fresh tea.

“I suppose it's another night where we won't get around to dance lessons,” Hermione observed dryly, wiping at her runny nose which was still red from crying.

“Perhaps it was for the best. You looked a bit fatigued when you arrived.” Severus noted the bluish cast that underlined her eyes, despite the redness that still ringed them.

“I haven't been sleeping well, these past few nights. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow night,” Hermione amended with a half-truth, in response to his scrutiny. “My first session with the marriage counselor did not go very well. I dread to think how this one will fare,” she said with dark apprehension.

“Since your wands will be surrendered to that Muggle counselor, as least your husband won't be able to hex you,” Severus noted, feeling his hatred for Ronald Weasley swell upon remembering what Hermione had informed him of last week.

Hermione let out a short laugh. “Well, he did it in self defense, as I was the one to hex him first,” she admitted with a small bit of amusement.

“You got in the first hex? You omitted that little detail,” the raven-haired wizard remarked with a smile, pleased Hermione was the first to strike, though it was prompted by some rather unpleasant name-calling.

Hermione laughed a little more, blushing slightly, and noticed Snape smiling. Her old memories recalled Snape with yellow teeth. She wondered when he had bothered to whiten them, then remembered he worked for Lavender, and was probably encouraged to “clean-up a little” for the clientèle. Her eyes scanned over his features that were not covered by his half-mask. His chin; his hair, which she remembered being longer; and his body.

Though the teeth were still a bit crooked, he looked quite different from what she remembered. Snape was no longer rail-thin; and his hair, though thin and straight, didn't hang about his face like a lank curtain of black anymore. And while he no longer sported that minty-green tan, he was still pale.

Before Hermione could recall how she had wantonly appraised Snape's body while she knew him only as Calleo, a tray laden with food appeared on the table before them.

Severus grabbed a plate for her and began piling it high with a little of everything, convinced if he let her fill her own plate, she would only nibble on a few bites. By presenting Hermione with a plate full of food, he knew she would feel obligated to eat it all, satisfying his concern that the witch was not going to waste away from malnutrition.

She accepted her plate with a timid smile. “Thank you,” Hermione breathed, feeling a bit overwhelmed by Snape's attentiveness. She had gotten used to Calleo being gracious to her, but with knowledge of who was actually sitting across from her, she discovered she had to learn to accept his hospitality, as if they were starting anew.

“Oh, here. Please let me,” Hermione said, referring to the patch of wetness on Snape's dark shirt. She made a gesture seeking permission to spell his shirt dry before going ahead. Snape nodded his head slowly, accepting her offer. With a circular swirl of her wand, the tears on his shirt dried, leaving behind no stain.

“Thank you.”

“You're quite welcome.” Hermione didn't know what else to say. She began eating her plate of food so that she would not feel forced to speak to fill the silence. She knew it was silly, especially since she'd had moments with “Calleo” before where they both sat in comfortable silence. Snape seemed to be treating her the same as before, and it made her feel guilty that she was treating him differently in her mind. The moment she flinched from his touch earlier tonight, when he had offered to escort her, was something she was looking back on with shame now. Snape has always escorted her to and from her seat about the flat, as any genteel gentleman would. He was still being the courteous companion.

Both knew that the game had changed. Hermione knew. Severus knew she knew. Hermione knew Severus knew she knew. But now the game was that neither party would be the first to speak about the truth. Neither would acknowledge the proverbial elephant in the room.

Severus watched Hermione eat with a little more relish than someone who had properly dined before coming over to his flat. He poured her a cup of tea and added milk to it, bringing it to the right color. She accepted the tea with another coy smile and expression of reserved gratitude.

The gears were burning in her mind, calculating how to proceed, and Severus could see it: the way Hermione's eyes appraised his newly exposed features searching for recognition, traversing his body when she thought he would not notice her stares. Her self-conscious mannerisms that he had not seen since her first night there reappeared: the way her hand would periodically clutch at her knee to steady her hand, her knees locked tightly together.

Finally satisfied that she had eaten enough so that when she stood she would not keel over from low blood sugar, Severus cleared his throat to signal that he was going to start a conversation.

“Have you had a chance to read the article from Obscure Oozes & Fabulous Fluids yet?”

Hermione ducked her head down, swallowing a bit of chicken and dabbing her mouth with a napkin before answering, “No, I haven't had much of a chance. I had to catch up on paperwork at the office today, since the lab was still being repaired. I do intend on reading it before Thursday night,” Hermione said, catching herself when she realized that she was automatically promising to come on her usual scheduled night. 'You’ve already decided that a night with Snape is better than being stuck at home with Ron. Don't ruin this by being awkward around him,' she chastised herself for sounding uncomfortable as she finished her sentence.

Severus smiled warmly. 'She's coming back for more.' There was hope for his situation after all. As long as Hermione treated him with the same considerate and courteous manner as she had these previous weeks, he would allow the unspoken truth between them to remain unspoken. He knew it would take more time for Hermione to adjust to the knowledge of his identity, but from her behavior, he could see she was making an effort and was beginning to relax a little around him. The fact she willingly went to him for comfort when he offered it earlier meant that she could accept the fact that it was him after all.

“Then I look forward to a lengthy discussion on Thursday night,” he replied with a slight bow of his head.

Hermione's lowered eyes scanned about the floor and table in front of her, as her fidgety hands gripped the cup and saucer, before answering, “As do I.” Raising her eyes to meet his, her nervous gaze foretold of hope that they could continue to pretend that things could continue as before.

Desperately searching for a new topic to embark upon, Hermione thought about asking if the idea about the giant brewer's kettles was of any use, but then she remembered that “Calleo” had said he hadn't done any Potions work in four years. To bring it up might make Snape suspicious that she was on to him brewing Potions, violating the Death Eater Decree. And she was not about to acknowledge that he might be brewing Potions for Lavender. She had considered asking how his weekend was, but as she had always assumed “Calleo” was a private individual who would not regale her with tales of witches he shagged over the weekend, she refrained. Hermione was afraid that Snape might think she was prying if she suddenly asked for personal details when she never had before.

To make small talk, Hermione said, “One of my brothers-in-law recently mentioned that he'll be opening a new shop soon, and he was interested in having me manage it.”

Severus dropped his teacup. It landed on the floor and shattered, splashing tea on his shoes and trouser leg. “Pardon my clumsiness,” he hastily said while trying to mask his apprehension. He swept his wand in an arc, and the broken cup and the spilled tea were gone. A new teacup appeared on the table to replace the broken one that had disappeared. “That sounds interesting,” Severus feigned delight of the news while mentally berating himself for his loss of control. “When would you start?”

“I don't know. He said that he and my other brother-in-law, who both own the business, are still looking at locations, and that it would not open until later in the year,” Hermione informed the wizard sitting next to her. She wondered if his dropped teacup was merely an accident or a reaction to her news.

“And what sort of store would you be managing?” Severus guessed it would be another joke shop in Hogsmeade or some other wizarding village.

Hermione ducked her head down and mumbled something into her own teacup.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that,” Severus remarked, leaning forward with great curiosity.

Setting her teacup down, she squared her shoulders and turned to face Snape with her head held high. “I said,” Hermione began, over enunciating each word with as much dignity as she could muster while trying not to blush, “that it would be an adult-oriented store specializing in accoutrements for the bedroom.”

Thankful that he did not have his hands full with another teacup, as he surely would have dropped that one as well, Severus sat back once more. There were two responses he immediately felt the urge to express: one was to shout “no” and tell her not to accept, the other was to laugh. If she did accept, that would certainly put a Gremlin in the works of getting him ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion. Laughing would not be a tactful response either. Severus put his hand up to his chin thoughtfully and hummed, stalling for a moment to come up with a decent response.

“And does that sort of job interest you? Do you see yourself working in retail for the next ten, twenty, fifty years?” Severus asked concernedly, hoping to make her reconsider.

Hermione's shoulders slumped. “I don't know. I'd much rather have a job that does not involve interacting with the public in general.” Recalling tales her mother had told her about when she had to work a sales job in a department store while going to dental school, Hermione said, “For some reason, having to haggle with some witch over why some kinky Muggle meter-maid outfit does not come in neon pink doesn't sound appealing to me.”

Severus gave a hearty chuckle at the mental image that conjured. “So you would be selling unusual clothing. What else would be sold at this store?”

“Let's see.” Hermione picked up her teacup and took a sip before replying. Feeling a bit braver, she replied casually, “Vibrators, dildos, sexy lingerie, erotic costumes, and sex potions.”

“Sex potions?” Severus repeated. He watched Hermione carefully, as he remembered other discussions they had shared regarding certain potions recently.

“Yes, like erotic body paint,” Hermione mentioned, purposefully reminding Snape of one of their previous conversations. Then the brunette witch added quickly to detract from that line of conversation, “But that's neither here nor there. The fact remains that I don't know if I could manage a store that sells that sort of... stuff.”

“Is it that you don't want to manage a store, or you just don't want to manage a store that sells that sort of... stuff,” Severus inquired, lightly mocking Hermione.

Hermione laughed a little, burying her face behind one hand before her laugh turned into a slight groan. “Well, my brother-in-law said I should think on it for a while before deciding.”

“Did he give a date before requiring an answer?”

“No. He just said that they were still looking for a location, and that I didn't have to decide anytime soon.” Hermione wondered if Severus would bring up the hypothetical Potions apprenticeship he had mentioned at their last meeting.

“Since you don't have to decide now, then maybe something else will come up in the near future that would be more compatible with your talents. And one has to consider the strenuous situation between you and your husband. Do you want to work for your in-laws while your marriage is on such shaky ground?” Severus noted, hoping it would give Hermione pause before agreeing to anything soon.

The ex-Death Eater wanted to unmask himself for Hermione, but decided to take things slowly. It was obvious that she was still adjusting to the knowledge of who he was. Severus would wait a few more meetings before taking off his mask and making both himself and Hermione openly deal with the knowledge of his identity. A few more meetings where they could still both pretend was not asking much. Perhaps a few more meetings would be all that was needed before Hermione would lean into his touch once more.

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

They whiled away the evening talking of safe and familiar subjects they had broached on previous evenings: Potions, the ineptitude of the Ministry and its bureaucracy, the subtle black humor of Hepstia the Mundane: Wild Witch of Westingate, which apothecary charges the highest markups, and recently published books currently available at Flourish and Blotts. Each subject settling them into more comfortable territory.

As the time for Hermione to depart neared, a quiet settled between them signaling an end to the evening.

“I was wondering...” Hermione broke the silence, uncertain how to proceed, then plowed ahead. “I was wondering if I could have one dance before I go.” She paused before intentionally adding, “Just as a refresher, of course.”

“Of course,” Severus replied, amused at her obvious attempts to cover up her discomfort. He wasn't sure if this was some test, or that Hermione was warming up to the idea of being attracted to him. He bowed his head and did not bother to hide a sly smirk, letting her know he was on to her, whatever her game was.

Hermione felt her stomach flutter at the sight of Snape's smirk. She wasn't sure if she should be afraid – very afraid – or take this as a challenge to herself; would she find herself no longer attracted to him while in his arms as they danced, or was this her own twisted logic to wind herself into his arms once more? Whatever the case, Hermione knew she had to see if she was still attracted to him, or if all her desire for him gone.

“Did you want to try the foxtrot or the tango?” Severus asked.

Feeling a little bold, she answered, “Perhaps, one of each would be best.” Hermione hoped she wasn't blushing.

“Yes. Perhaps.” A flick of Severus' wand and the furniture moved to allow them a space to dance.

Severus rose from his seat and extended his hand to Hermione, to help her up and escort her to the middle of the floor.

Hermione looked at Snape's hand, wondering: if she put her hand into his, would she travel down a path where there would be no turning back? If Ron ever discovered his wife had been secretly seeing Snape, she could easily imagine Ron doing something dangerously rash and possibly violent; whether to her or Snape, she could not guess.

Knowing if she did not settle in her mind once and for all whether she could ever be attracted to him, Hermione placed her hand in Snape's. Once in the middle of the room, she turned to face him while keeping her eyes fixed on the expanse of chest clad in wine-red linen in front of her. Hermione placed one hand on his shoulder and the other one in his expectant hand. Her skin tingled upon contact.

She felt betrayed by her own body. While her mind was trying to convince herself that there was no real attraction between them, that it was all based upon a fantasy, her body was falling into old habits when close to Snape: the tightening of the stomach, the light-headedness, the quickening of her heart and breath that were beyond her ability to control.

The music started and Hermione moved, prompted by Snape's pressing fingers in her back guiding her. Suddenly, the mere presence of his hand at her waist seemed much more intimate than ever before. They were far enough apart that their bodies did not touch, but as they moved to and fro, his legs brushed up against hers.

Trying not to focus on the temporary contact, Hermione listened to the lyrics.

“It seems we stood and talked like this before,
We looked at each other in the same way then,
But I can't remember where or when.”

Hermione wasn't sure if this was another case of radio syndrome, or if Snape had purposefully chosen this song.

Severus noticed how she would not look up at him. Her body felt stiff, and he could feel the trembling of her hands. He turned, pulling Hermione with him.

As they spun, Hermione was drawn closer to Snape, her body now pressed softly against his. Her breasts brushed up against his chest, and her nipples tightened in response to the stimuli. She didn't want to be so close to Snape, as it was confounding her mind too much to be able to come to some clear and level-headed decision, but to move away from Snape's embrace would be a clear sign of rejection. At this point, Hermione was unsure if she wanted to reject Snape, or wanted to explore if there truly was anything between them.

“Some things that happen for the first time,
Seem to be happening again.
And so it seems we have met before,
And laughed before, and loved before,
But who knows where or when.”

As the song ended, Severus twirled Hermione under his arm before bringing her back to his embrace. He could see the deepening rouge of her cheeks had more to do with their proximity than the exertion of the dance. The innocence of her blush was charming to him.

Before she could recover and step away from him, Severus discretely flicked his wand and had the music box play a slow tango.

Severus pulled Hermione close so that their bodies were pressed together snugly. As the music alternated between slow and sweeping strains of the accordion and guitar, to sharp, staccato punctuations, Severus changed his movements to match the music. One moment, they were gliding along in a sensuous chase across the floor; the next, he was pulling Hermione abruptly against his chest.

Hermione felt overwhelmed. The passion that she could feel Snape pouring into the dance made her head spin even more. Trying to ignore her body's response to him, Hermione reflected on the evening so far. Snape had neither treated her with the contempt or disdain she expected from him. He was kind and attentive as ever, feeding her, comforting her, and being the ever-patient friend.

She tried to banish the sudden image of Snape latched onto her neck, sucking and biting the skin from her collarbone to the spot behind her ear that Ron hadn't gone near in years. Her momentary reverie was broken when Snape twisted them about the floor and grabbed her firmly about the waist to bring her chest-to-chest with him once more, forcing her head to snap up and look him in the eye.

The song faded away, but Hermione could not hear it. The blood was pounding in her ears, drowning out all other noise. She stood there in Snape's embrace, unable to move or look away. Hermione's eyes traveled down to his mouth and noticed it was slightly parted as he panted, matching her own labored breath. She saw him lick his lips. Snape's mouth called to her, and for a moment she entertained the idea of leaning forward and kissing him.

When Hermione realized she was suddenly craning her neck so her lips could brush his, she stopped herself and suddenly turned away, though the raven-haired wizard kept his hands on her waist.

Hermione's breaths became strenuous upon realizing what she had almost done.

“You promised you would give me your answer tonight,” Severus said seductively, noticing how Hermione had almost kissed him, yet still pulled away at the last moment. He refrained from letting his hands wander lower, instead moving them to her upper arms.

She didn't know what to do. Hermione was at war with herself. Part of her was already kicking herself for pulling away from what could have been a possibly breath-taking kiss, part of her was berating herself for letting it get this far, while other parts were trying to convince her to run while battling with the faction of her heart demanding to stay and become Snape's lover. Hermione could not even say his given name in her mind. How could she kiss a man she still referred to by his last name even in her own mind?

“I'm more confused than ever,” she stammered.

“What are you confused about?” Severus gently prodded her.

Normally he would have become impatient by this point and snapped at her, but he had seen the struggle in her eyes as they had danced. He had been patient up to this point, and he would continue to be so. She was a source for ingredients, and though part of him began to loathe the idea that he would have to use her and ask her for said ingredients, he hoped that she would understand he wanted her, needed her for more than a handful of shredded boomslang skin or powdered bicorn horn. His soul needed her.

“Why have you been so kind to me?” she asked in a meek and pleading voice.

Her words lanced through him. Severus had expected her to question his actions, but to hear those words issued from her mouth hurt him more than he cared to admit.

His voice changed from warm and soft to icy and hard, “Honestly?”

Hermione shut her eyes tight, praying to have the strength to leave Snape's flat emotionally in one piece. She nodded.

“That first night I was kind to you because I was paid to be,” Severus stated bitterly.

Hermione wrenched herself from his grasp and ran to the fireplace, bracing her hands on the mantle. 'I was a fool to think he had changed,' she scolded herself, trying to will herself not to cry again.

Severus realized his emotions were getting the better of him once more, but that maybe his emotions could salvage the situation caused by his spontaneous lashing out. Following her to the fireplace, he placed his hands on the mantle next to hers without touching her, his chest inches away from her back, short of physically pinning her against the fireplace.

“Though I may have originally been paid to be patient and kind, soon afterwards it was no longer an act. I eventually came to know the woman that you are. I began looking forward to our evenings together,” Severus explained, finding it difficult to express his emotions after having suppressed them for so many years. It would only be with complete honesty that Hermione could truly trust him, so he needed to forthcoming. As awkward and foolish as he felt, it needed to be said. “I meant it when I said that I have never developed this level of friendship with another witch who came to see me. I do enjoy the time we spend together, our debates, dining with you; a few hours of sincere companionship, where it seems we have no false pretenses. Just two people enjoying each other's company.” Severus moved his thumb to stroke the outside of her little finger to make the point that it was not just her mind that stimulated him.

That tiny caress of Snape's finger along hers was like a jolt of lightning that traveled through her entire body. Hermione could not move. She was paralyzed with confusion, fear, and panic. Snape could admit his growing attraction to her, yet she could not admit the same about him.

Hermione had been scared and reluctant to visit him that first night, but each meeting had made it easier to see him. Soon, she needed to see him, just as Snape had described: two people enjoying each other's company. But it was more than just his company Hermione wanted, she wanted Snape's body. She dreamt of him between her legs, fantasized about him moving in and out of her, and daydreamed of him carrying her off to his bed and ravishing her, making her submit to his seductive charms no matter how much she protested until she begged him for more.

“I understand,” she whispered, finding it hard to speak. Hermione didn't know if she fully understood or not, but she was beginning to see his point of view. She had just learned it was Snape, and she was becoming accustomed to the idea, whereas Snape had known it was her from the first day. Whatever animosity he held towards Hermione seemed to have melted away, and Hermione wondered if her own hostile feelings towards him would sublimate away, as well. “But there are some issues with myself I have to deal with first.”

A moment of silence stretched between them before she said, “For my answer: I'm not saying no, but I'm not saying yes either. I need to clear my head and think on this matter a little while longer.” Hermione took a deep breath. “You asked me to be patient with you before, concerning your mask. I ask that you give me the same courtesy regarding this.”

Severus moved a few paces away from Hermione before replying, “Yes, you have been tolerant with me, so I will do the same. I will wait for your answer when you are ready to give it.”

He preferred to demand an answer, but he knew that no answer could be forced from her with any more satisfactory result than if one was to force open a rose before it was ready to bloom. Only warmth and light could coax a rose to open up, inviting the admirer to smell its heady fragrance and marvel at its beauty. Severus would wait for Hermione to open up and invite him.

Turning to regard him from her place in front of the fireplace, she looked over her shoulder at the long, lean form of the former professor and ex-Death Eater. “Thank you,” Hermione said softly. Another moment of stillness filled the room before she announced abruptly, “I should go.”

Without another word, Severus fetched Hermione's cloak and slipped it over her shoulders, letting one knuckle graze the skin on her neck.

Hermione felt the hairs on her neck stand on edge from the casual touch, though it seemed there was nothing unpremeditated about it. She felt like she was under some plan of seduction, and though Hermione knew she should be wary whenever a Slytherin was involved in a plan, she couldn't help but find it alluring, to be the object of someone's desires.

She was ready to reach for the door knob and leave without another word when Hermione felt her hand grasped by Snape. Stopping to turn to see what he wanted, Hermione was speechless as he bowed to kiss her hand goodbye.

His lips remained placed upon the witch's knuckles longer than what was considered cavalier or gracious; it was flirtatious, presumptuous, and roguish.

Brushing his lips along the tops of her hand, Severus' eyes never left hers as he said in a deep and rumbling voice, “I look forward to your company Thursday night.”

Hermione stared at him, unable to break eye contact, fully aware that as he spoke his mouth grazed her hand, and his breath tickled the skin between her fingers in a way she found undeniably erotic. She nodded dumbly and swallowed thickly.

Without hesitation, Hermione left.

Once in the hallway, and after she had heard the door click shut, Hermione mumbled to herself, “I need a drink.”

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

Severus scrubbed his face and flopped on the bed, unable to comprehend how he had become this other person in Hermione's presence. He knew he had started this game the first night Hermione came to his flat and he had kissed her hand. Why he continued with this game of seduction he could only attribute to his growing attraction to the young brunette witch. Severus had never talked about his feelings before, preferring to keep them hidden and closed off, but for some reason, each visit by Hermione drew out emotions that he only attributed to lovesick fools, manifesting themselves in ways Severus found disturbing and yet equally freeing. Besides, he needed to be honest with her for the purpose of his escape.

A part of himself he never knew existed began to surface and assert itself over his consciousness, revealing the disconcerting truth. He was not acting with Hermione, nor was he keeping the usual rigid control over his emotions. Now that his emotions had been set loose, it felt like he was losing control of himself. It terrified Severus, upon reflection, that Hermione's simple words questioning his kindness, and her flinching from his touch, had hurt him to the point where it had felt like he had been physically harmed.

All those little things that had torn at his heart had been countered by Hermione's instinctual response to kiss him. She had caught herself before the act was completed, but he knew of her intent. It was enough to restore his faith that Hermione could care for someone like him.

Unable to deny his needs any longer, Severus stripped his clothes off and downed the fifty-four hour brewed sample of the male enhancement potion. Laying back on the bed, he grasped his cock in his hand and closed his eyes, imaging Hermione lying nude on the other side of the bed, touching herself for his voyeuristic pleasure.

Panting, he instructed his fantasy Hermione to thrust two, then three fingers into herself. Severus came hard as the image of her playing with herself filled his mind.

Breathless, he lay there feeling his erection return quickly. Knowing it was going to be a long night, Severus didn't bother to catch his breath before he started stroking himself again, mentally reenacting that night in the kitchen as he ground himself against Hermione's warm and inviting backside.

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

Hermione meandered about Diagon Alley aimlessly, lost in thought.

'I almost kissed Snape.' The thought was not so repellent anymore. In fact, it had seemed pretty enticing at the time.

Passing by a side street named Glastonbury Court, Hermione realized she was near The Listing Broom. Turning around, she headed down the narrow street to an establishment that had a plaque hanging out front of a witch riding a broom that leaned to one side.

It had been ages since Hermione had been in The Listing Broom, learning long ago that she did not care to spend her evening keeping Ron company while he tended bar. She neither enjoyed sitting in the pub nor fending off advances of the odd, aged wizard that usually smelled of a mixture of old sweat and too much bad cologne.

Seating herself on a stool, she saw a young wizard about her age behind the bar approach her.

“What'll it be, Ma'am?” the dark blond man asked.

“You must be Pete.”

The wizard stood back and eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I'm Ron's wife, Hermione. He mentioned Rufus and Rogina hiring you,” Hermione explained, understanding Pete's apprehension.

Pete relaxed noticeably and extended his hand, “Pleasure to meet you. What brings you in tonight? Ron's not here.”

Hermione shook his offered hand. “Yes, I know he's not here. I was on my way home when I passed by and felt like a drink.”

“So, what will it be?”

Hermione placed her elbows on the bar and her head in her hands. “Something strong,” she groaned.

“That good, eh?” Pete replied lightheartedly.

“It's been better,” she mumbled

Hermione had never felt so confused in all her life. She had always prided herself on knowing herself: what she was doing, where she was going, and what was happening in the world around her. Now she was unsure who she loved, if she wanted Snape or not, where her career was headed, the future of her marriage, or her sense of the world she lived in. Doubt and tumultuous bewilderment seemed to rule her life now.

“Care to unload your worries on me?” the barman offered.

Hermione shook her head. She had already begun confiding in one man; there was no point in telling Pete anything, as word might get back to Ron.

Pete poured Hermione some greenish-blue libation from a bottle that periodically spouted little jets of blue and green flame now and again.

“Our finest Fairy Brandy. This one's on the house.”

She had never drunk Fairy Brandy before and discovered that it went down like ice instead of fire. Upon reaching her stomach, tendrils of blissful euphoria unfurled throughout her body.

Sitting back on the stool, Hermione gave Pete a lopsidedly goofy smile.

“Feeling better?” Pete asked.

Hermione nodded, grinning like a fool.

“Care to tell me what the problem is now?”

She was dangerously drunk right now. The sensible part of her mind was screaming through the fog of Fairy Brandy to shut up and not say a thing. Somehow the frantic message reached the small part of her brain that was still functioning. That small part of her working mind was so concerned with keeping Hermione from spilling her whole secret about seeing Snape, that it didn't have time to stop the other part of her that made her climb up on the bar, lift up her blouse – exposing her brassiere-clad breasts – and start belting out a rousing rendition of “I've Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.”

Rogina stepped out of the back room, wondering if they had another live one.

“Oh, dear,” Rogina gasped.

The pub co-owner valiantly tried to coax Hermione to get down off of the bar and pull her blouse back down, much to the dismay of the few male patrons who were enjoying the floor show.

“Come now, Hermione. Why don't you come to my office, and we'll have a nice sit down while I Floo Ron,” the elder witch said, as if speaking to a very small child.

Hermione was peacefully led to the back office, where she plopped herself down on a box of butterbeer next to Rufus' desk while Rogina went to speak with Pete.

Still in a magically-induced intoxicated haze, Hermione could barely hear Rogina over the thumping of her own heart, which seemed intensified.

“What did you give that girl?”

“Just a shot of Fairy Brandy. She asked for something strong.”

“Oh, dear Merlin. You didn't know better. Ron has warned me of how she can't seem to hold her liquor. Never mind. You tend bar, I'll be back.”

Rogina came back into the office to find Hermione staring vacantly at the Quidditch calendar on the wall opposite of her. Some player from Puddlemere United was doing loops, amused at how Hermione's head kept rotating with each turn, unable to move just her eyes.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Rogina threw it into the fireplace and called out for Ron and Hermione's flat.

“Rogina!” Ron said with a bit of a surprise, his head suspended among the green flames. “What's wrong? Do you need to cancel our next dance lesson?”

“No. I think you'd better take Hermione home. Pete accidentally gave her a shot of Fairy Brandy, not knowing she's not used to stronger stuff,” Rogina explained, nodding her head in the direction of her temporary charge. Hermione's eyes were beginning to roll up into her head.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed.

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

A/N: For a wonderful piece of fanart depicting Hermione lying in Snape's arms on the bathroom floor, please see view lizardqueen's lovely illustration she drew/painted for me at:
http://atdlhea-betz.tumblr.com/post/131553826935/art-by-lizardqueen-all-fan-art-work-featured
Kindest thanks to lizardqueen for submitting to my begging and drawing me something nice. Unfortunately, the only place you can view it is on my Tumblr page since she took the original link down long ago.
More UST (unresolved sexual tension)? You bet! Go ahead, call me an evil author, but if you think Hermione was ready to shag Snape, much less kiss him, you are sorely mistaken. Don't worry, she'll come around... maybe.
Thanks to my betas, JuneW and GinnyW, for coming up with the chapter titles. I liked their suggestions so much, I decided to use both. And I don't say this nearly enough, but please give a huge round of thanks to my fabulous betas who make my story readable, instead of painful: (in no particular order) Horserider, JuneW, and GinnyW.
The reference to a minty-green tan is attributed to the comic strip “Doonesbury.” It was from the late 80's or early 90's, a time long, long ago when I was younger, and much thinner.
Anyone catch the hint about Fairy Brandy? Here's another hint... the Green Fa–
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After