WARNING: This was written on a dare. It's also the first het that I've written in over ten years!

BETA: Thank Kai, who held my hand through this traumatic experience.

Severus Snape was bored.

He looked around the staff table, at his colleagues, and stifled a yawn.

Merlin! If he had to hear once more about Minerva's adventures as a cat, or Hooch's complaints about the flying skills of this past year's Hufflepuff beaters, or...

Or *anything*, he would scream.

As was, the urge to cast Silencio on all of them was overwhelming. His hand itched for his wand and that was not a good sign.

Usually when he felt this way, he'd swoop out of the room and either go snarl at some students or slam his lab door behind him, finding surcease in the one, comfort in the other.

But the students had left not yet a week ago for the summer and he was bored with his lab these days. Blasphemy, but all too true. He'd spent the last two days sitting on a stool in his lab, elbows propped on his knees, his chin on his fisted hands, staring out of the only window he hadn't spelled away.

He couldn't remember feeling this bored since he'd been a student.

"I'm going away," he surprised himself by saying it aloud.

Those near him suddenly fell silent. The silence rippled along both sides of the table.

"What's that, Severus?" Albus had sensed the stone that had cast the ripples but not heard the words.

"I said, Albus, that I'm going away."

Albus shook his head in disbelief.

"You're...going *away*? Is this what you've said, Severus?"

Merlin! The old coot was getting deafer than a doorknob!

Severus stood up. Carefully, clearly, slowly, he enunciated, "I. Am going. Away."

Yes, well, more stunned faces. Looking at each other as though for confirmation of his words.

"When will you be back, Severus?" Minerva leaned forward, asking for the whole table.

He shrugged. "In time for the start of classes." Maybe. He supposed.

Jaws were dropping.

"Are you certain..." Minerva began then wisely shut her mouth.

Well, all right. He could understand their reactions. Apart from anything to do with Voldemort, or his annual trip to Diagon Alley for supplies and new robes, or to Hogsmeade for the occasional butterbeer, he hadn't left the school grounds in twenty years.

"Now that Voldemort is dead, immolated, and his dust incinerated, there is no need for me to remain here." He glared at Albus. "Is there?"

He allowed his tone to drip with his usual sarcasm, hiding the fact that he suddenly wasn't certain he would be allowed to leave the grounds. That had been one of the conditions when he had been released into Albus's custody all those years ago. There had been no time set, but surely, now that his role in the downfall of the Dark Lord was well known and documented, he would be allowed his freedom?

"No," said Albus, his voice reassuring. "None at all, Severus. Have a lovely holiday. Merlin knows, you deserve one."

Many heads nodded in agreement. Minerva even smiled at him. "Yes, Severus, do have a lovely holiday."

"Where are you going?" Hooch barked in her usual dulcet tones.

He raised a disdainful eyebrow and smirked, "I'll send you a postcard." And with that, he bowed slightly to the table, gathered his robes about him and went off to pack for....

Who knew where?

He certainly didn't have any idea. All he knew was that he had to get away.

Hermione Granger sighed unhappily as she shoved a pencil into her hair. The doorbell rang again and she pushed away from her desk, wondering who the bloody hell was ringing at this time of the night. If it was Ron, or Harry, or the twins, she'd kill them.

Well, not really. It was just that she was not in the mood for visitors, not when this bloody assignment was due tomorrow. She'd thought herself done with it, ready to hand in her usual week early. Unfortunately, the sudden public disavowal by one of her main sources that most of his data had been plagiarized, had meant additional hours of research, finding alternate sources. She normally didn't mind spending hours in the library but, this time, the reason irked her greatly.

Not that Harry or Ron or whoever was bound to understand her frustration at handing in an assignment at deadline.

Since the end of Voldemort, it seemed that all the males she knew were living it up, still celebrating at the least excuse, even though it had been over three years. Well, her mother had warned her that males, on the whole, were more easily distracted and took life far less seriously. It was her lot in life that the wizards she knew were either like that, or pompous like Percy Weasley or Neville Longbottom, now that he had found his niche in life, the Department of Rules and Regulations for Anything That Doesn't Move.

She peered through the peephole, checking to see who it was. Whoever it was had his/her back turned to the door, a large, floppy, soft hat on his/her head.

She slipped her wand into her hand before cracking the door open. "Yes?"

The person had already taken a step down, probably thinking that she wasn't going to answer. At her voice, he/she turned around and ...

"Professor Snape?!"

"Good evening, Miss Granger. I..."

Dear heavens, thought Hermione, Snape speechless? She pulled open the door, now afraid something had happened and that Snape was bringing her bad news. "Sir. Do come in, please."

With a small nod, he stepped past her and into the hallway of her flat. She didn't know which surprised her most: that he was here, or that he was dressed in a hodgepodge of Muggle clothing, looking like some derelict... .

He took off the sad excuse for a hat and scattered droplets of water on the floor of the hallway. It was, of course, raining again as it had been all week. With a hesitant smile, she took it and the equally sad excuse for a coat and hung them up so that they might have a chance at drying. She caught a nervous snicker: maybe it was that Arthur Weasley's sense of Muggle "fashion" was not all that irregular after all. Snape's finery would have fit in beautifully among those of the wizards who had attended the Quidditch Cup.

He waited for her to precede him into the room she used as her study/living room.

After a slightly uncomfortable moment – during which the Professor looked curiously around the room and she mentally chastised herself for not doing any housework since...since...since the last time her parents had visited, which was a couple of months ago – she moved to clear off the most comfortable chair, dropping the books and scrolls onto a relatively clear spot by another chair, which was also laden down. She really needed to find a larger flat, or figure out a way of spelling bookcases to hang from the ceiling.

"May I offer you something, sir? I have some fairly decent sherry. Or some tea?"

Professor Snape sat in the chair and pointed to the cup that stood beside the journal she'd been reading. "What are you drinking, Miss Granger?"

"Hot chocolate." She shrugged. "The night is damp with all this rain and ..."

"That sounds delightful, Miss Granger. If it's not too much bother."

Hermione wondered if her eyes were popping out of her head. Snape, polite? And not snarling, not sarcastic. Dear Merlin! The news had to be bad!

She walked quickly into her small kitchen and used her wand to assemble the materials needed. She forced herself to calm down by concentrating on heating the milk to the right degree and finding the bit of brandy she had left over from Solstice. Not enough to offer as a choice, but enough to add a little punch to the chocolate.

Snape hadn't moved from the chair though his head swivelled back to her as she entered the room. It was obvious that he'd been checking out her overloaded bookcases. He stood up, moving a few of the documents on her desk, carefully placing them obliquely so that they would be easy to separate from the pile under. She thanked him with a smile and set the tray down. Besides the hot chocolate, she'd found there were enough chocolate chip/pecan biscuits left in the tin that her mother sent her regularly to offer to a guest, as long as he wasn't too hungry and she settled for only one.

Snape took his cup and a biscuit back to the chair with him and Hermione pulled up the small ottoman that she kept clear for that purpose. She took a sip of her drink while the Professor tried his, clearly appreciating the brandy she'd added.

"Sir," she broke the silence, "what's happened?"

She'd kept her voice as even-keeled as possible, but some of her worry must have slipped by because Snape set the cup back down on his knees and stared at it a moment. Finally, he looked up and Hermione braced herself.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I never considered how my appearance at this time of the night and," he looked down at himself, "in this garb might be interpreted. I apologize. Nothing has happened. Voldemort is still very dead. To the best of my knowledge, your friends are still hale and hearty, doing whatever it is they do these days. I'm certain the staff at Hogwarts would have been delighted to send you their best had they known I was going to be seeing you."

Hermione sighed, letting go of whatever fear she'd been trying to ignore. But that still begged the question...

"Then what am I doing here?" he asked for her. He looked about the room for a moment as though making a decision. "Miss Granger, I need your help."

Hermione hoped that her mouth really hadn't dropped open. She took a moment to place her cup carefully down onto the floor then folded her hands onto her knees. "Sir."

He nodded, not allowing her to continue. "Yes, I know. A Slytherin asking a Gryffindor for help. Not normal circumstances, Miss Granger." His voice was coldly unemotional. "I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time." And he stood up, placing the cup on the arm of the chair, as though ready to depart.

"No!" She stood up. "No, sir. That's not why I ... Well, why I'm a little speechless. Please, professor, do sit down. I was braced for bad news and I'm a little sluggish..."

He just looked at her, then surprised her yet again by sighing loudly and sat, looking very discouraged to her mind.

"I'm sorry my appearance was the cause of such concern. I'm not very good at this. This asking for help. This...this visiting former students. This..." He gestured hopelessly with a hand. "This whole holiday thing."

Hermione found her ottoman and stared at him. "Holiday, sir?"

Snape sighed even more loudly, looking a little more dejected than normal. "Holiday, Miss Granger. I understand them to be relaxing occasions, even adventuresome occasions. But I've never been on one in my entire life and the details of it seem to be beyond me."

He looked at her and gave a hint of a sheepish smile.

Hermione couldn't tell which stunned her the most: the idea of Snape on holiday, coming to her for help, or the smile. Hell, she couldn't ever remember seeing Snape *smile*!

And he'd taken up his cup again, playing with it almost...nervously.

Hermione took a gulp of her drink, more for the brandy than the hot chocolate. Could she be suffering from a hallucination? Could Post- Traumatic Stress Syndrome suddenly show up, three years after the fact, just like that? She took another swallow of her drink.

"All right," she said carefully, "maybe it would be best if you began at the beginning, professor."

So he did. About being bored. About his thinking that all he had to do for a holiday was leave the familiarity of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley for somewhere new and, so far, that had proved to be a fiasco.

"I have no idea where to go or what to do, Miss Granger. My..." he shook his head ruefully. "My pride will not allow me to return to Hogwarts until I indicated I would. And I never thought of asking any of them for ideas as... Well, my pride again. I don't want any of them to know that I'm so incompetent and foolhardy when it comes to things that they do so easily. I can't remain in the wizard part of Britain as word would get back to them that all I'm doing is sitting around, staring at the walls. I thought it might be easier on the Muggle side, but since I have very little experience with this lifestyle..." He set the cup down on the arm of the chair. "Then I remembered that you were tacking classes in London and I thought you, as a Muggle-bred witch, might have some suggestions."

Hermione cocked her head, watching the man whose fingers were tightly clasped on his lap. As her former Potions instructor, he had scared the wits out of her. As a fellow combatant against the powers of Voldemort, she had grown to respect him. His courage, his daring. They'd been a select group, composed of Harry and six other especially chosen students. It was only after Voldemort had been eliminated by Harry that she'd finally understood that, much he had been mentoring them, Snape had also been protecting them to the best of his abilities. Some of the scars he bore on his body were due to his stepping in between them and possible injury.

"Why did you do it?" Hermione found the courage to ask now. "Step in so often when we were in danger of...of whatever?"

Snape blinked at the change of subject then sat back in the chair. Once more she saw the Potions instructor about to snap at her for having her hand up when no one else did. She felt her spine stiffen but the snarl never came. Instead, Snape shrugged.

"You were all so young and Potter needed you. And not just you and Ronald Weasley, but he didn't need to have the memories of any fellow student's blood on his hands." Snape suddenly found his own hands very interesting. "I...I know what that's like and I didn't think it would be good for him. Or for any of you."

Hermione thought a moment and frowned. She crossed her arms and scoffed. "So it wasn't because you might have liked us for ourselves? I mean, after all, you did spend so much time with us, our last year at Hogwarts. All that special training. Was it only at the Headmaster's behest?"

Snape shrugged. "What would it have mattered? You were the ones closest to Harry Potter and we needed him to win."

She cocked her head again, examining him. Not as a professor but as a man who had been there at their sides, fighting alongside them. The wizard who had pushed her, with no consideration of her fatigue, far beyond what she had thought were her natural magical abilities. He'd been a particular hard taskmaster with those whom the Headmaster had selected for special training. But he'd kept them all alive. "Did you ever think," she spoke softly, "that maybe we might have been worried about you? That we didn't want your blood on our hands?"

No, obviously – from the astonishment on his face – he hadn't.

She shook her head. "Professor, may I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer. I won't take offense if you don't."

He waited a moment before nodding. She saw him go very still and wondered what he was bracing himself to hear.

"Professor, how old are you?"

Not what he was expecting: he looked too surprised. Still, it didn't seem as though he would answer her. She picked up the pot of chocolate to refill their cups.

"I'm 42, Miss Granger."

She hid her own surprise under the guise of refilling his cup. Damn, she'd forgotten that he'd been at Hogwarts at the same time with the Marauders. Because of the lines on his face, she'd thought him an easy decade older than that. And now that she did think of it, that meant he probably hadn't been much older than her present age during the first rising of Voldemort. "Young by wizard standards, professor," she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

His smile was not all that pleasant. "Old in experience, Miss Granger."

She smiled at him as she offered him the plate of biscuits. "So, what did you have in mind by way of a holiday, Professor?"

He accepted a biscuit and took a bite before he answered. "I don't really know. All I know is that I had to get away. Not just from Hogwarts and everyone there, but from wizardry. I went to Gringotts and changed money. I went to the Muggle Clothing Section of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and was outfitted. What?"

She'd snickered and not been able to hide it. "I was wondering who'd been your fashion consultant."

Snape sighed again. He looked at himself. The plaid trousers were too large for his hips and arse, the length too short for his legs. The canary yellow sweater that he wore over the kelly green shirt made his complexion even more sallow than normal. "Yes, well, I'd already concluded from several looks I've received and comments I've overheard that my attempts to fit in are not a success."

"Where have you been staying, professor?"

"In a little B&B that Arthur Weasley recommended. Seems some of our people use it whenever they have work to do in Muggle London. It's comfortable, but its clientele defeats the purpose of this holiday."

Moved by the moroseness of his tone, Hermione leaned over and impetuously found herself patting Snape's knee in sympathy.

"If you're willing to wait until tomorrow afternoon, professor, after which I'm free for at least a fortnight, I would be more than happy to help you plan a holiday. A real holiday. Something that will please you and help you relax as well as suit you."

She almost expected him to bite her head off for the liberties she was taking with his person. Instead, he nodded and looked appreciative of her offer.

He was sitting on her stoop, his elbows on his knees, chin propped up on his fists, watching the traffic, when she made her way back from university. He was still wearing that horrible outfit. She hoped it hadn't been someone with a Weasley twin sense of humour who had outfitted him, because she discovered she didn't find it funny.

That would have to be the first thing they dealt with. No matter where the professor decided to go on his holiday, he would need clothes and she intended to see that he was properly garbed.

He politely rose to his feet when he caught sight of her. She smiled at him, waved and carefully crossed the street at the light. He nodded but didn't look all that enthusiastic. Oh, dear.

He did wait until she had unlocked her door and followed her in to stand just inside the hallway, preventing her from shutting the door. "I've thought it over. This was a foolish notion on my part and I've decided to return to Hogwarts. Thank you for offering..."

She glared at him. "Running off, professor?"

He stared at her, face losing its apologetic expression, replacing it with his about-to-snarl professorial look.

"I didn't expect that of you," she added, turning her back to him, leaving him to deal with the open door while she entered the living room, tossing her satchel to one side. She held her breath until she heard the door close and steps *inside* the hallway. She'd hoped he'd rise to her challenge.

"I am not running off, Miss Granger," he snarled in his usual tones, giving her a sense of the Snape she had known. "It is simply that, in the light of day, I have had to acknowledge the folly of my actions."

She turned to face him, her face stern. "And which one was the folly? The acknowledgement that you are in need of a holiday? The fact that you are obviously overdue for one? Or is it that you have lowered yourself both as a Slytherin *and* a pure-blood in asking for the help of a Gryffindor Mudblood?"

"None of the above," he snapped at her.

"Really?" she sneered back.

"The folly was in my thinking that I could do something like normal people...normal wizards did."

She cocked her head and smiled at him, taking him by surprise. "So far the biggest folly is the one you are about to commit," she said kindly. "Sit down, Severus." Another surprise that, her use of his name. "I'm making us tea and while I am, you will prepare a list of things that you've always wanted to do. Or that you think you might like to do. For fun." She pointed to her desk overflowing with research documents that she needed to return to the university library. "If you hunt, I'm certain that you'll find ink and quill...somewhere in that mess."

Which he did. But when she placed the tray down, she noticed that the paper was blank. He accepted a cup – three sugars, no milk – and watched in silence as she picked up the paper.

His voice sadly calm, he said, "I have no idea what I would like to do. Nor what might be fun. My potions have always held that place in my life."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Learning is still something that I do for more than education, but because it is something I love doing. Still, professor, life requires a balance, you know."

He stared at the contents of his cup. "Yes, well, until relatively lately, whatever free time I had was taken up with..."

"With saving us, no matter which House we came from." She smiled at him though her voice was business-like. "All right, first things first."

He reached under the horrible yellow sweater and pulled out a flat wallet. Without a thought, he opened it, revealing that it was a magical one, thickly filled with hundred pound notes. "Unless mistaken, I believe money always comes first."

She caught her breath and waved at him to put the wallet away. "Professor, if you are going to remain in the Muggle world for any length of time, you must never show that wallet to anyone. People have been killed for less."

His eyebrow rose high and his expression considering. "So life is no safer here among Muggles than it is among wizards."

"Life, professor, is never safe anywhere where that amount of money is concerned."

Well, at least she could get him dressed properly without worrying about emptying his purse.

An hour later she was equally empty of ideas. A series of questions had elicited the reluctant information that Severus Snape had never been off British soil in his life. He'd remained home as a child until he'd been sent to Hogwarts. He'd spent the school holidays at the school during the academic year, summers back at the family house under the supervision of house elves and an elderly cousin while his parents had travelled, *without* him. After graduation, he'd worked for Voldemort, basically seeing only the inside of his lab.

She was rather taken aback to hear the conditions of his release when he'd returned to Hogwarts and Dumbledore. The Ministry had wanted to control his movements to the point where he needed Dumbledore's expressed permission to visit Hogsmeade. Moreover, he had to be accompanied should he need to go to Diagon Alley for his supplies. The only "freedom" he'd had was when Voldemort sent for him. After the first elimination of Voldemort, she was astonished to hear that the restrictions on his movements had not been eased.

"Not that it mattered much," Snape confessed over yet another pot of tea. "I was too pleased to have time by myself in my lab."

"But after it was all over this time, didn't you feel the need to get out?"

He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I did get out, to the Ministry's celebrations, but even with the Order of Merlin, First Class, people looked askance at me more often than not and I preferred to remain at Hogwarts."

Damn, thought Hermione, they should have noticed. *She* should have even if the boys hadn't. But after the initial celebrations, she'd gone off to university to make her parents happy. "Muggle university, Hermione dear, just in case you need something to fall back on." She was taking a combined degree: Mathematics and Astronomy. She'd be able to use both when she apprenticed in Arithmancy after she'd gotten her PhD.

"But surely there are things you'd like to see, professor. Things or places you've read about and would like to see with your own eyes."

Snape shrugged. "I know very little about the world outside of Potions."

She shook her head at him. "You've proven my mother right, professor. That too much specialization is not a good thing. Well, I think the very first thing we need to do is kit you out properly. So come along, professor. Let's see what you really look like in properly fitting decent Muggle clothes."

Damn.

He looked good.

He'd wanted black of course. His comfortable black. She'd taken him to a men's store that catered to the casual look. It began with a decent pair of black half-boots to replace heel-trodden ones. Then a pair of jeans that the salesclerk brought in a size the professor thought was too small but that Hermione was stunned to see revealed a long set of straight legs, a firm and appealing arse and... Well, a bulge at the front that reminded her all too well of the Muggle association of the length of nose and feet in relation to another part of male anatomy.

Holy shit, she told herself, if only the females at Hogwarts had known all those years what that long flowing robe had hidden!

To the black jeans, the clerk added a tight, silk knit, crew neck sweater that made Hermione re-evaluate the muscular strength required to stir the contents of a cauldron for hours without tiring. Snape was what her mother would have called wiry. Hermione preferred slim and fit. The sweater clung to the lines of Snape's chest in a way that made her fingers itch to trace its contours.

As the clerk brought some shirts and a soft cashmere sweater that made Hermione drool, she took a good look at the man whom she had seen, until then, only as a strict instructor with excellent wizardry skills.

The hair was not greasy right now, probably due to the fact that Snape had not spent the last few days hovering over a steaming cauldron. It needed a good cut and Hermione added that to her mental list of to-dos.

The face was not handsome, but it was interesting, in an intense sort of way. The eyes were alive with intelligence and wit, even if that wit could be double-edged. The nose... Well, now, she viewed the long, sharp, slightly battered nose in an entirely different manner.

The cheekbones were high, defined, adding to the sharpness of the face. The mouth was...

She took a good look at that mouth.

The lips were thin, but the lower one was thicker than the upper. Eminently interesting. She wondered how they might feel...

The neck was long, with a slight Adam's apple that made her lips hungry...

And the shoulders just begged to be touched...

Holy shit! She was looking at her former Potions instructor as a...as a sex object.

And her former Potions instructor was proving to be a very appealing sex object.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, trying to realign her mental image of the old Snape with this new one. Unfortunately, as she opened them, the tip of Snape's tongue was slowly making its way across that lower lip, as it had whenever he'd worked out what was wrong with some student's potion. Except this time, Hermione found that it made her wriggle in her chair for reasons different from those in the classroom.

And then the idea came to her.

She wondered if...

Why not? Snape had more than enough money on him and...

Oh, dear. Her mother would be so disappointed to know that her daughter had a degenerate streak in her.

She signalled the clerk over and whispered two words into his ear. The man straightened and looked Snape over, eyes squinting. Then he smiled and nodded, disappearing for several minutes.

"Are you certain that this kind of clothing is acceptable, Miss Granger?" Snape was almost glaring at himself in the mirror.

"Please, do you think you could bring yourself to call me Hermione? Miss Granger sounds so...so formal and reminds me too much of the schoolroom."

He looked over his shoulder at her and nodded. "Hermione then. Hermione, do these look acceptable on me?"

She found his worry humanizing. "Yes, professor, very acceptable."

"Not...not too tight? And please, if you are to be Hermione, I am Severus."

Hermione smiled at him. "No, not too tight at all, Severus. That's how clothes are being worn this year. Why? Are you uncomfortable in them?"

He shrugged. "Not exactly my old suit, are they?"

"And I think you'll find these just perfect for your body type," said the clerk, handing Severus another pair of black trousers.

Except that these were in leather. A soft, supple, comfortable leather that would have made Hermione's jaw hit the floor had the clerk's not already been there.

"Oh sweet heaven!" murmured the clerk.

"Yes, indeed," Hermione agreed.

"A jacket," said the clerk. "Bomber style."

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Hermione.

Severus had been silent since leaving the store. He was carrying the bags that held his old boots, new t-shirts and knit boxers, two shirts and the cashmere sweater. Hermione had had the clerk find him a good pair of black slacks so that he would be able to dress a little more formally, if there was need. In deference – he had told himself several times, almost convincing himself – to the coolness of the day, even if it were the beginning of July, he wore the leather trousers with the jacket Hermione had insisted upon his buying.

He was not comfortable. Not because of the clothes, which were in themselves surprisingly so. But, now and then, people looked at him as they walked on to the hairstyling salon the clerk had recommended and they smiled. Damn, was he never...

He sighed, irritated, then stopped. Hermione didn't notice immediately and kept on walking. That was typical of his relations with people: they kept on going through life without any concern for him. Not that he should be a concern for them, but once in a while, it would be...nice...if someone...well, not *cared*, but *noticed*.

"Severus?"

He waited for her to come up to him. He put on his most disdainful face, the one he had used whenever Longbottom had messed up yet another simple potions.

"What's wrong?"

He was about to tell her when a short, thin, young man, wearing a flowing shirt, open – in spite of the temperature – to the navel, which could be seen due to the fact that the waistband of his jeans was barely at hip level, smiled at him, winked then whistled.

That was the end. He scowled at her. "Pleased with yourself, Miss Granger? Going to have a good laugh with your friends, are you? I should have known better than to trust a..."

"Stop right there!" she snapped at him. "What's happened? What's caused this turn-around, *professor*?"

"Turn-around, *Miss* Granger? Did you think that I would not eventually understand that this was an example of your sense...your *Muggle* sense of humour?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

So the little Mudblood had a temper, did she? Even if she was still speaking to him in a low tone as not to attract attention. Which, in spite of her efforts, they were.

"That, Miss Granger. I am talking about that. I am well aware that you don't like me but, as you yourself pointed out, I did save your fool lives and for that, you turn me into a figure of humour, of mockery."

"What are you..."

He glared at the Muggle still looking him up and down.

"There, you see. Yet another Muggle who thinks my garb is worthy of a smile."

He went to walk away when she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off the walkway into the entrance of a shop.

"They're not laughing at you, you idiot!" she hissed. "They're attracted to you."

He stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"They're looking at you because you are incredibly sexy."

Severus swallowed hard. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He'd been called many things in his life, but never...sexy?

"Miss Granger..."

"Look, Severus. It's very easy. In that leather, in black, you are very attractive to Muggles. You're not classically handsome but you are very attractive." She patted him gently on the arm. "Those people aren't laughing at you, Severus, they're *flirting* with you."

Severus shook his head. "I don't believe you."

She sighed. "*I* don't believe it. Holy shit, Severus, you really have no idea of just how marvelous you look in Muggle clothes. The *right* Muggle clothing." She slipped an arm under his and pulled him back into the traffic. "Well, you do."

He said nothing for several minutes, becoming aware of the eyes that looked him over, the small smiles, the one or two winks, not just from women but men. Of the fact that these did indeed seem to be approving rather than disapproving. That realization made him almost as uncomfortable as he had before been.

He quietly allowed Hermione to pull him into the salon where he was barely allowed to sit in one chair before he was directed to another. He kept his mouth shut, letting Hermione deal with the barber-person – hairstylist, he finally understood was the correct term. He was to get something called "a shaping".

But before that, he was moved to yet another chair, in order to be given a shampoo. He began to protest he'd already washed his hair just that morning, but at a look from the hairstylist's assistant, he desisted.

"With a scalp massage," Hermione suggested. "To help him relax a little." Then she added, "He's had a stressful day."

He liked the massage. He'd been reluctant to allow another's hands on his head, but once begun, he'd not been able to keep his eyes open, the action was so...soothing. It was with a certain reluctance he returned to the hairstylist.

He was less fond of the man who stood behind him, scissors in hand. He had never heard of split ends, so how should he have known to deal with them? And the man never once addressed him personally, talking instead through Hermione to him. And not even deigning to listen to her responses.

Still, when the man was done, Severus had to admit that he was a sort of magician with those scissors. He looked in the mirror and wondered who the hell was looking back at him. Not the man who had looked at him this morning from the mirror in the common washroom of the B&B. That man had looked tired, depressed with the realization that he had made a fool of himself. This man...this man looked younger. Looked...

In the mirror, he found Hermione's eyes and was surprised, and a little pleased, to see that she was nodding her head in approval. She was kind enough to wait until they were outside to exhale loudly and shake her head. "You are a very attractive man, Severus Snape. When you want to be."

He really didn't believe her of course, but he had to admit – if only to himself – that it was nice to hear.

Hermione steered Severus into the local pub for a quick beer before supper and then mentally chastised herself for that idea. She should have remembered it was end of Spring term for everyone, not just her.

"Herme! Over here!"

Hermione looked over the crowd and found the tall, busty woman with the long, blond, streaked hair waving them over to one of the only non-crowded tables. Tippy must have just gotten here herself; she was never alone for long. With a mental shrug, Hermione waved back.

Tippy Grayson was an American exchange student who was over here getting a little polishing. At least that was her story. Personally, Hermione thought it might have more to do with the rumour that Tippy had screwed her way through all her previous schools and her parents had now decided that far from home, though she certainly was not better behaved, at least they wouldn't hear of it.

Mind, Hermione thought, as she preceded Severus who was carrying both their drinks, Tippy was also great fun – Hermione found her to have a rather zany sense of humour – and she might just be what Severus needed.

"Hey, Herme, aren't you going to introduce us?"

As Severus placed the drinks down on the table, Hermione set down the two free chairs she had appropriated on the way and smiled at Tippy.

"Severus, may I introduce Tippy Grayson, who's from the United States. Tippy, Professor Severus Snape. He's on staff at the school I attended before coming here."

Tippy leaned over confidentially and whispered, "Holy shit, Herme, a *professor*?" She turned to Severus. Tippy had a way of making the American language curl toes when she wanted. And she wanted. "My," she purred, "I certainly would have paid far more attention in class if I had ever had a professor who looked like you, Severus."

Hermione saw that Severus looked a little taken aback not just by the tone, but also by the hand that curled itself around his arm. It would do him good, she assured herself, to talk to someone who found him interesting. Of course, the fact that Tippy found anything in trousers interesting...

"Miss Grayson."

"Oh, please, you must call me Tippy."

Her mouth seemed impolitely close to Severus's ear. Hermione hoped that Severus would not feel too invaded. She had noticed that he always stiffened a little whenever someone got too close to him.

"That's very kind of you. Tippy."

Hermione took a sip of her drink. Really, she'd never before noticed how red Tippy's long nails were. Must be the contrast of the colour against the black. Mind, they did look very much like claws, too, now that she thought about it.

"What do you teach, Severus?"

Hermione had never considered how many syllables could be accented in Severus's name. She did note that he looked at her, a little panicky, she thought. Yes, well, Potions was not a subject on Muggle curricula.

"Chemistry," she answered for him and he smiled a her. A little. Just the mere lightening of the lips but she caught it. She smiled back.

"Oh, not one of my best subjects. Mind you, it could have been with the right incentive. Do you provide incentive to your students, Severus?"

Yes, thought Hermione, just not the kind you're thinking of, you hussy.

"Self-discipline is in itself incentive enough," said Severus, wriggling a little uncomfortably. The look he sent Hermione suddenly screamed help.

She blinked then realized that Tippy's hand was no longer on Severus's arm, yet not in sight.

Shit!

The slut!

Hermione stood up. "Oh, look at the time. Severus, I'm afraid we have to be leaving if we want to make...to make it on time." She smiled, her most insincere smile, at Tippy who looked pleasingly disappointed. Severus stood up quickly, stepping back, putting the chair between himself and Tippy.

"Miss Grayson, it's been...interesting meeting you."

Tippy leaned over, her ample breasts nearly spilling out of the low-cut top she wore to advertise her wares. "I hope the pleasure is repeated soon, Severus."

Hermione took Severus by the arm and pulled him away. He didn't resist.

Once outside, he leaned against a wall and took a deep breath, fighting for composure. "Did you know... I... Her hand..."

Hermione shook herself mentally. She had wanted Severus to understand that his attraction was real, but she really should have chosen someone a little more diplomatic to get the message across.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I forgot that Tippy is a little enthusiastic whenever she finds herself drawn to a man."

"Enthusiastic? She was... I mean..."

Flustered Snape was someone Hermione had never met. He looked...cute. She slipped her arm under his and started off for her flat. There was enough food in the place for her to whip up a decent meal. Severus had had enough public exposure for a first time.

"She's American, Severus. They're more open about their feelings than we are."

"Open?" he gasped. "She was feeling me up!"

Hermione looked at the stunned expression on his face and felt a certain guilt as well as a sense of accomplishment. "Well, Severus, I did warn you that people found you very attractive in Muggle clothing."

Not to mention being drawn to the aura of power the man naturally carried: he hadn't been granted the Order of Merlin, First Class for his long eyelashes!

She wasn't certain that she was very pleased when he only nodded, looking a little less uncertain.

Over supper, she offered him several choices of activities for the next day. "I have to return some texts to the library first thing, but then, after that, we're free to do whatever you want."

He shrugged and left that up to her.

Severus finally found something he liked.

He liked the library.

He was astonished to see how many tomes filled the building. Who would have thought that Muggles were so dedicated to keeping records of their world? While Hermione dealt with something called fines, he wandered about, pleased to be somewhere where eyes were not on him. Maybe he'd just stick to the jeans and leave the leather for... The episode with Miss Grayson still bothered him. The last time he'd been groped like that...well, he supposed he had been groped like that at some time in his life. If only in the showers. Yes, he seemed to remember Lucius and some of the others... Well, yes, to be honest, he'd done his share of groping too back then. Just never in a public place!

He'd wandered into the section identified as Chemistry when he found himself more than interested. He opened a book and began scanning its contents. The names were different from those in Potions, ingredients were weirdly identified, but it was a world he knew and he lost himself in it.

"Would you like me to sign those books out for you, Severus?"

He blinked and only then noticed that he was sitting on the floor, a stack of books next to him. He looked up to see an amused expression on Hermione's face and found that it didn't bother him at all. "Is that possible?"

She stooped and began picking them up. "Just so long that you remember to return them in time. You'll have four weeks, that's the limit they place on summer withdrawals."

"How many..."

She grinned openly. "I think there's a twenty book limit at any time."

He was amazed. "Pince never would approve."

Hermione nodded. "She never wanted to allow me more than three books at any time. Professor McGonagall had to insist that I be permitted more than that each term. It was very irritating."

They dropped the books off at the B&B where he was staying and then went off to the Museum of Natural Science, which was something else Severus discovered he liked.

After a quick late lunch in a pub, there was a bookstore. A multiple storey bookstore where Hermione led him to the level that specialized in Sciences. "I'll pick you up in an hour, shall I?"

He nodded, already heading for the shelves. He was certain that he heard her laughing softly as he did.

"Well, we seem to have found something you like doing, Severus." She was carrying two of the five large bags that were filled with books of all kinds. After allowing him extra time in Sciences, Hermione had insisted he spend time in other sections – "Balance, Severus. Remember balance." – and he was surprised to find himself attracted not just to their so-called Ancient History but to made-up stories of a certain kind.

"I think you'll really like P.D. James. My father loves her books. And the Sherlock Holmes are classics."

He'd gone with her recommendations in that department, reassured that these were books that Muggles were not ashamed to be seen reading in public. Not like the "William, Terror of Mistleguard" series that the first and second year students smuggled into Hogwarts.

He took less notice of the looks as they made their way back to the B&B, using the Muggle method of transportation called the "Underground". Personally, he preferred apparation, but Hermione had insisted he try this way first.

Rather boring , he thought, even if it was a little like taking the Hogwarts express. Nothing much to look at except dark tunnels.

"We'll use a double-decker to get to the cinema," Hermione told him when he said as much.

That was very like the Knight Bus, though a much smoother ride. And this cinema thing was...interesting. It seemed that this was quite popular with Muggles. And that there were a variety of topics that were covered in this fashion. As a past-time, thought Severus, it would grow old quickly. But he did like the popcorn.

Hermione looked at the man stretched out on the blanket, sunglasses perched on that nose, book in hand. She smiled.

The picnic in the park had been another success. Not as great as the books, but something that Severus had enjoyed. Nothing, she grinned to herself, had been as great a success as the library and bookstores. Severus had already returned twice to the library – she wondered if he was getting much sleep – and there wasn't a bookstore they passed on her excursions through London that they didn't at least enter.

Not that she minded. It was one of the things she herself did on a regular basis.

And he was much more comfortable in his clothing and others' responses to the new Severus.

Hermione sighed. She herself noted every look, smile, wink, smirk, every flirtatious clerk, waiter or waitress. It was almost as bad as being accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart, except that Severus didn't expect such treatment. He always looked a little askance whenever someone indicated that they would like to know him better. She'd never before noticed how pushy the modern woman could be.

Still their next days should be interesting as well. She was borrowing her parents' car and taking him out of London. To the small cottage that her parents had bought as a retirement get-away in the Midi of France.

Severus felt himself relax as they left London for this Chunnel port where they would be taking another underground – no, under*water* – train to France. It had required something called a "passport" to set off on this trip. Not something Severus would have thought to carry around with him, had he even heard of such a thing. He'd asked to see Hermione's then, folding up several pieces of paper, had used his wand to create one for himself.

He sat back and watched the countryside fly past. Much more comfortable than a broomstick and much safer, these car things. Hermione's father must be as tall as himself as the car had ample space for long legs. He rested his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. He'd had very little sleep these past nights, indulging himself with this new past-time of his, reading Muggle books.

His own library at Hogwarts was quite large, but it focused mainly on potions texts and wizardry histories. Besides Muggle sciences, he had been amazed, when scanning the Egyptian section of History, to discover that back in early Egyptian times, there had been very little distinction between Muggle and Wizardry civilizations. That would bear more investigation. He'd have to return to that delicious bookstore and see what else they had on the topic before returning to Hogwarts.

Hermione did something that allowed the window in the roof to slide open, allowing a lovely warm breeze into the car.

"We've got a few hours yet before we get there, Severus. Why don't you sleep. I'll wake you when we have to leave the car."

"Thank you," he stopped fighting the yawn.

Funny how he'd never noticed what a nice person Hermione Granger was. He'd noticed her intelligence that very first day...how many years ago was it now? Ten? Eleven? And when Albus had determined that Potter shouldn't have to train by himself...

He sighed, remembering the arguments he'd had with Albus against the idea of assembling the best students – not just from Gryffindor – as a form of support group for Potter. He'd lost, of course. Once Albus had his mind set... Oh, well. It had worked out for the best. Potter had had people he could talk with and, all things considered, the group had pulled its weight. Not just vis-a-vis Potter, but for the Order of the Phoenix as well.

Of all of them, Hermione Granger had demonstrated her determination to meet any challenge he had set the seven students. Moreover, in a fight, she had proven to be adaptable. Any change in the plan and she found a way to work with it, without the usual squabbles and complaints. She might not know it, but she'd saved his skin once or twi...

Hermione kept her grin hidden. The man next to her had slept all the way to the Chunnel port, awakened to move from car to train then fallen asleep again once the train had begun its run. He'd been like that when they'd gone out on scouting missions: he'd sleep in snatches, return them to Hogwarts and teach all day as though he'd had a good night's sleep while they'd yawned their way through classes. Mind, that might have explained his temper.

Now that they were making their way south, he was awake and interested. Hermione loved driving her father's well-tuned car on France's autoroutes: no speed limit. She dropped into fifth gear and permitted her foot to push the gas pedal as close to the floor as she felt she could safely do. They flew and Severus seemed to like flying. He grinned at her, sat back and let her drive without commenting. Not the usual male behaviour. Her father usually refused to allow her behind the steering wheel when he was in the car: not that he didn't trust her driving, he simply hated to be driven. Harry and Ron had both protested at her speed and insisted she slow down. Ron had added insult to injury, insisting that he could drive, which he did at 5 kilometers *under* the speed limit.

Mentally, she chalked up another plus in what she now thought of as the "Snape Column".

They ate lunch is a small cafι near the off-ramp she'd taken, and there she discovered that Severus must have cast a translation spell on himself as he was speaking French with an ease she wouldn't have associated with him. In return for his not commenting on her driving, she allowed him to order for her. She did notice that he asked for "limonade", and nothing alcoholic.

At Poitiers, she pulled off the autoroute, making her way through the town to the market area. It was late in the day, but the shops were still open and she, with Severus's input, purchased enough food and supplies for a couple of days.

"The market at St. Maixent is held only late in the week," she explained as Severus added a couple of bottles of red wine, one of cognac to their supplies.

The cottage her parents had purchased several years ago as a get-away was an old farmhouse. The family had kept the land except for two acres around the house itself, this generation having decided that a house with modern conveniences was superior to a two storey building with a roof to replace, a sceptic system to update, and an interior that was crumbling. Hermione's mother had been beyond herself with pleasure at the thought of restoring the entire house.

"It's still not finished," Hermione sighed. "She'd been at it for five years and having the time of her life. She says it relaxes her from work. And Father adores puttering around in the garden. They come whenever they can get away but they always spend the entire month of August here."

She parked the car under a large tree and surreptitiously watched Severus looking around.

She herself liked the house with the gardens and trees, the sloping back yard that ended up at the river meandering through the small valley. She hoped that now Severus had had a taste of the big city, he would not find this too unexciting. And then there were the close quarters. They each had their own bedroom, of course, but in London Severus had returned to the B&B every night. And she knew herself. She got along well with people as long as she had time during the day to herself.

Two days later, she had to admit that Severus was a very good companion. In fact, one of the best. Like her, he was not a morning person. He barely functioned until he'd chugged back his first cup of coffee and then only minimally until the second, after which he found a book and read while she put breakfast together.

The second morning she found herself directed to remain in her chair as he efficiently puttered about the counters, refrigerator and stove, making a very passable meal.

After, Hermione suggested a picnic under the old willow by the side of the river. It was not very wide nor all that deep, but for a hot day, the river could provide a very refreshing interlude.

She hadn't done it on purpose. Well, that is what she told herself. The bikini was very appropriate for the location. It wasn't as though they were in the centre of London or Paris. And yes, well, the colour was very red. Scarlet in fact. And the four triangles that formed it did cover – barely – the essentials.

She knew she look good. That wasn't false vanity on her part. She'd bought the suit last summer and had proven to be wildly popular whenever she'd worn it. She sighed: less popular once she'd opened her mouth. Why were people...males...so frightened of her brains?

The fact that she waited until Severus was straightening the blanket they were using and had his back to her to pull off the extra-large t-shirt she was wearing in deference to the heat...that he turned his head and lost his ability to speak in mid-sentence...that his eyes opened wide as did his mouth. Well, all that too was not planned...though it was very satisfying and complimentary.

Hell, why not? She'd been mentally drooling over the man since that pair of jeans had revealed that arse and that oh-so-interesting bulge. She was getting tired of glaring at others who also found Severus attractive. So what if she wanted to see if her attributes were note-worthy? By him. She already knew that those who had taken the trouble to work their way past the hair and the brains had found the rest of her very satisfactory.

Well, the two who had. To an extent. Not that either of them was able to deal with her school schedule and her attention to detail where work was concerned. David had been very willing to help her adjust not only to Muggle schooling, but to the after-effects of that last battle with the Dark, the summer after graduation. Not that she'd told him about it: only that she had spent some time volunteering in a war-devastated Balkan country. He'd lasted almost all of first year before finding her "intensity" – as he'd explained kindly to her – off-putting. Jonathan, in second year, had found the fact that she placed her studies before him insulting and had replaced her three months after she'd succumbed to his "I'd like to know you better" line. She'd learnt her lesson and had kept her friendships with males, both Muggle and Wizard, on a casual level.

Severus sat back on his heels and managed to look her over carefully without making it obvious.

She smiled innocently at him and, reaching for her sunglasses, a large sunhat and a book, she lay on her stomach.

"You should be wearing sunscreen," he commented, rather dryly. "Allow me."

She expected him to spell some on her so the drizzle of something cold between her shoulder blades, the large warm hand that took its time spreading the lotion on her skin...well, it seemed that Severus Snape also had a few tricks up his sleeve.

His hand seemed rather interested in the small of her back, the rise of her buttocks, her thighs and calves.

"Must make certain that your feet don't burn," he murmured.

By then, Hermione was resting her head on her crossed arms, wondering where Severus Snape, aka the Greasy Git, aka the Snake of Slytherin...Oh, she shouldn't have thought of that. The word snake conjured up...

She sighed as he took her feet in his large hands and massaged lotion onto them.

She could feel her blood throb in her vagina as she bit back a moan.

Damn it! Where the hell had Severus learnt to do this? *Who* the hell had taught him? Had the witch also taught him how to fuck properly? No. How to make love. If... *when* she got him into bed, it would be lovemaking, not fucking or screwing.

But considering the shivers his hands were sending up her spine, she might decide to forgo the bed and take him right here, under the trees.

Severus had been aware of the glares Hermione had sent anyone who'd done more than glance at him in passing. At first, he hadn't understood why she was doing so, why her arm would hold his a little more tightly, or why she would suddenly move closer to him. But then his brain had finally functioned properly and he remembered the mating rituals of teenagers at Hogwarts dances.

She was laying claim to him, as he had seen the students do when someone made a play for a partner they had decided was theirs.

He had to think about it. Was this something he liked?

Not normally. He'd been laid claim to by too many in his life for him to be comfortable with the notion. But when that was all Hermione did, he began to find her behaviour...interesting. All right, more than interesting. Complimentary.

He, the Greasy Git, was being claimed by the best pupil Hogwarts had had in over a century.

By a young woman of intellect and charm. With skills that would make her a powerful witch when she came into her full powers.

A woman who knew him, of him, his past and what he'd done, and was not repulsed by him.

A woman who had indicated to him that she found him attractive... Merlin! Maybe she needed glasses! But others had looked at him, smiled at him, flirted with him, so maybe she didn't.

And this woman had not found it amusing that others had. Maybe it was an unconscious response on her part, but he found he rather liked the fact that she didn't.

The trip to her parents' retreat was so far a bit of an eye-opener. So the little Mudblood was not averse to a bit of danger, was she? Her driving skills were like everything else she did: excellent. But even if he was a novice at this Muggle life-style, he was alert enough to know that her speeding – she passed cars on either side, literally flying – was her way of dealing with the taste for danger their battle against the Dark had given her.

He'd placed his safety in her hands too often during those days not to do so now. And he discovered that not only did he like the taste of danger riding in a vehicle going along at a high speed – he didn't for one moment doubt the reason for those numbers to the extreme right of the gauge being in red – but he trusted her to get them to their destination in one piece.

He just didn't trust himself once he'd turned his head and spied what passed for a bathing costume.

Dear Merlin!

He hadn't been completely celibate all those years. There were witches who were less interested in the reasons for the mark on his arm and more in the money and potions he left behind. And yes, he had taught one or two of them so that they knew who he was. Still, there'd been one who had refused to deal with him because of that history, because, as she'd informed him, there were still depths she hadn't sunk to. After that, he'd stayed away, preferring his hand to the realization that even his money was tainted by his past.

Now he looked at the woman lying next to him, with more skin displayed than he had seen in years...and wondered that his cock hadn't torn its way out of his jeans.

Before he moved, he had to think quickly. Was this a sign that she was more than willing to lay claim to him? Was she – he swallowed hard – was she expecting him to lay claim to her?

She hadn't rejected him like some others he could name. She was kind. She knew him. Maybe...she was serious.

He took a deep breath and decided to see if she were.

"You should be wearing sunscreen," he commented, rather dryly. "Allow me."

He picked up the tube that was poking out of her bag and drizzled some on her back. Ah, a little cold. Was that why she looked slightly startled?

He lay his hand on her back and slowly began massaging the lotion against the silk of her skin.

He kept waiting for her to say something, pull away, give some indication that his touch wasn't wanted.

She sighed.

He bit his lower lip as he extended his consideration of sunscreen on skin.

He liked the feel of her under his hand. The slight movements she couldn't prevent, the soft sounds.

It made him feel powerful. Very...male.

Her skin seemed so...fragile...under his hand. So very bruisable.

No one, he thought, should ever bruise that lovely skin. He made certain that his hands remained gentle on her.

He wanted her. To be his. To be able to lay claim to her as she did to him.

Yes, right, he scoffed mentally. He was twenty years her senior, at least. A former Death Eater. Her former professor. And no matter how he looked in Muggle clothing, he was still the Greasy Git.

He released her foot and took back his place next to her, wiping his hands against his t-shirt before finding his book.

"Aren't you hot like that?" she asked casually.

Yes, he was, and not just from the sun.

She was looking at him over the top of her sunglasses and he was certain he saw a dare in her eyes.

Hell, why not? He might as well throw the last of his reason to the wind.

He set the book down, grabbed the hem of the t-shirt in his hands and pulled the item over his head.

His chest was everything she thought it might be when she'd noticed it in the clothing store. Lightly developed, revealing that his was not a sedentary life. What surprised and delighted her was the light furring. Nothing heavy, beginning below the collarbone. T-shaped, with the upper bar extending to the outer side of his pecs. Two hard brown nipples, peering out from their bed of black fur, demanded her attention.

She wondered what they tasted like.

He slowly stood, eyes on her, watching her response.

She was surprised that he needed encouragement but gave it to him. Her eyebrow rose in a slight dare then she slowly followed the line of dark hair that bisected his body to the top of his jeans.

He took his time casually unbuttoning the jeans. Damn the man, was he teasing her? She had to chew on her bottom lip to prevent herself from yelling, "Take them off!" She didn't think he was ready for that. Yet.

Eyes now staring at the scenery, Severus lowered his jeans. Just the slightest bit slowly – he really *was* teasing her! – until he stepped out of them. All he'd worn under them was the tight black knit boxers he favoured.

She removed her sunglasses, chewing on an earpiece all the while taking her time to look him over – they had stopped all pretense of casualness.

He had long, lean lines. Clean lines except for the scars he bore on his body. He'd gotten several of them in that last confrontation. She herself had one on her arm that had quickly faded with the use of a lotion a certain Potions instructor had handed out. She would have to ask him, one day, why he had never used that lotion on himself. Her heart ached at the sight of the scars.

She ached to touch him.

He stood waiting as though he weren't certain what to do next.

She made a slight sound and got his full attention. She propped herself up on an elbow and blatantly looked him over, starting with the long, high arched feet then moving upwards.

He remained very still until her eyes settled on that oh-so-interesting bulge. Which grew under her scrutiny.

Merlin! The man was hung!

"I think –" when had her voice grown so husky? "– you need sunscreen, too, Severus."

He was relieved that he'd decided to offer her the same canvas she had offered him; he could press his erection against the blanket, happy to know that she wasn't seeing him respond like a bull in rut to the feel of her hands on his skin.

Bloody hell! It had been so long...

Damn! Whatever possessed her to straddle him like that?

Then the feel of both hands massaging the knots out of his shoulders, his neck, his back, easing the tension he had borne so long it was part of him...

He couldn't prevent the moan. She laughed. Softly. And bent to place the faintest kiss on the top of his spine.

"Her...Hermione..."

"Yes, Severus."

He liked the way she purred his name. He didn't respond to her the way he had to that American woman. Then it had made him uncomfortable. All right, so he was uncomfortable right now, but in a very different way. He wriggle a little to allow his cock some breathing space.

She moved so that her barely clad bottom settled on his arse. Her hands slid down to his ribs, back up again and he made himself inventory the contents of his ingredients pantry.

Adder's tongue. Agrimony. Alehoof. Amara dulcis. An..an...angeli...cahhh.

Oh, Merlin, she was slipping down further, rubbing herself against his arse as she settled now on his thighs. The witch!

Her lips passed teasingly along the ridges of his spine and he couldn't take this anymore. He had to know one way or another. He flipped himself around quickly, taking her by surprise. His hands reached up to prevent her from falling onto her side.

She looked down at him, her eyes opening wide. He knew what she was seeing, the head of his cock peering above the waistband.

"Be very certain of what you're doing, Hermione." He had to warn her, his voice rough even to his ears.

She smiled at him, her eyes, heavy with her own arousal, meeting his with a glint that should have warned him.

"I am," she growled. "Very certain."

Then her hands were once more on him, pulling down his boxers – his hips rose of their own volition – and she sighed happily. "And I think that you're certain as well, Severus."

One of her hands, slicked with lotion, leisurely caressed his cock as the other dealt with the ties that were all that were holding what passed for the bottom part of her bikini. His own hands rose to push up the small red triangles on her breasts, revealing the hard peaks that indicated she was indeed pleased to have his hands on her.

She leaned over to facilitate his exploration of her breasts. They weren't particularly large. A nice handful. He could cup them easily. He smiled as she moaned when his rough-skinned thumb stroked them, teasing the pebbles.

"Nice," she gasped. "Now I'll do something nice for you."

She took his cock in hand, stroked it and, rising onto her knees, directed it to her vagina. She passed the head back and forth, rubbing her wetness along the length of his erection before she positioned it and slowly took it in.

"Oh, I like that," she murmured, her eyes closing at the sensation of his cock filling her.

"I do, too," he admitted, pulling her down to take her mouth. "Hermione," he released the taste of her: she had to know. "It's been a long time...a very long time..."

She rested her forehead on his and giggled. "I did guess that."

She pushed herself upright and wriggled those incredible buttocks of hers. He gasped as her interior muscles clamped down hard on him, then rising slowly, she stroked him until he was seeing red.

"And I think you like that. Do you have any objections to my doing so again?"

"Tease," he managed to gasp.

She giggled again and he bucked his hips upward in response.

"Oh!"

"I think you like that yourself, my lady witch."

Her hands tightened against his shoulders; his, on her hips. He wanted to watch her ride him, but the sensations were overwhelming and he forgot all but the feel of her tight wetness against his cock, the friction, the need to come. He remained in control of himself enough to listen for her cry of completion before allowing his need to rule him completely. And then he listened only to the demands of his cock.

She remained on him, his cock still in her, her body resting on his, her head on his shoulder, as they recovered.

Her hand slid up his shoulder to lie against his jaw, work its way up his cheek to card into his hair. Her sigh of contentment sang in his ear, barely audible over the pulsing of his blood.

They lay that way, joined and entwined, until both their hearts were once more beating normally. He moved his head so that his lips could rub against the soft skin of her temple. She nuzzled his jaw.

For the first time in a long while, Severus felt at ease with the world.

The river cooled them off as well as cleaned the sweat off them. They said nothing as they dressed, cleared off the site before walking back to the house.

Hermione reached out and took his hand in hers, watching his face for any sign that her advances were unwelcomed. He smiled that faint smile of his at her and she felt her heart skip.

He wore only his jeans. She wasn't certain if he were doing it on purpose, teasing her, until she noticed that his eyes watched her watching him. Then she decided that she needed to add a little spice to their preparation of the evening meal.

She'd bought a lace caftan at Oxfam, worn and yellowed. The bleaching she'd given it had not only whitened it but dissolved a few more holes into previously threadbare areas. It couldn't decently be used for whatever she had planned for it at the time.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror before going down. One of her nipples was peering out, her other breast was barely covered. Her pubic hair was obvious, her genitals covered by a patch of lace which had borne up to the treatment.

She grabbed the mass of hair that usually drove her crazy and twisting it, used a large clip to hold it up, baring her neck and upper back. There were interesting patches of skin showing through.

Wondering if maybe she wasn't going a little too far wearing the caftan, she hurried out of the bedroom before she could change her mind.

Severus liked the caftan. He never said a word about it, but his eyes approved. She was beginning to understand that Severus angry, peeved, frustrated was a vocal man: interested, pleased, happy, he was silent. One had to watch the eyes then.

They...glittered.

They prepared the evening meal together. Hermione went out of her way to touch him, in a casual manner. Her hand skimmed his as she reached for something. Her hip bumped into his leg – he was a good six inches taller than she was – her shoulder into his arm.

She allowed herself to place her hand on his shirtless back whenever she could, permitting her fingers to stroke, to knead a little.

Once, and once only, he stopped her teasing, his hands on her shoulders, and though she saw him start to say something, instead he bent to kiss her.

She rose on her feet to meet his mouth.

They were used to discussing the day during the evening meal. What they had done, what he had liked. Tonight, he wanted to know about her courses at school, what she was taking and why. She understood: they needed a little respite from the heat they were generating. She was already wet for him.

So she smiled at him and told him of the meeting she had had with the Ministry's Head of Arithmancy about her Muggle parents' concerns.

"He was very understanding. I found out later that he's quarter Muggle himself. He pointed out that, all things considered, my life-span would probably be more Wizard than Muggle, so what were a few years spent appeasing my parents? Besides, education is never wasted. I'm already working on my Masters then I'll get my PhD. After which, it's been arranged that I can apprentice under Professor Eudoxus."

"Good grief, is he still around? He's decades older than Albus. Didn't Vector study with him?"

Hermione nodded. "She told me that he's got a reputation for stringency, but that after working with..."

He grew very still. "With me, you should find him what? Delightful? Tolerant? Easy?"

Hermione reached out with her hand to take his. His eyes had lost their sparkle. "Actually, she said I would find him a breeze. Severus. Yes, you weren't the most fun professor we had. Not in the classroom, certainly not when you were training Potter's Coven."

He interrupted her. "Potter's Coven?"

She smiled. "That's what we called ourselves. Not important, now. And it's not, Severus, because you trained us so well that we are all still alive, all seven of us. And you couldn't have accomplished that with fun and games."

"Is that was this afternoon was? A way of thanking me for keeping you alive?"

Hermione hid the flinch she felt at his coldness. She'd caught the way his head raised, as though he were expecting a blow of some kind. She rose, went over to him and, leaning over, kissed his cheek. "No, idiot. That was me seducing you. It really must have been a long time if you didn't pick that up."

He shrugged. She sighed. She had hoped for a more explicit answer to that, but she had to remember that this was Severus Snape, not some hormonal frat boy, as Tippy called many of her "friends".

She tugged at his hand. "Come. I think we both need a little more practice."

He resisted her. "At?"

"Me at the seducing."

"And I?"

"And you? Well," she batted her eyelashes at him, tugging once more. This time he rose to his feet. "Maybe at being gallant enough to pretend I'm any good at it."

He shook his head as he followed her. "Oh, I doubt that you need much improving on that fact. I, on the other hand, seem to be lacking in proper appreciation." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, making her turn to look at him, one step up, eye to eye. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to insult you. This new me seems to be as lacking in social skills as the old me."

She grinned at him, her most wicked grin. "Well, apology accepted, especially since you are lacking in certain social skills. Though you do make up for that with...*other* ones."

And laughing, she pulled him up the stairs to her room.

She woke in the middle of the night to find herself alone in the bed. She sat up, looking around the room, and found him standing naked in front of the open window, staring out at the moonless night. She slipped out of bed and went to him, standing behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He didn't push her away though he wasn't welcoming. His body was stiff and slightly cool. She rested her head against his back.

"Severus, what's wrong?"

He said nothing. She rubbed her cheek against his skin. "Severus?"

"I think it would be best if I returned to London."

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was something her mother told her she did whenever her father said or did something that made her want to hit him.

She counted to ten a second time. "Do I repulse you that much?"

Challenging him had worked once; she hoped it would again. He turned to look at her.

"Stop that. There's no need to abase yourself. You know fully well that you don't repulse me in any way."

"Then why are you running away?"

He freed himself and took a step away from her. "Hermione, what do you want of me?"

"Want of you?"

He faced her. "I believe I mentioned it had been some time for me. I'm out of practice. I am not so good or skilled a lover that..." he sighed, exasperated. "I am very much aware that, in spite of the changes you have wroth on me, I am still the same Severus Snape that it pleased you and your friends to mock, to ridicule..."

"Severus!"

He gestured ineffectively. "Why me? Again, I ask, what do you want of me?"

Hermione shook her head, crossing her arms over her breasts. "All right, Severus. I see. You want to hold an analytical discussion in the middle of the night. Rather like you did whenever we returned from a mission and all we wanted to do was find our beds. I'll humour you. Put on your jeans and join me downstairs. I'll make a pot of tea."

She grabbed the t-shirt she wore as a nightshirt and pulled it on as she headed out the door. She was setting the table with cups and sugar when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He entered the room, his eyes blinking in the light.

Damn, but the idiot looked fucking sexy!

He was wearing those jeans and nothing else. The marks she'd put on him were obvious. He realized she was looking at him and looked down at himself to see what had attracted her attention.

Delightful idiot! He blushed – not much, just enough for her to know it wasn't the sun they'd picked up that day – when he saw the love bites, the scratches.

Forty-two and he could still blush!

But for her, she swore, only for her.

He waited until she'd sat with her tea in her hand to find the chair opposite hers. She filled his cup and pushed it and the sugar towards him. He spooned the sugar in then stirred, his eyes focused on the figure eight motion.

Hermione sighed. Well, what did she expect? The man was a Potions Master. But did it have to permeate every aspect of his life?

Mind, she certainly hadn't complained when he'd replicated that motion with his hips, while deep in her.

And now that she'd had time to think a little, she had come to the conclusion that, from what she knew about Severus Snape, he really did have grounds to wonder why he was sharing her bed.

"Severus."

He looked up.

"Does my intelligence bother you?"

That eyebrow rose as it had whenever any of them had made what he'd considered to be an asinine comment.

She insisted. "Answer, please, Severus."

"No, Hermione, of course not. Why would it?"

She shrugged and took a sip of tea. "Because it does bother Muggle men."

He snorted.

She smiled into her cup.

"And does the fact that, when I hit my full powers, I shall be the best Arithmancy practitioner in the last couple of centuries bother you?"

He looked startled. "No."

"That's it. No?"

Now he was confused. "Why should there be more? Hermione, you and I both know your worth. If that's what you intend to be, then, yes, you will be the best at it, in at least the last two centuries."

She sat back in her chair. "You don't think that sounds arrogant?"

"Of course it does. But your intelligence and your abilities are the basis for this ‘arrogance'." He took a sip of his tea. "Besides, I prefer to call it confidence."

"Like the confidence you have in your skills?"

He thought a moment before answering. "Yes."

"And if I told you that I wanted to have a relationship with you but that my studies had to come first, what would your response be?"

"To the fact that you want a relationship?"

"To the fact that our relationship would come *after* my studies."

"Hermione..."

"Answer the question, Severus."

He passed a hand through his hair. He shrugged. "Yes, that is as it should be."

"Because?"

"Because..." He looked around the room as though expecting an answer to jump out at him. "Because, in this fictional relationship of ours, my work, be it school or Potions, would also come first."

Hermione sighed. "I am going to find it so very easy to fall in love with you."

She'd truly taken him unaware. "Fall in...love with me?"

"Well, I already like you a lot, Severus. I find you interesting. And I find you very attractive. I think that we will prove to be very compatible in bed. It's not much further to love."

He stared at her. "Either you've had too much sun today or you've lost your mind."

Hermione raised her eyebrows high in surprise. "Really? Why? Because I like being with you? Sharing things with you? And not just in bed." She leaned over and shook her head. "Severus, why can't I be falling in love with you?"

He stared at his hands, which he lay flat on the table. "Hermione, you know what I am."

"Yes, I do," she agreed. "You're the man who produced potions to kill my kind, who turned his back on Voldemort to accept punishment. Whose punishment was to put his life on the line and return to Voldemort, not the once, but the second time as well. Who was, and probably still is, a first class bastard in the classroom, who favoured his House over others – which," she beat him to it, "was only fair as the other Heads also favoured their own Houses. Who was the man chosen by the Order of the Phoenix to train Harry and his Coven to defeat Voldemort.

"Yes, Severus, I know who and what you are. I also know that you're not afraid of me. You don't find me ridiculous. You're not put off by my having a brain. You don't mind the hair and you even seem to find me sexy. I doubt that you would ever expect me to sublimate my abilities in favour of yours. That you would be proud of me as I would be of you."

All the while she'd been speaking, Severus had played with his cup. Now he looked down at it a moment before saying, rather gently, "Boys, Hermione, do grow up. Maybe if you were to wait a few years, the boys you know would mature and..."

"Severus. I want you to think about that. Go through all the male students who were at Hogwarts with me or a few years ahead of me. Can you name one who would eventually grow up enough to accept me as I am?"

"Surely Potter or Weasley..." His voice died out.

Hermione nodded. "Surely not. They make good friends but lousy husband material." She ignored his start. " And though they are somewhat comfortable with my intelligence and abilities as friends, as husbands I doubt that either would be all that comfortable with a wife who outshines them."

Severus shrugged. "Not to mention the fact that their constant haggling over Quidditch teams would eventually drive you to murder."

She nodded.

"So that's it." He sat back in his chair, meeting her eyes right on. "You've chosen me because you think I'll be too busy in my classroom or lab to be of much bother."

Hermione shook her head. "I did not choose you, Severus. In actual fact, I had decided to spend my life in a series of meaningless affairs fit in somehow between my studies and my work." He didn't look pleased with that concept. "Then you knocked on my door one rainy night...

There was that slight blush again. She smiled.

"As for your being too busy, that's not why I think a relationship between us may work. I think that it would appeal to your own arrogance to have a partner who matches you in intelligence and ability. Someone who will understand the determination behind your successes, who will delight in challenging you. Maybe even draw you out of your dark dungeons."

"Balance, eh?"

Hermione nodded, more serious. "We both need someone to remind us of balance, Severus. Me as much as you." She stood up and came around to him. He moved his chair back and she sat on his lap, encircling his neck with an arm and bending for a kiss.

"Besides," she punctuated her words with short kisses across his face and neck, "I have at least three more full years of Muggle studies to complete, and you need time to adjust to the fact that someone wants to hear about your day, about your work in the lab. Who will sympathize with you over the idiots you have to teach. Who will insist that you take time off. Have holidays. Explore new bookstores in new places." She found his mouth again and explored it with her tongue. "Have a child."

He pulled back, and she saw that she had truly stunned him. "You want a child?"

She nodded. "I think I'd like that. Wouldn't you?"

"I've...I've never thought of it."

She cocked her head, smiling. "A little Severus, to wreak havoc on Hogwarts. Or a little Hermione, to drive the teachers crazy with her hand always raised. Maybe even both."

He shook his head. "I... A child, Hermione. I don't know the first thing about parenting."

She laughed softly. "Severus, what the hell do you think you've been doing all those years at Hogwarts, if not practicing to be a parent?"

"Hermione, you seem to forget that I am hated."

She shrugged. "By other Houses, yes, probably. But by Slytherin? Severus, they would fight to the death for you. Some of them did exactly that." She skimmed a finger across his cheek, smiling at him. "Just think about it, Severus. That's all that I'm asking."

"Hermione, you know you're asking for far more than that. It's been just over a week..."

"It's not as though we're complete strangers meeting at a pub. You've known me for eleven years, Severus. You taught me for seven of those years. And I'll wager I know more about you than you think I do."

She kissed him again: she'd noted that he hadn't refuted his desire of a relationship. They'd work this out. They had the time.

"Right now I think I'd like to work on our getting to know the other a little better in bed. As a certain professor I once had used to say, practice makes perfect."

Severus watched her get up to her feet, her hand outstretched to him. She waited while he made up his mind. Slowly, his hand reached up and clasped hers. He got to his feet.

Together, hand in hand, they went up the stairs.

It was a time for endings.

The school year was over, except for the final ceremony, which was today.

Albus Dumbledore had finally been convinced to replace Fudge as Minister for Magic. He would be taking up his new position once the day was over. Minerva McGonagall would be the new Headmistress of Hogwarts immediately thereafter.

Severus looked at himself in the mirror, checking that his formal robe hung properly. Other than himself, he could see the reflections of the crates waiting to be reduced in size so that they could be easily moved to his new place of residence. Like Albus, this would be his last day at Hogwarts. Minerva would have to find someone else's popcorn to steal during staff meetings.

The end of one thing, the beginning of another.

Hermione was now Doctor Granger. As she had predicted, she'd gotten her PhD in three years. Three years in which he'd joined her whenever he could, the occasional weekend, all the school holidays. If she had to work, which she usually did, he was more than happy to spend time in the library, read up for his own work, correct scrolls of assignments.

"You're much easier on them than you were on us," she took delight in pointing out on several occasions.

"I must be mellowing," he replied every time, reaching for her. Scrolls were sometimes returned a little squashed.

Then there were bookstores and concerts and plays, which he found he enjoyed more than that cinema thing.

There were summer holidays as well. Not that they had much time, not with Hermione's packed schedule, but they'd fit in a few new adventures. Hermione loved seeing new places and she'd dragged him – well, for his own ego, he pretended he wasn't all that interested – to Italy, Greece. Egypt last summer.

He'd liked Italy. The sun, the wine, the libraries, the remnants of richer wizardry eras. Which was a good thing as Professor Eudoxus had finally succumbed to the aches and pains of a humid climate and resettled in Florence.

Hermione had been a little wary when she'd informed him of the change in location for her apprenticeship, fully expecting him to protest, or at least make a fuss. But by then Severus was feeling the need for change. He sent a message to the same institution, wondering if they might be interested in his services for the duration of Hermione's apprenticeship. They were. Overwhelmingly delighted. So he'd quietly given noticed and begun packing over twenty years' worth of accumulations.

He turned to see if the leather trousers he wore underneath his formal robe were too apparent. He was wearing them for Hermione, who had indicated that she liked to think all he was wearing under his robe were those trousers. He liked to please her.

She was talking children again and this time he was more comfortable with the idea. Not right away: she had her apprenticeship to complete first. But afterwards, she'd be twenty-eight and she thought that was a good age to have their first.

Her parents would be happy.

That had been the most stressful part of this relationship of theirs, his meeting her parents.

Muggles who, to his mind, must not be overly pleased to have their daughter, an only child, take up with a man his age, even if they were witch and wizard. Her former teacher.

He wore a suit for the occasion. Hermione took a good look at him in the tailored suit, dark grey, not black – "It's not a funeral you're going to, Severus." – made him turn around then promised, in that husky voice of hers that appeared whenever she was aroused, to take it off him, one item at a time, when they got home.

That promise got him through the beginning of the evening. Then, at some point, he found himself alone with her father.

George Granger looked a little nervous before he began speaking.

"Look, Severus, I know you're expecting me to go all fatherly on you, considering your age and who and what you are to Hermione. But, frankly, I can't tell you how happy Hermione's mother and I are that she's found someone who is as supportive of her as you are."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. "Having a child like Hermione...a witch...we were so worried about her. She had such difficulties fitting in because of her intelligence that this on top of that meant... We did our best by her, we love her, we were and are proud of her, we've done our best to support her, but we aren't as successful at understanding her. But you understand her as well as love her. And we're pleased she's found someone who knows that both are equally important for her happiness."

Severus was incredibly moved. "Thank you. I promise to do my best to see that she continues to have both the understanding and the love as well as the happiness."

George sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward as if to emphasize the seriousness of what he had to say next. "There's one more thing we would like to mention to you. It's about children."

Severus nodded. "Yes, Hermione has mentioned she'd like children, but after she's finished her apprenticeship."

"Yes, that's what she's told us. But Louise and I would like to bring up the possibility of an eventuality. That, though both you and Hermione are magical people, there is a chance of your bringing forth a non-magical child just as we...Muggles produced a magical one. In the case of such an eventuality, Louise and I would just like you to remember that this child has Muggle grandparents who fully understand the non-magical and who would be delighted and overjoyed if such a child – when he or she begins school – could do so near-by so that we could participate in school life. On your behalf, of course."

Severus wondered at their generosity then realized how much they must have missed by having had a magical child. He nodded but had to ask, "And if the child should be magical?"

George sat back. "Well, then, I suppose all babysitting would have to be done at your home. Just in case you produce a little progeny whose magical abilities appear early. Can't have toys floating through the air and out into the backyard. Could cause some talk in the neighbourhood."

Severus smiled. "Might I inquire if you are speaking from experience?"

George grinned, his eyes bright with pride. "She was four."

Another set of eyes, also bright but with the memory of their bed, appeared in the mirror. He smiled at Hermione, in her red and gold Gryffindor formal robe.

They'd decided to use this opportunity to "come out". He reached into the neck of his robe and pulled out a chain on which hung a gold band.

Hermione waited until he'd freed the band to take it from him. It matched the one she wore on her left hand.

He offered her his left hand and waited while she slowly slipped the ring where she had placed it during a ceremony at the Registrar's Office that Spring Equinox, in the presence of her parents.

"My lady witch," he said before he kissed her.

"Keep on using your tongue that way," she eventually murmured in his ear, "and we'll never make it to the ceremony."

He countered that with a raised eyebrow. "And the problem with that is?"

She pulled away, took him by the hand and led him to the door of his dungeon rooms.

"We don't get to see their faces when they realize we're a couple. And I don't get to see the female students drool when they see what's gotten away from them."

"Dreamer," he laughed but he followed her out of the dark dungeons.

The End

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