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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.

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"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Forty-Three
“Love Is For Brave and Besotted Lovesick Fools”

(This disclaimer originally posted in November 2005)
Disclaimer: What do we want? BOOK SEVEN! When do we want it? NOW! What do we want? BOOK SEVEN! When do we want it? NOW!
Oh, sorry. Wrong room. You want “Rants about not knowing how book seven ends yet.” This is the fanfiction disclaimer room. This is where I blather on about J.K. Rowling owning all intellectual property and concepts affiliated with Harry Potter, and that I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just having some good clean fun— Well, not good, nor clean, but certainly fun with her characters. I'll quit now before the lawyers haul me away.

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

Severus' mind kept playing Draco's words over and over in his head.

'I love Ginny. I'd die without her; I would die for her. What's your excuse?'

Draco had no knowledge of how or why Severus' wife, Gabrielle, had died; only that she had. He had no idea how his words affected Severus.

'I didn't love Gabrielle enough,' Severus thought bitterly. 'That is why I let her and our child die.'

Over the years, Albus had reassured Severus that even if he had offered up his own life, there was no guarantee that Voldemort would have let Gabrielle live. It would be quite reasonable to believe that as soon as Severus' dead body had hit the ground, the Killing Curse would have been applied to his pregnant wife as well. However, all the logic in the world could not stop the swelling of guilt inside Severus' chest from practically suffocating him at times.

Severus felt like he was drowning. Ever since his fight with Draco in the lift on Wednesday and the following day at work, he would periodically bolt from his chair and throw open the window to gulp in fresh air from outside. He didn't care that he would have to reapply a new Cooling Charm on his office once more to counter the warm air rushing in due to the heat wave.

During those two days, the Potions master avoided interacting with Draco and Miss Brown. He did not join either of them for lunch, even when his company was requested by his employer. It was the most unproductive two days he’d had since he began his secretive tenure at The Lovely Lavender Company. Severus sat there staring at page 214 of a French tome on wild herbs of the Pyrenees, but he could not absorb the material. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he wondered if, knowing then what he knew now, he would still have sacrificed his wife and child. As a double agent, Severus had been able to bring to the Order valuable information, important enough to tip the scales of the war in the favor of Potter's side. If Severus had been dead, what use could he have been to the Order? If he hadn’t allowed his wife to die, would he have ever realized the gravity of his youthful mistake when he joined the Dark Lord? Would he have ever become a member of the Order? Would Draco ever have had the strength to turn away from the Dark Lord on his own without Severus to guide him? Would Severus be sitting in Azkaban without a soul by this point?

It was a circular argument; all based on what he could have done differently. But to change one thread of the past unraveled the entire future that had brought him to where he was that day. To alter one action in the past would create a paradox of the reality he lived in today. There was no point in wishing the past could be changed. Gabrielle had died, and Severus lived with the shame that resulted from his cowardice. He had lived with this knowledge for twenty-three years; he would live with it for another hundred and twenty-three, that was if he lived to see freedom, if Moody didn't imprison him first.

Why was it that these memories, which he had retained – yet suppressed – all these years, suddenly bothered him to the point of complete distraction? Because the last time he loved another witch, she had died. And now he suspected he loved Hermione.

Severus could not admit in his mind he loved Hermione, but all the signs were there. Deep down he knew that just as Hermione had had her bouts of denial, so he felt entitled to a few of his own.

Glancing at the clock, Severus knew there would be no point in hanging around until five o'clock. He would not get any work done today, and he didn't feel like navigating crowded streets full of people trying to get home at the end of the day.

The Potions master grabbed his cloak and left, leaving no word with his employer that he was going home early. Avoiding the lift to prevent coming across Miss Brown and Draco, Severus took the stairs. The temperature was still warm, but not nearly as oppressive as it was a few days ago. Severus liked the warmth of the summer sun on his black cloak, but was glad that it was not another sweltering day.

'Warm climate, here I come,' he thought to himself, remembering that Hermione was coming tonight, and that he was another day closer to freedom.

Once he was home, Severus went to the kitchen to begin preparing that night's dinner. He weighed the courgettes, mushrooms, tomatoes, and other ingredients before dicing and chopping them into cubes and slices with the precision that one would reserve for making a potion that required extreme care. Cooking was the only way for Severus to keep any of his knife-wielding skills, and he found the act so calming that he did his best thinking when he had a knife or a skillet in his hand.

Unfortunately, he did not have a chance to think in private about the evening ahead. Albus and Minerva decided to grace Severus with their presence as he began sautéing the onions.

'Getting ready for another evening with Hermione?' the translucent former headmaster asked as he moved about the kitchen.

“Obviously,” Severus replied sarcastically, as he checked on the cubes of oiled aubergine roasting in the oven.

'What's on tonight's menu?' Minerva asked in order to distract Severus. Or rather, it was Severus' own mind that made the mental projection of Minerva ask in order to preoccupy his thoughts.

“Loin lamb chops, ratatouille, and some nice crusty French bread. Nothing too elaborate,” Severus said, trying to convince himself that he wasn't making an effort to wow Hermione with his culinary skills, though it was a bit late for that.

'Another dinner featuring French cuisine?' the old Head of Gryffindor remarked with an arched brow. Her Scottish brogue sounded more pronounced, a trait that was her own equivalent to Albus' twinkling eyes.

Severus pretended not to notice what Minerva was insinuating. Maybe he had subconsciously chosen this menu, remembering fondly the way Hermione was so happy and grateful when he made cassoulet, reminding her of her trip to France with her parents, and of better times.

'Did you buy any flowers for the table this time?' Minerva asked offhandedly, her faint silhouette shimmering in the afternoon sun that streamed through the kitchen window.

“And why would I want to buy flowers?” Severus countered tersely, not bothering to hide his irritation.

'Because it would make the table more presentable,' the vision of the sagacious witch explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you propose next? Bonbons? Poetry? A diamond-encrusted tiara with matching teardrop earrings, and a pearl choker with diamond uprights?” Severus snarled back at the vision of the old witch. He was so distracted, the Potions master almost sliced his thumb while dicing the green pepper.

'No, nothing that dramatic,' Minerva replied, not flustered by Severus' tart comment in the least. 'Just a suggestion. Though, that does sound quite lovely, and she would be duly impressed. You seem to care so much about making a good impression for Hermione. I was just voicing a thought.'

Severus groaned. “All right, all right. Just stop nagging me. If there is time, I'll send Marf out for a little something for the table, but I refuse to go overboard like some besotted lovesick fool trying to woo his lady fair.”

'A couple stems of flowers for the table would not be amiss,' she said in conclusion.

Severus rolled his eyes.

'I don't know why you are having such a hard time admitting to yourself that you love Hermione,' Albus chided him.

“Who said anything about love?” Severus did not want to have this conversation again.

'Severus, you know as well as I do, for I am merely a projection of your mind, that you love Hermione.' The apparition of Albus moved to stand beside the younger wizard. 'There is no shame in love. Love is the grandest of all the emotions man can experience. It brings us happiness, and makes our souls feel full of the matter that makes the universe spin and move.'

“Inertia?” Severus asked in a deadpan voice.

It was Albus and Minerva's turn to roll their eyes. The ghost of Albus spoke with a little impatience in his voice. 'It figures that you would get a sense of humor when I am trying to have a serious talk with you. But the fact that you are finally developing a sense of humor is a good sign that love agrees with you.'

Severus found that the way his conscience had manifested and asserted itself in such an annoying manner was sometimes more bother than to have any conscience at all.

“It doesn't matter if I love Hermione or not,” the raven-haired wizard rationalized. “It seems clear that she does not love me, for if she did, she would have not stopped herself; she would have kissed me, and not questioned why I had been kind to her.” Severus stirred the sliced mushrooms in with the onions before he started chopping the basil.

'Give the witch some time,' Minerva advised him. 'She must have very recently discovered it was actually you. And frankly, I would have been shocked to discover that someone who has been cooking for me and listening to me cry my heart out was the same man who would have verbally eviscerated me back at Hogwarts for what you would have called ‘childish sniveling.’ Face it, Severus. You were not a kind man back then, so of course she's a bit confused over this sudden change in your behavior.'

The pale vision of Minerva was right, but that only meant that he was actually agreeing with himself. Still, it was easier to deal with the idea that these thoughts came from someplace outside of himself.

“I think she is coming around, though,” Severus noted.

'And did you notice at your last meeting that she said neither your given name, nor your alias?' Albus pointed out.

Severus didn't notice that peculiarity at all until his subconscious dragged it up and his hallucination of Albus mentioned it. Not once did Hermione address him as Calleo, but she did not address him as Severus either. For if she had said his name, that would mean the game was up and all the pretending between them would be done. The only pretending left between them was that Hermione acted like she did not know his real identity, but everything else was real and palpable, from the sexual tension to the warmth of feelings between them. Desire was one emotion that could not be easily faked, and Severus had no practice at it. With the other witches who had come to his bed, the desire was all based on his physical need for release between some woman's legs. Severus' desire for Hermione was rooted deep within him, in a part of him that was awakening for the first time.

By the time Severus added the tomatoes and herbs, then stirred before covering to simmer on a low flame for thirty minutes, Albus and Minerva had faded away. Left alone, he sank down on a nearby chair.

“Could it be that I really love her?” he asked himself.

Love was for fools and those who were not clever enough to avoid the trap set by Cupid. Draco was a victim, not Severus. But was Draco really a victim, or was he just one of the lucky ones who had found their one true love? Severus scoffed at the thought. Out of the thousands upon thousands of witches in the world, could only one be suitable for him or any wizard? Maybe it was that there were dozens out there, and one just had to come across one of those dozens in one's lifetime to make one think that they had found 'true love.'

But who, in this whole wide world, had ever captured his attention like Hermione? No one. Even with his own wife, Gabrielle, it had been with a slow acceptance of each other, and then by forced proximity that they learned to tolerate each other, eventually becoming friends. In time, would he have come to think of Gabrielle as his one true love? He had never even admitted to her that he loved her, not even once. It was only when she was gone that he had realized that not only did he miss her, but had in fact loved her too.

Severus began missing Hermione the minute she left his flat every Monday and Thursday night. He couldn't wait for her to return to him.

Looking at the clock, he noted that it would still be another hour and a half until Hermione would arrive. He figured it was time to begin preparing the meat for seasoning and to bring it to room temperature before cooking. As Severus minced the garlic and crushed the rosemary to release its oils and aroma, he wondered if he ever did admit that he loved Hermione, if she wouldn't think it was some ploy to ensure that he got the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion.

“If I tell her, I can't do it before I get the ingredients. It would only make her question the sincerity of my feelings for her.”

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

Hermione kept buffing at her feet with the pumice stone, hoping to make them smooth and pretty.

'It's not like Snape is ever going look at my feet,' she thought.

'Yeah, but you are hoping there will be another wager tonight, and then you can win a foot rub.'

She did have to admit that she had thought that a foot rub would feel like heaven. Hermione made a note to schedule an extra foot rub in when she had her pedicure during her trip to the spa with Ginny next week.

As the witch stepped out of the shower, she heard Ron come home.

“There's some shepherd’s pie waiting for you in the oven, Ron,” Hermione called out.

Ron popped his head into the bathroom to find his wife drying her hair with a towel. Leaning against the door jamb, his eyes traveled up and down Hermione's naked body.

“What?” Hermione said defensively.

“Just looking. Just looking,” Ron commented with a lopsided smile.

Feeling rather self-conscious, Hermione stopped drying her hair and wrapped the towel around her body.

“Why did you do that?” whinged Ron.

“I don't know,” Hermione threw back. “I've just never been all that comfortable with my body... that's all.” Well, it wasn't entirely true. She had started feeling self-conscious about her body only after Ron had started making the odd comment over the years about little things: her nipples, her hair, her breast size, her legs. Nothing too critical, but nothing too complimentary either.

“Fine,” Ron huffed, and left.

Hermione felt like banging her head against a wall. Instead of dwelling on what she could have done differently or trying to figure out what Ron had taken offense at, she ignored the whole situation and summoned another towel to finish drying her hair.

Once she was dressed in her new matching green top and skirt, Hermione went out to the kitchen to see if Ron had heard her and had found the shepherd's pie in the oven.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the disaster Ron was making of her clean kitchen. “There is a perfectly good dinner ready and hot for you in the oven.”

“New diet,” Ron explained, as he pulled out some sliced roast beef and began eating it straight from the butcher's paper. “As part of my new workout routine and regimen to get my body into shape for the photo shoot, I'm on a strict high-protein, low-fat diet. Got to get this body ripped.” To make his point, he flexed his muscles in an exaggerated pose.

Hermione did not laugh, but she did hide her temptation to do so behind a smile.

“I've got to build up my pecs and delts, and work on my abs,” Ron said before swallowing a whole slice of roast beef in one bite.

It struck Hermione that Ron was talking about specific muscles. “You mean the Pectoralis major, the Deltoideus, and abdominal muscles?” Hermione clarified.

“Yeah, what you said.” Ron turned his back on her in order to search for the milk. “Say, can you get some skim milk next time you go shopping?” he asked.

Here she was, sincerely trying to find something of common interest to converse about with Ron, and it seemed he was shutting her out again. Maybe the use of the proper Latin terms for the muscles was making Ron feel stupid, so she took a different tactic.

“So what other groups of muscles have you been working on with these work-outs?” she asked, trying to sound sincerely interested.

“Oh, let's see. Quads and gluts on days we do leg work. Pecs, trap, delts, biceps, triceps on upper body days, and abs every day,” Ron listed off. “Is there any more fresh fruit?”

“There should be a whole basket of peaches and plums on the counter.” Hermione wondered why Ron didn't see the basket of fruit that should have been right before his eyes.

“Oh, you mean this basket” Ron asked, holding up an empty basket.

“That basket was full just a few days ago!”

“Sorry.” Ron shrugged. “Guess I should have mentioned that I've been eating a lot more fruit on this diet.”

Hermione wanted to yell at him that he could have informed her of his new diet earlier in the week before stranding her without any fresh fruit for herself. During the week, Hermione had only bothered to make tea and nothing else for breakfast, going back to her old habit of a scone on her way to work in the mornings. Though, if she had been paying any attention at all over the past few days, she would have noticed the disappearance of the fruit instead of being distracted with thoughts of Snape.

She held her tongue. In a civil tone she asked, “Any other new diet changes I should be made aware of?”

“Let's see. No candy, chocolate, cheese, fried foods, or butter. Cut down on the bread, eat brown rice, sweet potatoes, or whole grains instead. Lots of high protein meat, and fresh fruits and vegetables.”

Hermione could not complain about Ron's new dietary needs, as she had not been eating well lately either except on Thursday nights, and those nights because Snape had started cooking for her. Perhaps if she had more nutritious food in the house she would eat more. It was a false hope, but it seemed to be a believable lie at the moment.

“I'll keep that in mind when I go shopping next time. I need to get going,” Hermione said as she turned to leave. Maybe tomorrow she would try and talk with Ron about his new workout routine and get a real conversation going for once. It seemed like it might be pointless, but she was willing to try, since she had promised herself she would.

“Night. By the time you get home I should be asleep. Got an early day tomorrow,” Ron yelled to Hermione's back as he went looking for some carrots.

Hermione heard Ron, but said nothing to acknowledge him, thankful she would not have to watch the clock tonight. She could come home without the vision of a waiting Ron looming in her mind.

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

“You wants Marf to go where, Master Snape?” the creature squeaked with uncertainty.

“To the florist.” Severus hated it when he had to repeat himself.

“And what should I buy at the florist, sir?”

“What else, flowers!” the wizard snapped. 'How much more obvious could it be!'

“What type of flowers, Master?” the house-elf asked timidly, wondering if he was about to be smacked about the head like his former masters used to do with great regularity whenever they grew agitated with him, like his current master was becoming.

“I don't care. Anything! But not some huge bouquet, just a few stems of something to put in a little vase on the table,” Severus instructed Marf.

“We don't have a little vase, Master, sir,” Marf replied.

“Then buy one!” Severus ordered him. “Why is it that even the most simple instructions must be made so complex,” he muttered to himself.

“Yes, sir! I will buy your pretty lady-friend a couple roses. That will please her,” the small magical sophont chirped

“No! Not roses!” Severus interjected quickly. “I don't need anything so...” 'Declarative?' “... sentimental.” He began to pace the main room, treading his familiar path along the Tabriz rug. “Something understated that won't be misinterpreted either.” Tapping his finger to his chin, he said, “A little fern for sincerity. Just one stem. And a sprig of peppermint for warmth of feelings.”

“But that is all filler, Master. What about flowers?” Marf asked, hoping he was not going to get yelled at for such a simple question.

“Something subtle. Something simple,” Severus thought aloud, ignoring the house-elf. “Something to convey the right sentiments.” Running through a mental list of flowers alphabetically and their meanings, Severus considered a few stems of azalea to signify, “Take care of yourself for me,” but remembered that the season for azaleas was long over. “Salvia,” he said when he finally reached the “S’s” in his head. “Blue salvia, to be exact.”

It was perfect. Salvias were just coming into season, and blue salvia captured his feelings perfectly.

Looking at the time, Severus said impatiently, “Well? She'll be here soon. Get going!”

Marf disappeared immediately, and Severus went about his flat making sure everything was prepared. The table was set, and he was dressed and ready for what he was hoping would be another wonderful evening ahead.

As the minutes ticked by, he anxiously waited for Hermione to arrive, but hoped she would arrive after Marf returned with the flowers. With a few minutes to spare, Marf appeared in the middle of the room holding a small vase with three stems of blue salvia, two sprigs of peppermint, and one stem of some common florist fern. It was simple, understated, and perfect.

'You're fretting over something as simple as a few twigs of greenery?'

Before he could start another mental argument over how he was becoming some foppish admirer, the bed curtains changed from black to a muddied blue with broad strokes of clear yellow. Severus charmed the bed curtains back to black before he could notice the faint streaks of pink and purple.

'So, she is feeling fear. Fear of what?' Severus wondered.

The problem with auras was that a color could signify many things; dark blue could mean fear of self-expression, the future, or speaking the truth. It could be all three things, but the bold yellow told him of an awakening in Hermione. That also was open to broad interpretation. It could mean an awakening to the idea that her marriage was not worth saving, or it could be an awakening where her feelings for Severus were concerned, whatever they might be.

Severus heard Hermione's signature knock and was just about to open the door when he suddenly realized he had forgotten to put his mask on. He summoned his black half-mask with his wand, and quickly affixed it to his face before opening the door.

He stood there looking at her for a moment. That same odd fluttering in his stomach returned, as if he was flying a broom that took a sudden unexpected dip. Just looking at Hermione dressed in green with her purple cloak on made his chest feel tighter and his head a little lighter. There was nothing exceptional about the way she was dressed, nor what she had done with her hair or make-up. But just the mere sight of her was enough to make Severus feel not quite himself, as if he had imbibed a bit too much to drink. And he found he actually liked it, and didn't mind that he was a bit off-balance for once.

Remembering himself, he gave her a brief smile before bowing and welcoming Hermione in.

Walking into Snape's flat, Hermione could tell that something was different. She wasn't sure if it was her, Snape, or both of them, but the dynamism between them had changed. It no longer seemed like some game or hypothetical idea to the brunette witch, but something very real and potential.

Severus offered his arm to Hermione to escort her to the settee, and was pleased when she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm easily, while giving him a shy smile. He could feel the difference too, for Hermione's touch on his arm was like fire and ice. It burned him and made him want to shudder at the same time.

“May I take your cloak?” he asked, resisting the urge to lean in and brush his lips against the curve of her ear.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, feeling suddenly nervous and overwhelmed.

As he helped her slip her cloak off her shoulders, Severus let the backs of his hands graze her arms.

“The color of your cloak is quite becoming on you,” Severus remarked, his voice barely a low rumble.

Hermione realized this was the second time a man had complimented her when she wore her royal purple cloak. “Thank you,” she replied in an equally barely audible voice.

If Snape was trying to seduce Hermione, he was doing a damn good job of it, but the raven-haired wizard was doing nothing different that night that he hadn't done before. So if he wasn't altering their usual routine, why was it that Hermione was considering breaking a vow she had made to herself on the walk-over from her flat?

As Hermione had walked in the sultry summer evening on her way over, she had promised herself that she would not let things progress any farther between her and Snape until after her anniversary dinner with Ron. She had to give her marriage one last try. If she and Ron could not reignite the spark between them – a spark that had never really existed in the first place – by the end of the night of their anniversary, then Hermione would consider taking things farther with Snape. If all the romantic trappings of a fancy dinner in an elegant supper club with dancing, wine, and the perfect atmosphere could not make Mrs. Weasley feel something for her husband, then maybe this was a marriage of convenience for her after all.

'Be strong, Hermione. Four more meetings, then you can decide,' she told herself. Hermione didn't even know why she was making herself be true to Ron until her anniversary. She hadn't even decided if she could ever really be attracted to Snape, but somehow that question seemed to answer itself with her own promise.

As Snape went to put her cloak away, Hermione's eyes drank in the sight of Snape's form as he walked away. He had definitely put on some muscle and weight over the years, and it agreed with him. The former professor was wearing a black shirt and trousers, and the sight of him dressed all in black made it easier for Hermione to remember him walking the corridors of Hogwarts, his lean legs taking long strides, carrying him fast enough so that others had to jog to keep up while he seemed to hardly exert himself. Hermione suddenly remembered the black and gray cloaked figures she had glanced at one morning when she was in the Twenty-Four Blackbird Bakery last month; the tall form taking great strides, disappearing around a corner in a swirl of black cloth, the sound of his boots striking sinister notes on the cobblestones. That black silhouette had imprinted itself on her eyes and in her mind. She now surmised it must have been Snape and Malfoy walking the streets of Diagon Alley early that morning, though what they would be doing prowling about that early she would contemplate another time.

Hermione was jarred from her reverie when Snape reappeared by her side asking if she wished to rest first, or if she wished to keep him company in the kitchen while he finished preparing dinner.

“I'm fine. We can go to the kitchen now,” she answered with a warm smile. As he escorted her, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help, or have you everything all ready for cooking?” Hermione knew Snape would have everything ready, but she still felt some sort of obligation to offer. Politeness was always appreciated, and it seemed Snape had taken a liking to it, in contrast to her attempts to be polite with him years ago.

“Just the presence of your company will be enough,” Severus assured her, appreciative of her offer.

To Hermione, the kitchen smelled like one should. The air was redolent with garlic, simmering savory vegetables, and freshly chopped herbs, with the underlying aroma of yeasty bread warming in the oven.

Lined up in a neat little row was an assortment of tiny dishes holding small amounts of freshly chopped herbs and the garlic she had smelled. With her usual fascination, she watched Snape turn the flame on under the heavy cast-iron skillet.

“What are we having for dinner tonight?” Hermione asked, curious as to what gastronomic delights Snape had in store.

“Use your senses,” Severus instructed her. Now he definitely knew he was getting a soft spot for Hermione, as he would have snapped at anyone else that it was bloody obvious.

Glancing at the meat on the counter, she said, “Lamb chops.” Inhaling, she could smell the bread in the oven and vegetables of some sort in a pot on the cooker. “Bread, and...”

Leaning over to get a little closer to the cooker, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply once more. There was something familiar about that smell, but she couldn't place it. There were vague memories that came with that scent, but no distinct image or memory triggered from the olfactory input that came to the forefront of her mind.

“I know I've smelled this before, I just can't place it,” she admitted prematurely.

“Care to at least guess which cuisine?” Severus asked, wondering if he could lure her into another winnable wager.

Hermione wondered if there was going to be another bet; Snape did not mention one, but that particular tone was in his voice that he always had before he proposed one. After the last major one, she knew better than to rely on her knowledge of food, as that had landed her blindfolded the whole night. If she was going to win, she would have to stick with potion ingredients. Hermione did have to concede that she did think another night with herself blindfolded might be an excellent way to finally determine if she truly was attracted to Snape or not. She hated to admit it, but her last memories of Snape’s face – from the night before her wedding to Ron – were not the most attractive ones.

Though Hermione had never considered herself to be a shallow person who was only attracted to someone based on looks alone, there was something to be said for a wizard who did not look like Alastor Moody, or a gaunt scarecrow. If Hermione really was attracted to Snape, then basing her opinion on his personality rather than appearances was a much more fair and equitable way of going about it. In reality, Hermione did have to admit, she was already attracted to him, and maybe this was another way for her mind to twist logic and make herself vulnerable to him once more.

The question was: How could Hermione propose another night of wearing a blindfold, and lose the bet while making it look like she had made an effort to win? She was willing to forgo a nice foot rub for another night like last week.

“Is this another wager?” Hermione asked knowingly.

“Care to make it one?” He smirked, hoping he could win another back rub.

She had to play this carefully, because she knew he would sniff out any duplicitous motives from her side. “What do you have to offer if I win?”

Severus moved behind her, pinning her against the counter. Murmuring close to her ear, he countered, “That depends on what you want.”

'Another dry-humping session right here, right now?' Hermione thought, suppressing a devilish smile. Knowing this opportunity would provide a better chance to get her way, she renegotiated. “How about we decide on what we are willing to give up to the other if we lose. To lessen the temptation,” she reasoned, turning around to face Snape. She leaned back with a look of detachment, as if his suave charms could not sway her.

“And what are you willing to give up?” Severus challenged suggestively, leaning in closer, finding the conditions equally tempting as before.

“My sight for one more night,” she breathed in reply. “I am willing to wear a blindfold all night long next Thursday night.”

“That doesn't seem like you'd be giving up much with that offering. I would almost say that you enjoyed being blindfolded,” Severus countered with confidence.

“That may be, but don't tell me you didn't enjoy it as well. Imagine it,” Hermione purred sweetly, “I'm blind, and completely at your mercy.” Leaning forward to meet Severus and, with her breath caressing his ear, she whispered, “Do you want me completely at your mercy again?”

Severus wanted to groan and bang his head against the cabinet door behind Hermione. He was going to do something rash involving Hermione's knickers and her self-respect if he didn't get his hormones under control. Slytherins were supposed to be in control of negotiations, not be manipulated during them.

“I seem to recall not too long ago that I warned you about not teasing the animals,” Severus growled ferally, mostly due to clenching his teeth, as he was in agony.

His erection was caught in his trousers going in the wrong direction. More than anything, he wanted to readjust himself, but was in no position to do so with Hermione right in front of him. He was tempted to excuse himself and readjust himself in his bathroom, but then the moment would be lost, as well as his advantage. He decided to suffer through the discomfort in order to persuade Hermione into giving him a back rub instead. Then again, he had been kicking himself over the fact that he had under-utilized the situation when Hermione had been blindfolded, and he could have placed a few charms on his full-length mirror to satisfy his prurient curiosity. But first, as soon as Hermione would turn her back to him, he would use his wand discreetly for a little adjustment charm that he knew to be useful in such situations.

“Yes, I recall that conversation we had. It was in just about the same spot we are standing right now,” Hermione pointed out, glancing down at the counter and at Severus’ hand which was slowly inching its way along the tile and closer to her waist.

“Maybe your blindfold suggestion is not such a bad one after all,” Severus agreed. “But where would be the fun in me trying to win the bet if we both get something out of it? You just might want to lose on purpose.”

“What if you offer up something if you lose that we both might want?”

“Did you have something in mind if I lose?” he asked.

The tightening tendrils of desire curled in her belly. She didn't think it was possible, but she was even more turned on than she had been the previous week. All this innuendo, double entendre, and anticipation was driving Hermione quite insane. There was the briefest of moments where she thought, 'Sod Ron, my marriage, and that damn promise to wait,' and contemplated begging Snape to shag her on the kitchen counter, but stopped herself. If she was ever going to do anything with Snape, she would have to do it when her head was clear and not fogged by animal-driven lust.

“I was thinking you can give me a massage. Tell me, have you ever given anyone a full-body massage?” She smiled, knowing that if Snape was this interested in her, he might not mind agreeing to this demand.

“Yes, but that requires you to get fully undressed. I will remove myself from the room while you undress and slip under the sheet.” Severus paused before adding, “Unless you don't mind my company in the room at the time.”

Hermione had no interest in winning the bet. She was going to get a massage at the spa anyway, so it didn't matter if she won or not. She did abruptly notice that she and Severus were slipping very close into temptation once more. It didn't stop her from fantasizing about Snape watching her undress and unable to satiate his desires, but then, her desires would not be satisfied either if it came to that arrangement. Instead of answering Severus’ rather suggestive suggestion, she turned away from him to face the counter.

“I think I'm ready to guess,” she announced, suddenly getting nervous that things were going to quickly get out of hand. If they started kissing and touching, it would not stop until Snape came inside of her. That thought made her leave the circle of Snape's arms, not for the aversion to the idea of it, but because of the strong appeal it held for her.

Noting her swift change in demeanor, he wondered what had brought it about. Wondering if he was too impertinent with his suggestion, he followed Hermione.

“Was I too forward?” he asked.

“No. Just avoiding temptation,” the brunette witch confessed.

“You still haven't made up your mind?”

How could she truthfully answer Snape without making him feel rejected? It had become pellucidly clear during their exchange she wanted Snape, but she had promised herself to wait until her anniversary. How could she tell Snape that she wanted him, but needed a little time longer?

Snape. How was it that she was tempted to shag this wizard until they both lay in a heap of sweat and exhaustion, and still think of him as Snape? 'His name is Severus.' She said it in her mind over and over, wondering how the sound of it would slip over her tongue when she spoke it. No matter what, she still could not say his name aloud, as that would end everything between them.

“After my anniversary, in two weeks, I will give you my answer,” Hermione told him. “I made a promise to myself to see if there is anything left between my husband and me. After my anniversary dinner, I will know.” There was sadness and resignation not only in Hermione's voice, but in her face.

Deep down inside, she knew that she was only delaying the inevitable conclusions she had been trying to avoid regarding her husband and Severus, but she could not bring herself to admit them here and now. By giving a date, Hermione would have the time to gather her courage to face the truth that she was married to a wizard she couldn't stand, and loved an ex-Death Eater who banged other witches for money.

Hermione reached over and pulled the lip off the pot. She immediately recognized the vegetable stew as ratatouille. She had eaten it when she was in France, and her mother had prepared it occasionally.

Making an obvious effort, she closed her eyes, inhaled, and said with false uncertainty, “German?”

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

Severus served up the ratatouille into a serving dish while Hermione waited in the other room. He had escorted her to her seat, then returned to the kitchen to bring out the rest of dinner, and to stew over the wager. He did not like the fact that he had lost; it was the principle of the matter. The game was rigged, as Hermione gave a purposefully wrong answer to reach her end goal. If he won or lost the wager, it was still was a pleasant outcome, but for the fact that the bet was skewed so that Hermione was able to get her way… That was a loss either way one looked at it, and he didn’t like losing.

He did not meditate on the subject for too long, for he remembered that Hermione would be accompanying Ginny to the spa the following weekend. Perhaps there was a way for him to possibly still get his way and get her back. Those little barbs she threw his way were lighthearted. It was a sign that she trusted him and felt comfortable around him, but he would still try to exact a little light retribution of his own.

Hermione patiently waited for Severus to return. She hoped he didn't mind her quip about having lamb two weeks in a row. It was all in jest, but she quickly amended her remark with sincere praise of Severus' cooking. Hermione still couldn't help herself when Severus seemed soothed by her extolment. She had added one last gibe that he would make a good little housewizard one day. Severus said nothing, but gave her another one of his unreadable smiles.

Trying not to get nervous that maybe she had been a little ‘too forward’ herself, Hermione studied the table. The smell wafting from the lamb chops in front of her made her mouth water. A bottle of Bordeaux wine was open and left to breathe. Once her eyes alighted upon the unpretentious arrangement of flowers and greens in the small vase, she began analyzing the flowers and their symbolism. She understood immediately the significance of the peppermint and the fern, but when she saw the blue salvia, her heart began to swell in her chest.

'Blue salvia: I think of you.'

It touched her more deeply than any bow or kiss of her hand. Hermione knew that a Potions master, such as Severus, would never randomly pick flowers without thinking upon the meaning behind them. It was the symbolic meaning of flowers and herbs that were frequently was associated with the medicinal properties of the plants.

'He thinks of me.'

Hermione felt pinpricks of tears forming behind her eyes. She was sincerely moved. Though flowers normally made her depressed, as she usually associated them with funerals, she wondered if maybe part of it was due to the fact that Ron never bought her flowers. She had always been a little jealous of other witches at work receiving flowers from their beaus. Ron had admitted that he never properly romanced her; her realizing that he had never bought her flowers, even before her aversion to them, made her tears spill down her cheek.

Just as she wiped away her few tears and sniffled, Severus emerged from the kitchen with the ratatouille and bread.

Hermione beamed a genuinely grateful smile towards him, and hoped that he didn't notice that she had been crying.

Severus wondered what had prompted that misty look in Hermione's eyes.

“I'm sorry if I seemed ungrateful for my remarks in the kitchen earlier,” she apologized. “I hope you know that I am extremely grateful for everything that you do. Making me feel so welcomed, dancing lessons, cooking for me, the flowers...” The brunette witch looked up at him to convey that the meaning of the flowers were not lost on her, and that she appreciated his sentiments.

Severus set down the items in his hands and was suddenly flustered. He felt awkward and unsure, now that Hermione had acknowledged the flowers on the table, and her possible interpretation of his purpose behind their selection. It didn't help the intense fluttering in his stomach with the way she was looking at him with those big brown eyes.

“I... It is no bother for me.” Feeling like a silly schoolboy with a crush, he dismissed his discomfit further by adding, “No need to thank me.”

But Severus was thankful for her gratitude. He felt appreciated, and that alone made thoughts of retribution for her ill-sense of humor flee from his mind.

To break the awkward silence that settled between them, though it was only Severus who actually felt uncomfortable, as he sat down he inquired, “So, how has your week been so far?”

Hermione was amused. She noticed that Severus was a bit unnerved by her remarks. It was sweet and equally astounding that a man who exuded confidence had become suddenly shy. She was awed when she quickly remembered how he had mentioned that he had never become friends with a witch like he had with her. Something had felt different from the time Severus answered the door that night, and Hermione wondered if he was feeling something deeper for her than just casual attraction.

Suddenly remembering that Severus was still waiting for an answer, she replied, “Do you want the good news or bad news first?”

“That depends. How good is the good news, and how bad is the bad news?” the raven-haired wizard responded.

“Well, the bad news is kind of bad with a good twist, or bad depending on your point of view, though I believe you would think it ended well.” Hermione paused. “I'm rambling, aren't I?”

“Yes, you are,” Severus said dryly, not refuting her.

“Fine, the bad news first. Counseling went rather poorly. I lost my temper and decked my husband,” Hermione confessed boldly.

“And this is a bad thing because...?” Severus was glad that Hermione had finally put up a fight against the abusive, ill-tempered moron she had married.

“Because I lost my temper due to more name-calling, and I should not have lost my temper like that.”

“True,” Severus agreed. “You could have played the guilt card and made him look even worse in the eyes of the counselor. Now the counselor will have some sympathy for your husband since you attacked him twice in the Muggle's presence. You are no longer looking like the brow-beaten wife anymore. You should have waited until you got home before giving it to him. Though a curse can be very effective, there is something very satisfying in the physical act. I do hope that you did not hurt yourself in the process.”

Hermione sat there a little taken aback by Severus’ comments. It seemed a little underhanded and manipulative, but Hermione had to admit there was a certain appeal to his logic. It wasn't a noble tactic, but it would have made Ron look more like the villain he had been to Hermione through all his poor behavior towards her over the years. It would require a level of resentment and spite for her to carry it out at the next appointment.

“I'll take it under advisement,” she noted. “And my hand is not worse for wear, after a friend healed it.”

“And the good news?” he prompted her, making a mental note to ask Ginny if she had been the one who healed Hermione's hand. Then rapidly crossing it off his list, as he realized that would only prompt Ginny to make more off-handed remarks about him and Hermione.

“That there is some justice in this world,” Hermione proclaimed. “I just heard that Trevor Spawn's pending apprenticeship has been rescinded. I am guessing that word got back to Potions master Dobmeir about the boy's incompetence, especially with him almost burning down the Ministry, and Dobmeir revoked his apprenticeship offer.” There was an unmistakable self-satisfied smile plastered on her face.

Severus wondered if Miss Brown's lawyers were the ones who had succeeded in finally getting the obligation and promise of an apprenticeship overturned, or if the boy's father had accepted the return of the fee. He had avoided Miss Brown's request for his company over the past few days, and wondered if this was one of the reasons she had summoned him. This was definitely good news for Miss Brown and all other affected parties, potentially Hermione as well.

“That is good news,” Severus replied with warm sincerity.

“Pity I'm too old to be accepted as an apprentice, otherwise I'd jump at the chance to fill in the position,” Hermione added, her voice filled with regret.

There was a moment where Severus contemplated telling Hermione the position was hers for the asking, but that meant an explanation of his need for her and the Polyjuice ingredients, his plan for escape, and everything associated with that tale. Besides, he would only tell her of the apprenticeship opportunity once she had agreed to provide him the necessary ingredients, as mentioning it beforehand would be misconstrued as blackmail, at least in Hermione's eyes.

He did drop one subtle hint in his vague reply: “Well, you never know.”

Hermione took Severus’ comment to be one of consolation to her circumstances. She launched into an in-depth debate with Severus over the article in Obscure Oozes & Fabulous Fluids he had recommended. They spent the rest of dinner talking about that one article.

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

As they sat on the settee while dinner settled, Hermione noticed how Severus' hand would begin to creep towards hers periodically. She made no effort to move her hand. It was charming how Severus would catch what he was doing and remove his hand from the seat and place it on the back of the settee or on his knee; sometimes he would busy his hands with his cup of tea. There were moments when Hermione swore Severus seemed cross with himself for trying to touch her, and that made her want to reach out and touch him more than she already wanted to.

Time passed too quickly for them, as they both lost track of time in each other's presence, and it was time to begin the dance lesson. Since their brush with temptation in the kitchen, they had avoided all physical contact with one another. Now, they would both have their strength of will tested with tonight's dance lesson and close proximity.

Severus did not care for Swing dancing. He felt it had none of the grace and elegance of the waltz, none of the sophistication of the Foxtrot, and none of the sensual passion of the Tango. It was all just a bunch of shuffling feet and flopping hands. Once Hermione seemed to grasp the basic moves of Swing dancing, Severus set the music box to play a variety of music so that they could practice all three styles of dancing they had been working on.

Pulling her close as they changed tempo to move in time with a slower song, Severus found the closeness of Hermione intoxicating. His head spun as if he had completed a series of barrel rolls on a broom.

As part of his Potions apprenticeship years ago, Severus was forced to drink several different potions in order to understand the physical effects on his own body. His master had always had an antidote ready to take once the potion had reached its maximum effect. One of the potions he had drunk that he still clearly remembered to this day was a Love Potion. All the effects were very distinct: light-headedness and/or dizziness, euphoria, possible giddiness, the urge to sigh frequently, a lack of concentration, obsessive thoughts about the object of affection, decreased appetite, poor sleep, bouts of uncharacteristic emotions and behaviors, and upset stomach (characterized by a butterfly-like sensation). Years later it seemed as though he was struck once more by many of those very same symptoms, especially with Hermione so close to him. However, the difference between the Love Potion and what he was currently experiencing was that this was brought on naturally. There was no antidote to what he was feeling towards Hermione, and he did not want to be cured of his condition. The only remedy was for Hermione to stay with him in his arms; only then would Severus not suffer from withdrawal when she would have to leave at the end of their night.

They continued dancing a slow Foxtrot, Hermione eventually resting her head against his chest and shoulder. Tilting his head to one side, Severus discreetly inhaled the scent of her hair, enjoying the softness of her waves and curls piled up on top of her head as they brushed against his cheek and temple.

Severus had taken for granted many of the simple things in life when he was younger, and he had learned the hard way the beauty of simplicity: a bowl of hot soup and good bread on a cold and miserable day; the first sip of wine as its flavors washed over the tongue and caressed the palate; the enjoyment of a good book in front of a crackling fire, and the warmth of a woman's body pressed to his as they swayed to the music. He wished that time and the world outside of his flat would freeze, and that they could spend the rest of eternity just wrapped in each other's arms, as the ex-Death Eater knew that it rarely got better than that very moment. It was sentimental wishing, and though Severus was not prone to being maudlin, even he could not deny that this was a moment that he would remember clearly in his old age and look back upon fondly.

As the evening progressed, Severus noticed Hermione's temperament reflected the mood of each song. While dancing the Tango, it seemed there was a smoldering fire that burned behind her brown eyes, and as they danced to Swing music, her mood lightened and she laughed gaily as Severus twirled and spun her about. They stopped for a while to rest and drink some refreshments as they caught their breath. Dancing and chatting the rest of the night away, the pair were completely unaware that Saturn was stealing sands of time from their hourglass. It was only when the clock on the mantle chimed midnight that Hermione and Severus became aware that the night was at an end.

As per their ritual, Severus fetched Hermione's cloak and helped her slip it on. Being a little more forward than the last time, he brushed the entire back of his hand along the side of her neck.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed aloud, turning her head to the side, instinctually inviting him to touch her a little more.

Severus held back. What point was there to partake of what he could not fully enjoy? Her body may have invited him, but she had made it clear that only after her anniversary would she give him a definitive answer. There was something noble in her promise to be true to her husband, though the bloody arse did not deserve such loyalty. It made Severus hope that if she agreed to help him and Draco – as well as Ginny – escape, that she would hold true to her promise. It spoke of her character, and though he would have preferred an answer anyway, it made her a witch of integrity in his eyes.

'Three more meetings and then I will know. Three more meetings and then I will remove my mask,' Severus promised himself. Now he was not waiting until Hermione was ready to deal with the fact that it was “Severus Snape,” but for the simple act that he would wait for her.

Whether her answer was yes or no, he could no longer delay the inevitable. After her anniversary on the twenty-first, there would be no more need for dance lessons. The season for the first batches of boomslang skin to begin arriving from Africa was approaching soon, and it was always a short season at that.

When Hermione noticed that she was still standing there with her head cocked to one side and Severus did not make another move based on her non-verbal encouragement, she righted herself, cleared her throat, and turned to face the wizard.

“I had another lovely night, all thanks to you,” Hermione professed, turning her eyes up and knowing the desire she felt for him was painted plainly on her face.

Severus did not trust himself to speak at this point. If he opened his mouth, he would no doubt say something gushing or fawning in nature, only to later cringe at the memory of it. But he should, out of courtesy, respond to Hermione.

He went on the principle of less is more, and only after practicing it in his head once to make sure it sounded eloquent and simple, Severus replied, “Monday I for await eagerly night.”

There! He kept it brief, elusive, and open to interpretation without misconstruing his desire to see her again. He said that he eagerly awaited for Monday night. But he couldn't understand what Hermione was smiling so broadly about. There seemed to be almost humor behind her eyes.

Hermione swore she would not laugh. The sound of his voice was so seductive and lulling, but when Severus' words came out all jumbled up, it took a Herculean effort not to bust up guffawing on the spot. She did not think that Severus, a man who has always came across as very dignified, would like a woman laughing over the fact that he had totally rearranged the words in his sentence. Instead, she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she was sure it was bleeding, while she still smiled sweetly at him. More than anything, it flattered her that a man such as Severus could be so discombobulated over her. It made her feel more alluring than she had felt in a very long while.

“I eagerly await for Monday night, too,” Hermione echoed.

Severus escorted her to the door. He weighed the option of kissing her hand, but was preempted when Hermione turned and slipped her arms around his chest and hugged him tightly. Severus returned the hug, fighting the urge to not let go of her. When her hands slipped from his back, he forced him own hands to retreat and opened the door.

She walked through the door and out into the corridor. When Hermione did not hear the door click shut after a few paces, she turned and regarded Severus. He was still standing in the door frame, watching her go. Though he had his mask on, Hermione could see the look of longing in his eyes.

Hermione recalled Malfoy looking at Ginny with a look of longing that day she had caught them together, and now she knew why Ginny risked everything to keep coming back to Malfoy.

For Hermione, it was that look on Severus’ face that made her feel not just alluring, but beautiful inside. That glowing beauty that cannot be bought from a store or sold in a jar. She would do anything to keep Severus looking at her like that forever. But she did not have forever, and it was past midnight.

She could have blown him a kiss, but she didn't. Hermione turned and left.

Severus leaned over the railing and watched Hermione until he could no longer gaze upon her form.

Once back in his flat, the place seemed empty, but for the lingering presence of Hermione's scent. With a flick of his wand, he unfolded his bed from against the wall and gracefully fell upon it.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Severus finally realized he had switched all the words in his parting to Hermione. With certain amount of resignation, and surprisingly without disgust, he admitted aloud, “I am a besotted lovesick fool.”

============
A/N: Flower symbolism used in this chapter:
Azalea - Take care of yourself for me; fragile passion; temperance; Chinese symbol of womanhood; Fern – Sincerity; Peppermint - Warmth of feelings; Salvia (blue) - I think of you.
For those of you who are not familiar with the term “sophont”, here is a definition and the origin of the word: an intelligent being, including humans as well as intelligent aliens. “We found an article by Poul Anderson in which he credited Karen Anderson with coining the word: we also received email from Karen confirming this, so the first use in print of this word will be found somewhere amongst the works of Poul Anderson. We would like to verify the usage in the 1966 first edition of the Trouble Twisters, or in any earlier work by Anderson.” http://www.jessesword.com/sf/view/298
Severus was kind enough to let me watch and take notes when he made his Ratatouille. Our dear Potions master was very exact in how he diced and sliced everything, you do not need to be so precise.
Severus' Ratatouille
1 ½ medium Onions
½ lb Zucchini/Courgette
½ lb Eggplant/Aubergine
½ lb Mushrooms
¼ lb Green Pepper
1 lb ripe Tomatoes
4 Tablespoons Olive Oil
3 large cloves of Garlic (1 heaping Tbl)
1 teaspoon Oregano
1 Tbl Basil
¼ tsp ground Thyme
¼-½ tsp Salt
Pepper to taste
Directions:
Peel and cut the aubergine into ¾ to 1 inch cubes. Toss with 1 – 2 Tbl of olive oil. Place the oiled aubergine on a baking sheet and roast for 20 to 25 minutes in a 350F degree oven.
While the aubergine is roasting in the oven, dice the onion, halve and slice the courgettes (if the courgettes are large, quarter then slice), slice the mushrooms. Dice the green pepper and tomatoes into ½ – ¾ inch pieces. Mince the garlic.
Place the remaining olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven, turn heat on high and add the diced onions, and sliced mushrooms. Sauté until the onions begin to become translucent then add the garlic. Sauté for a few more minutes then add the sliced courgette and green pepper. Cook for five minutes then add the diced tomatoes, roasted aubergine, herbs and seasoning.
Simmer on low heat for twenty to thirty minutes covered, then simmer for another twenty minutes uncovered.
Serves four to six people, depending on how much they like ratatouille. Warning, do not consume large quantities of ratatouille in one sitting.
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After