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Chapter Text

Professor Severus Snape couldn’t have anticipated the chaos of the day ahead.  Indeed, he’d challenge anyone--Sybil Trelawney be damned--to foresee the literal fireworks and shite show that was to come. 

Waking at his normal half-past five, Severus stretched before throwing off the bedcovers.  Just as an Ukranian Ironbelly was compelled to breathe fire, Severus always woke at dawn. After decades of poor sleep, taxed by constant insomnia and stress, his body didn’t allow for lie-ins however much he wished for them.  He had grown to accept this part about himself over the past seven years following the end of the War. It was just too difficult after four decades of abuse, be it kin, peer, or workplace, to convince his body that things were safer--better--now and he could risk sleeping in.

During his morning routine, his body went on autopilot and his mind cleared: showering for exactly eleven minutes, shaving with a sharp straight razor, and finally dressing in freshly pressed black wool trousers with a crisp white long-sleeved shirt.  After making himself presentable, Severus enjoyed his first cup of self-brewed black coffee in his sitting room while he riffled through correspondence. He had found the private--silent--first dose of caffeine necessary to better prepare for the theatrics of Hogwarts’ youths.  Unknowingly to Severus, no matter how much stimulant he’d consume this morning it wouldn’t be enough.

At exactly a quarter to seven Severus tucked in his shirt, buttoned on his dark wool frock coat, and then shrugged on his outer robe.  He rolled the tightness out of his shoulders. After slipping his letters in a pocket, Severus hid his wand in a sleeve. Regarding his reflection in the purposefully silent mirror, Severus adjusted the buttons at his neckline one final time.  He deftly flicked his inky hair over his shoulders, and smoothed some errant folds on his robe. Severus passed his daily inspection. Methodically neat, and put-together, he looked every bit the part of a respectable Potions Master. On his way out, Severus adjusted his cuffs until both coat and shirt aligned perfectly and pinned them in place.  Old habits die hard; this daily discipline had given him an inch of control during the worst of his past, when he had very little autonomy to speak of.  

The Bloody Baron stopped him on his way up the stairwell to the main floor to warn him that he had overheard a group of plotting third-year snakelets in the toilets.  Apparently, they were planning a spot of revenge over an inconsequential matter with some Gryffindors. While the choice to hold court in a toilet was idiotic and conspicuous, it didn’t seem to be serious enough to follow-up on before breakfast--no bloodletting or petrifying had been spoken of--so Severus thanked his informant and proceeded to the Great Hall.

I’ll have to deal with that sticky wicket soon or risk falling behind on the House Cup, Severus thought.  I’d really like to win that bet against Minerva that we can capture it two years in a row.

He was pleased to find that he was the first to arrive for the day, even entering prior to Burchard--a prefect, allergic to tomatoes--who seemed curiously hellbent on memorizing the entire Library’s collection on Divination as of late.  The silence of the empty room was meditative, and the only thing that echoed in the space as he approached the High Table were his footsteps. Indeed, Severus had found that his mood was infinitely improved if he didn’t arrive to the Great Hall when it was already at full capacity with the volume cranked up to eleven.  On those rare mornings when he was tardy, he would fleetingly desire to cast a Mimblewimble on the entire jabbering lot. If nothing else, the fantasy of shutting up the masses was incredibly emotionally satisfying.   

A cup of steaming coffee, and two pieces of toast with a side of butter materialized in front of him as Severus took his seat.  As the rich, dark liquid passed his lips he felt himself relax, and his shoulders dropped away from his neck. The blend is superb today.  If tea could be said to taste better when prepared without magic, the opposite could be said about coffee.  Severus was half-convinced it was the way the Elves crushed the beans. When he was asked to return shortly after the War he had attempted to make a footnote in his contract that he would be privy to the method.  Unfortunately, the Elf Matron had turned out to be quite a ruthless negotiator and Severus had to drop the matter lest he be cut off from his main source of hydration entirely.

Severus pulled out his correspondence from the day before and began to write out a few replies so they could go out with the morning mail.  Pleasingly, in contrast to a decade ago, his letters were of nothing pressing; an apothecary inquiry, a dry reply to Lucius about Draco’s career ambitions, an altogether different and more supportive note to his godson, and a settling of his tab from the Three Broomsticks.  

Draco may do better away from the Manor for a while, Severus thought as he finished his letter to the younger man.  He wrote a quick postscript that he had an Alchemical contact on the continent if his godson wished to be connected.  Merlin knew that Lucius could be a bit pompously overbearing at the best of times. Separating the Malfoy men may ease relations until Lucius could pull his head from his arse.   

Something unusual near the back of the Hall caught Severus’ attention.  He turned his head and observed how the colors from the stained glass flickered across the grey stone floor.  Is that a rare streak of February sunshine peeking through the east windows? Yes, I do believe it is. Above him, the charmed ceiling had the promise of a hint of blue sky, despite the cold, wet weather that was more familiar to this particular spoke on the Wheel between Winter and Spring.  Severus allowed himself a contented sigh. Things were good. Slowly, the room’s population rose as students and professors rambled to their seats. As he signed the bill to Rosmerta with a flourish Severus felt someone settle next to him at the High Table.  

Looking absolutely drained, Professor Granger muttered with a frown, “Good morning, Severus.”   Immediately, a plate of two decadent chocolate waffles topped with whipped cream, and a small pitcher of syrup popped into existence in front of her.  “Oh, put your eyebrow down,” she scolded him as she observed his reaction.

“Indulging this morning, are we?” Severus asked as he folded his letter and placed it with the others in front of his place setting.  Is she hormonal or merely trying to pre-emptively up her chocolate intake ahead of the mid-February hedonism? If it’s the former, I dare not ask more.  I like my bollocks attached to my body.

“I had the first half of the overnight patrols last night, if you must know.” 

“Ah.”  That explains it.  The only other duty that was more undesirable than night rounds was manually mucking out the blast-ended skrewt pen when Hagrid fell ill or was otherwise indisposed.  Severus watched with morbid fascination as she poured syrup over her plate. At first, Granger was paying careful attention to fill each pocket of her waffles equally.  Then with a sigh she dumped the rest of the pitcher’s contents over the entire stack.

“It was awful,” Hermione continued, stabbing her first bite with enough force that the fork scratched against the plate.  “Seven students out of bed! Three of them were in that alcove behind Julio Furtado’s tapestry.” Before Severus could process that completely she barrelled onward, “I swear it’s the weather.  The students are so cooped up that they’re actually willing to do anything to escape the monotony. Even if that means scandalizing a seventeenth-century weaving of a man with his prized braguette.”

Remembering the proud stance of the Portuguese wizard in the tapestry in question, Severus replied sarcastically, “Minerva thought the wall hanging would horrify the wee bairns.  That’s why it’s hanging so far off the beaten path on the fifth floor.”

“On the contrary,” Granger said with a sniff.  “It only seemed to inspire them last night.” Almost like an afterthought she muttered, “Pomona really has her hands full this year with her sixth years.”

In an effort to steer the discussion away from the sexual exploits of the rutting badgers, and recalling the earlier glimmer of actual sun, he said, “It looks like the weather is taking an unusual, pleasant turn.  Perhaps today will grant us a reprieve from the idiocy of our charges.”  

She hummed in reply as she slipped the fork into her mouth.  The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they finished their breakfast.  Severus began to reflect on his friendship with the woman at his side. Hermione had been the Arithmancy Professor for the last five years.  When Vector wished to return for good to her family’s villa in Italy, her successor was clear; there was no one more qualified. Former War Heroine and Cursebreaker, Granger outshone all other candidates.  Indeed, her professorship has been an overall success; there have been more students enrolled in NEWT level Arithmancy courses than when Severus first joined the staff.

Time had truly worked its magic for the two Order of Merlin recipients; there was little that would add animosity in their relationship now beyond Pre-War house prejudices.  As this was Hermione’s first year as Gryffindor’s Head of House, Severus had tested those waters more purposefully as of late. Minerva proved to be a loyalist to the very end of her tenure as Head; he needed to know where Hermione stood in her convictions to better craft his arguments at any meetings where he’d have to defend his Slytherins.  The first time he took more than ten House Points from one of her students this year she didn’t later demand an explanation from him. When she came across Severus ranting at Walsh--second-year, loves toffee--who had pushed Jenkins--first-year, often homesick--in a corridor, Granger didn’t try to gaslight him and switch the narrative painting her student as the victim.  How easy it would have been for her to come to her cubs’ defense at the cost of all others, feeling like she had something to prove. Yet, Hermione had not questioned any of the point deductions or detentions given out by anyone.

After being on the receiving end of the nasty literal fanged bite of reality, a period of self-introspection followed and Severus realized that he didn’t want to follow the antiquated way of thinking regarding house divisions and bigotry any longer.  It bred nothing but ignorance. At best, the world was grey. Placing children together for socialization within a found family was all fine and good. However, people couldn’t--nor shouldn’t--be exclusively cloven to the tidy stereotypical bullshite expelled by the Sorting Hat.  While it had seemed that Hermione agreed with him through her actions, time would tell if she really didn’t play favorites or respect old party lines.

His musings were interrupted when the hatch on the ceiling opened with a loud creak.  Through the opening, the morning’s Owl Post began to flutter into the Hall. If Severus were more observant of the student body rather than being distracted by his thoughts about the woman beside him he might have noticed the calm before the storm.  Indeed, he might have observed how four students from Slytherin had strategically placed themselves along the edges of the room. In retrospect, one couldn’t blame the Hufflepuffs; as they were fellow dungeon dwellers the two houses could be surprisingly chummy at times.  But perhaps, in this one instance, the badgers should have been a tad more suspicious of the two interlopers at either end of their table.  

Unfortunately, as with everyone, Severus was completely blindsided when his third-years released several Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs into the air, impeccably timed to the entrance of the avian post carriers.  The resulting boom of several Whiz-bangs colliding was closely followed by the parliament of owls dropping their letters and packages en masse and fleeing back into the hatch to get out of the line of fire.  

In her haste to mitigate the disaster, the Headmistress attempted to vanish the fireworks immediately before they did any more damage.  Regrettably, Minerva had forgotten that these specific pyrotechnics were charmed to multiply when hit with Evanesco.  She swore and the fireworks obliged by mockingly spelling out TALLYWASHER over the Ravenclaw table.  Severus tried to keep a running tally of the many infractions his students had just earned and how many House Points were now at a loss, but he found himself distracted. And how could he not be?  The gold sparklers danced across the room and hit the flying, flaming pink pigs, which then caused stars to shoot off into the corners of the Great Hall.  

Severus slowly rose from his seat.  Putting aside the obvious fallout of this mess--floo calls home, detentions, probations, and the very great chance that this stunt had cost them the House Cup this year--it really was a spectacular show.  In a pinch of nostalgia, the pyrotechnics reminded him of the joyous Bonfire Night celebrations when he was a child. They had been chaotically massive displays, at least until the mills had closed; there wasn’t much joy for many in Cokeworth after that.  If there was any justice in the world, the chance for merriment--for proper fireworks--would only increase for these children in front of him, students who had grown up in the shadow of the War. Severus found comfort in that hopeful feeling; that his and so many others’ sacrifices had been worthwhile.  His gaze softened as it followed the jets of light crossing the Hall, exploding into new variations when they collided. Yellow daisy chains broke off to become bubbles, pink hearts curved under white hopping rabbits. The student body, however, was either mesmerized or terrorized at the anarchy reigning around them.

Filius lifted his wand to attempt to stall things but Minerva stopped him with a raised hand.  She didn’t want a repeat of her earlier mistake. By the pinched look on the Headmistress’ face, it was clear that Slytherin’s hourglass was going to be quite depleted before the first block of the day.  Despite the obvious rule-breaking, more than a few teachers seemed to be in awe. The last time these fireworks were deployed in the Castle, the majority of the staff weren’t witnesses to it as the pink-clad autocratic hag Umbridge had locked the Great Hall down for her draconian exams.  Professor Sinistra looked on in amazement, hands clasped at her chest. Likewise stunned, Sybill was in a trance, but the bright reflections on her eyeglasses hindered Severus from getting a more accurate read on her reaction. Filch, though, appeared to be absolutely disgusted. Severus was surprised.  One would think Argus would be gleeful at the prospect of more detentions but perhaps the caretaker hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.

As the combustible reactions finally started to naturally wind down, the prank’s purpose soon became apparent.  The reason behind Filch’s offended reaction became more clear. The Gryffindor table, located directly under the main hatch of the owlery, was unfortunately where a hundred frightened owls literally had the shit scared out of them.  The table and its occupants were covered in bird droppings. Only a few students had donned hats to stave off the morning chill, and the rest now had white sticky head coverings. The entire house was still as they took in the appearance of their peers.  A diminutive first-year gingerly reached up to her hair and recoiled her hand in horror. Their plates of food--once oatmeal, crepes, and fresh fruit--were coated with a glossy patina of shite. A smelly plume of ordure was thick in the air.

Severus turned slowly to Hermione.  This act of public hooliganism was unacceptable and Severus was fully expecting her to aggressively come to her cubs’ defense.  But to his surprise, her shock didn’t ebb into a Dumbledorian disappointment or righteous anger. Hermione instead broke into a fit of laughter.  The explosion of mirth didn’t truly last for more than a few heartbeats and she managed to hide it behind a hand, but Severus witnessed it all the same.  In that instant, he found her to be absolutely beautiful.

Hermione’s brief moment of amusement, of finding humor in an act of desecration against her House, caused an odd feeling to unfurl in Severus’ chest.  He suddenly felt a fondness for her that had leapt beyond simple friendship. What is happening...

However, the pyrotechnics then truly ceased, and incensed yelling immediately broke out amongst the tables.  Severus would have to analyze this newfound feeling at another time; there were more pressing matters to attend to.  Hardening his expression, he thought, I need to set this mess to rights.

But his new feelings overtook his sense of responsibility again almost immediately.  “A reprieve from idiocy, you said?” Hermione murmured low as she touched his arm commiseratingly.  She turned to hurry down the dais to her panicked and filthy charges.  

Severus was once again stunned.  How easy it would have been for Hermione to stab him with a sharp word about her suspicions regarding Slytherins and their innate desire to always play the villain.  There was no better proof of her turning away from past prejudices and house allegiances. She truly was no longer the girl from her youth who demanded immediate justice without knowing the full story.  Recalling a conversation from earlier this morning, Severus thought, I need to track the Bloody Baron down, he’ll know what precipitated this action.  

He felt Minerva moving behind him, already on the warpath; just because Hermione showed leniency, he couldn’t--wouldn’t--expect it from the Headmistress.  Beyond House loyalties, she had an institution to run and Merlin knew she abhorred theatrics such as these. He would too if he was still responsible for the paperwork.  As Severus descended the dais behind Minerva he spared a glance over at Hermione.

With the help of the Ravenclaw prefects she was Scourgifing each individual pupil.  Hermione had just finished with the small first-year from earlier, the one who had been horrified by her hair.  The girl--Morris; Muggleborn, proficient at ballet--pointed aggressively at one of the guilty third-year Slytherins that had been rounded up by Minerva.  Hermione gently placed her hand on Morris’ arm and lowered it. With a shake of her head, she cupped her student’s face and whispered something with a smile.  Whatever she had said had the desired effect; Morris visibly relaxed. Hermione looked up at that moment, and caught Severus’ gaze as he walked down the length of the room.  Her smile didn’t falter in the least. If anything, it finally reached her eyes.

Oh.

Severus suddenly felt lightheaded, and he knew he couldn’t blame it on the residual effects of the flashing or booming Whiz-bangs.  He felt anxious and frustrated over his students’ behaviors, true. But there was something else tumbling in his chest; the fondness that had been sparked earlier was now a fully flickering flame.  Severus was unable to deny it. The realization was too steady, and only growing exponentially with every interaction.  

I fancy Hermione Granger.

Chapter Text

The day after the illuminating display at breakfast the Heads were gathering for their weekly intimate tea-time staff meeting.  It was always meant to be more of an information session; to alert everyone when the mandrakes were being plucked, Amortentia was being brewed, or scheduling the poor saps who were chaperoning the tiresome jaunts down to the village.  Duties and patrols were aggressively bartered for time off, bets were made on Quidditch, and published articles were swapped in cross-curricular pride. It also devolved into idle gossip as to which students had paired off, and a reminder to put a surveillance snare on that particular extra-wide window seat on the second floor.  

Severus knew that today’s agenda had probably been scrapped entirely in favor of discussing the calamity that had befallen Gryffindor house. A prank of that magnitude hadn’t been attempted since the Weasley twins’ attendance, and one could argue that it was certainly for the best.  By the time Minerva had finished with her floo calls to the Slytherins’ parents she had a vein bulging on her forehead that gave Severus pause; he had been tempted to surreptitiously dose her with a measure of blood pressure potion. After all, being responsible for the Headmistress’ stroke would be a rather large blemish on one’s school record, and his students already had enough challenges ahead of them.  

After Minerva relinquished his students back into his care, Severus assigned Gorley, Nickle, Paine, and Eaton to the dignified appointments of Owlery Gongfermors until at least Easter.  They had dug themselves into a literal shitehole and now they had to muck themselves out of it. If it didn’t build character and humility they would at least have the opportunity to make some new feathered friends. 

Severus tarried outside of Filius Flitwick’s quarters and began to paint his expression into one of utmost safety: disinterest. On top of the avian calamity, it would not do to have his private feelings towards a certain professor dissected by the staff.  Hermione, by proof of her actions yesterday, took the breakfast defecation raining from the skies surprisingly well. Severus hadn’t yet been able to gauge what the other Heads thought about it. Either they would find it as humorous as Hermione did, or they’d take him to task for not controlling his students.  While he hoped the latter would be unfounded, paranoia has always been one of his most steady companions. Through the door Severus could hear the low chatter of the others; it sounded like he was the last to arrive.

Despite a possibly laborious conversation ahead of him, at least Severus could be promised a plate of the Ravenclaw host’s favorite yeasty bread treats; iced lemon Lady Arundel’s Manchets were a hosting staple of the Charms Master from Sussex.  A mellifluous sound drifted into the corridor distracting him from his line of thought. Did Hermione just laugh?   Severus felt a soft smile stretch across his face.  He could picture her expression. Hidden here behind closed doors it would be far more relaxed and open than yesterday’s restrained showing of mirth.  Hermione’s cheeks would be pink, her wild thick hair shimmering as she flung her head back… Severus blinked. I need to control myself.  I cannot sit across the table from her like some dewy-eyed mooncalf.  Pomona would surely catch on, the damnable nosy woman.

Severus released a breath and attempted to re-school his features into one of boredom.  He was dismayed that it was more difficult than expected. Merlin, he felt like he was on rocky ground.  You fancy a woman and you lose all composure? he admonished himself.  Certainly it should take longer than one day to lose myself completely to her?  She’s a friend, she may not even share my feelings. Grimacing at himself he hoped his face wouldn’t betray him once he entered.  Severus rapped the door with his knuckles, then let himself in.

Flitwick’s voice rang out to him, “Severus, you’ve made it!” 

The interrogation was to begin.

---

“...honestly, it wasn’t like they hadn’t earned it,” Hermione piped as she placed her tea down in front of her.  She plucked a second manchet from the Willow Blue serving plate at the center of the table and placed it on her own.  “Hobbs and Whitley have really been a thorn in my side all year. At first, I thought they were just testing me but now… well, it apparently was something else entirely.”

“But, but the whole house!” Pomona sputtered as she gestured widely for emphasis. “The entire house was just slathered—”

“That’s an over-exaggeration!” Granger exclaimed, her tone growing exasperated. 

Sprout continued on as if she wasn’t interrupted, “Drenched, then.  No! They were veneered--”

Severus felt his face twist out of the impassive facade he had put on prior to entering.  “Pomona, please, they were not—”

“They were positively shellacked with--”

“Enough!” Hermione smacked the table with her hand causing the teacups to tinkle.  Her eyes flashed impatiently at the other woman. “Yes, my entire house had the literal shit storm of the ages blown on them.  That is not up for debate. But that does not mean that everyone was a helpless victim--”

Severus’ gaze slid to her as she continued her tirade.  Hermione radiated confidence and power. She was no meek youth trembling over answering a query incorrectly.  This woman at the table, with fire in her eyes and a strong unwavering lip, was truly a glimmer of the passionate witch she had been on the battlefield all those years ago.  Gods, she really is beautiful.   Severus felt his mask slipping.  He clenched his jaw in an attempt to anchor himself.

“--a few inquiries with the ghosts and portraits, and the whole picture was quite clear.  It’s not a surprise that the Slytherins felt motivated to do what they did.” Hermione nodded towards Severus.  He knew the gesture was done in simple acknowledgement but it warmed him all the same. “I will not be granting bullies tenancy in my house.  By the time I was done with point deductions we had fallen behind Slytherin regardless of their own great loss.”

Filius perked up.  “Does this mean that--”

Tone turning playful, Hermione interrupted, “That Ravenclaw is currently winning?”  Hermione took a bite of her manchet to draw out the suspense. “Yes.”

Filius let out a cheer that elicited snickers from the women at the table.  Severus allowed himself a small smirk as well. Flitwick had earned himself some boasting; it had been months since Ravenclaw had claimed top place.  The mood shifted in the room to one of comfortable camaraderie. The conversation could have easily led Severus, out of irritation, to aggressively defend his students.  Sometimes Pomona pushed too far without meaning to; she knew which buttons to push but often forgot how sensitive they were. Hermione’s aegis for Slytherin, as unexpected as it was, was welcome.  In the past, he was often the sole champion of his snakes. If Minerva was still Head she would have certainly not been as forthcoming at accepting the fault of her cubs after they were shat on. Severus took a drink of his tea.  Over the rim of his cup he glanced at Gryffindor’s Head of House. Pomona had just passed her a piece of paper for perusal, probably a duty roster.

While her eyes scanned the parchment, Hermione nibbled on her iced lemon pastry.  Her form-fitting orange turtle-neck hugged her chest in a way that… sensing the lewd way his thoughts were heading and in an attempt to gain some resolve before he lost all sense, Severus quickly returned his gaze to Hermione’s face.  She had just finished eating the manchet and he suddenly remembered he had yet to have one himself.

He noticed that there was a small piece of dry yellow icing stuck to the corner of her mouth.  Absentmindedly, her pink tongue darted out to capture it. Severus immediately felt his body respond in pleasure at the sight.  In shock, he coughed out his last sip of tea. This reaction was mortifying to have happen with present company; the loss of control made him feel like a hormonal schoolboy getting his first eyeful of creamy breasts.

“Are you alright, Severus?” Pomona asked as she scooted closer to him with the intent to thump his back.

Circe, this is embarrassing.  Still coughing, Severus edged away from her before coming to a stand.  He held up his hand, attempting to ward her off. “Yes,” he croaked. He felt his face growing warm.  His next fit of coughs seemed to not convince the Head of Hufflepuff that her assistance was not needed.  Across the table, his eyes wide behind his glasses, Flitwick was summoning a glass of water. Severus dared not to look back at Hermione.

“Are you quite sure, Severus?  I could just--” Sprout gestured, waving her hand sharply.

As he felt the coughing subside he managed to get out, “Yes, put your hand down, you meddling woman.”  Pomona was not hurt by his words, having been his co-worker long enough to be able to read the affection in between the lines.  Insufferably, she simply smiled at him in that endearing way that made all badgers appear utterly harmless. Severus was no such fool; he had seen the woman wrestle back a Devil’s Snare wandless.  When Sprout had gathered cuttings from the Venomous Tentacula without breaking a sweat he was absolutely convinced she had been missorted.

“And with that,” Severus said hoarsely, waving away the glass offered by Filius, “I believe the last block is beginning in fifteen minutes.”  

“Wait, wait,” Sprout said to his retreating back.  He heard a shuffle of paper. “You need to pick a--”

He pretended to not hear.  Severus had to leave before he made even more of a dunderheaded fool of himself, especially in front of Hermione.  Merlin knew he didn’t have much experience with enamoring himself to another; but coming across as a lascivious wanker was certainly not the way to do it.  As he crossed the threshold he heard the Herbology Professor say, “How about you pick a date then, dear?”

Severus quickly stalked down the corridor, his escape imminent.  He had not kept up with his Occlumentic meditations for several years, as the main threat to his mind had been dispatched quite thoroughly by Potter.  Severus regretted that lapse in judgement now. He had grown complacent in this time of peace and his lack of personal protections only irritated him further.  Severus tried to snap some semblance of a mental wall in place as a final face-saving measure. The best he was able to do so out of practice was construct something the equivalent of a flimsy chicken wire garden fence.  

“Severus!” Hermione called down from the direction he had left.  Her hurried steps echoed around the corridor. Shite, shite, shite.  Severus stopped and tried to reinforce his piss-poor attempt at Occluding.  It wasn’t working fast enough and it only made his forehead itch. He turned just as she reached him.  Severus felt his traitorous eyes soften.

“Professor Granger,” he said, hoping that his voice sounded more steady than it did in his head.

Hermione swayed on her feet for a moment before procuring a napkin-wrapped parcel from the pocket of her outer robe.  Severus felt a glimmer of disappointment that she had redonned her robe, effectively covering up her knitted sweater; his emotion quickly ebbed into one of guilt that he hadn’t been able to wrestle control over his visceral emotions.  “I noticed that you didn’t have any of the Lady Arundel’s…”

As he accepted the offering, their fingers touched and a spark erupted.  For a moment, Severus thought it was simply chimerical. But her wide eyes led him to believe she felt it too.  Their combined gaze held for several long seconds.  

“Did you…” Severus began to ask, before he really had a grasp on what he was saying.

A blush erupted across Hermione’s face and her eyes slid away from his.  She said low and apologetic, “Static electricity.” She gestured to her hair, the ends frizzy in the dry air of the corridor.  “It happens a lot this time of year.”

He moistened his lips.  “I see.”

The action refocused Hermione’s attention on his face, her eyes flicking down to his mouth.  Severus didn’t fail to observe the maneuver. There seemed to be a hint of interest coming from her.  Could it be at all possible that Hermione had been feeling a similar fondness for himself? Is this not nearly as one-sided as I thought?

Hermione reached out to his wrist.  “Enjoy the manchets, Severus.”  

Before he could respond, a rumbling sound vibrated down the corridor.  The children were stampeding through the castle to attend their last class of the day.  As the first students began to pass, the magnetism that had been slowly bubbling to the surface dissipated.  Chapman--sixth year, not at all trustworthy around an ignited cauldron--was part of the herd but stopped near the pair once he saw his Arthimancy Professor standing in the hall.  

“Professor Granger?” the boy asked, a bit unsure as to what he was interrupting.

Hermione’s eyes slid from Severus to her student.  “Chapman, is there something I can help you with?” she asked sincerely.

“I have a question about the Vigenere Cipher…”

“Ah,” Hermione said as she began to turn to walk in the direction to her classroom.  “Best to walk and talk, then.” She looked over her shoulder at Severus and gave him a nod of goodbye.

Severus watched her down the length of the corridor, holding his wrapped pastries, his mind spinning hundreds of miles an hour.  There was something there, he knew it. Hermione felt something for him, if only interest. How long had it been so? How long had he not noticed?  Severus spun quickly around in the hall and startled a gaggle of first years who weren’t expecting him to come to life so abruptly. Marching through the corridors and down the stairwells to the dungeons, he resolutely came to a decision.  I need to get her alone again, suss things out… make absolutely sure that I am not flinging myself into a human resources debacle.

Unfortunately, confirming Hermione’s feelings would prove to be a bit more complicated than anticipated.

Chapter Text

“...I can’t do another round with them this weekend…”

Despondent, Severus swirled his beef stew with his spoon amongst the lunchtime chatter at the High Table.  It was oddly lonely on the dais without Hermione. Severus hunched his shoulders. Over the last few days, they had only seen each other at meals.  Life seemed determined to keep them apart. Floo calls, detentions, owlery inspections, classes… the list of duties was never-ending. It could be worse, I could be Assistant Head like Filus and have to make house calls.   

Since his earlier supposition regarding Hermione’s possible interest in the hallway, Severus had grown desperate to talk to her privately.  By this point, there would be little he’d be opposed to do if it meant a conversation with her. Trimming Trelawney’s toenails, washing Hagrid’s hair, or assisting in the birth of a thestral, anything would mean a chance of a private dialogue with her.  Severus would even be willing to debate her on the merits of felidomancy; Hermione may consider herself a cat person, but her revulsion for Divination would take precedence in her counter-argument. She may even give him a good tongue lashing in defending her point.  Hermione’s passionate enthusiasm, particularly when he was wrong, was extremely fetching.  

“...you have no idea how tired I am of listening about the Caesar Cipher…”

Oh, damn.  It’s Thursday.   Today Hermione would be holding her weekly lunch study group with her NEWT students.  A quick scan of the room confirmed the absence of several key pupils and the entirety of Gryffindor House wearing hats.  He sighed and sipped his first cup of afternoon coffee. Despite his reservations as to Hermione’s plan to implement this additional duty as a probationary professor--first-year teacher burnout was a very real thing--Severus couldn’t argue with the results.  Last year, the Ministry became suspicious at the high number of ‘O’s earned in Arithmancy compared to previous years. To prove a point, Hermione had her students retest under stringent supervision. Come commencement time the Ministry was forced to award two additional ‘O’s than if they had simply left it alone.  Minerva had never been more proud to stick it to the Ministerial blowhards.   

Indeed, many of the Professors, spurred on by Hermione’s success, followed suit and have voluntarily sacrificed a meal for their students once a week.  Severus saw the writing on the wall; Minerva was going to make the NEWT study noshing mandatory for all disciplines next year. It wasn’t that he didn’t see the merit, but he did enjoy eating in relative peace.  The method in which Hermione slyly changed policy through peer modeling was positively Slytherin. Severus would be lying to himself if the covert action didn’t add to her attraction. Not only did Hermione employ a trait thought of as the opposite of her sorted house; it reinforced the idea that with the proper encouragement and resources anyone could be successful.      

“...and if I hear one more thing about the cat, well, I may charm fleas on it.”

“Certainly it’s not as bad as all that.”

The low voices of Irma Pince and Rolanda Hooch floated over to him from a few seats on his right.  Irritatingly, their voices were just loud enough to continually intrude on his thoughts. Severus attempted to ignore them and continue with his lunch--as unsatisfying as it was without the company of the one he wanted the most.  Merlin, I am acting like such a love-sick fool.

Overlooking the griping became impossible, however, when Hooch said, “Did you know cats like accordion music?  Because I now do.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.  Severus rolled his eyes and scowled at the two women with a raised eyebrow.

“But what about —”  Irma’s eyes slid off her seatmate’s face and pinned Severus with a glare, not at all happy to have an interloper in their conversation.  “Something we can help you with Professor Snape?”

Annoyed, he replied acidicly, “Only if you have a cure for your incorrigible whinging.  Some of us are trying to enjoy a peaceful meal.”

“Oh?” Hooch said, turning around in her cushioned Windsor chair.  “How about you take my Saturday night patrol, then? See if you do any better with--”

“Now, that seems like a ridiculous —” Severus began, to just cut himself off prematurely.  The details of the women’s conversation immediately floated to the front of his mind. Caesar Cipher… cat… it sounded like Rolanda wanted to ditch a certain Arthimancy Professor as a rounds partner.  At last, Severus would finally be able to have a private conversation with Hermione. This opportunity could not be allowed to pass by. “Actually, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll switch for next Thursday evening.” 

“You have yourself a deal.”  Rolanda looked immensely pleased with herself.  Severus wasn’t sure exactly why that would be, but he had much more pleasant thoughts to contemplate.

---

Saturday came and with it a bundle of nerves.  Severus had spent the better part of the day twitching on his sofa, attempting to control himself.  The anticipation of seeing Hermione tonight, to be uninterrupted for the better part of the evening, was thick enough that he could taste it.  In a moment of clarity, a sense of dread coursed through him. What is wrong with me?  Have I been dosed with something?  

Uneased and panicked, Severus rushed to his private lab and flung open his supply cabinet.  Sliding open a thin drawer, he began to riffle through it with nervous, trembling fingers. Finding a bezoar, Severus grimaced at the size of it.  This is going to hurt.  Was it worth it?  Stuffing this smelly monstrosity down his throat?  Determining that this was the best course of action, he thought, I need to know if what I have been feeling is genuine or a nefarious prank.  Severus summoned a glass of water.  Past the teeth and over the gums…

Severus gagged on the stone as he shoved it to the back of his throat.  His tea biscuits from earlier threatened to make an immediate reappearance.  Not allowing that, Severus forced himself to swallow the hard gritty mass, bruising his throat.  Applying even pressure to his neck, careful of his scars, he helped the stone down. There was a fleeting moment of alarm when it felt too large.  Steadying his nerves, Severus washed it down with a careful sip of water. Gripping an upper shelf, Severus bent at the waist. He attempted to stabilize his breathing, and allow the bezoar time to work its cleansing magic.  

After several minutes he carefully began to re-examine Hermione Granger.  Arithmancy Professor. War Heroine. So far, so good.  Safe, simple identifiers.  Lover of fuzzy socks.  Enjoys honey in her tea.  A bit personal, but nothing a friend wouldn’t know.   Justiciar against prejudice. Wild, feral hair.  True, but also approaching dangerous territory now… Spritely and beautiful. Well, there’s no denying that.   She also often had ink-stained fingers that would leave dark paths on his pale skin as she dragged them down and over his hips…

“Goddammit,” Severus growled into the still air.  Either I am indeed infatuated with Hermione to within an inch of my life, or the bezoar was off.

Straightening, he shuffled through the drawer again and found another bezoar.  Is there such a thing as overdosing on bezoars?  Taking two in such quick succession may cause some gastrointestinal distress…   Severus must come to a decision; which outcome would be worse?  Painful, days-long constipation resulting in an enema administered by Poppy or chasing after Hermione to later find out he had been hexed?  

It wasn’t as difficult to swallow the second bezoar.

---

In an attempt to quiet his mind Severus took another shower; he hoped that he would find peace in the routine that served him so well in the morning.  He didn’t. Not when his stubborn brain was fantasizing about tonight. Hermione would greet him with a smile, surprised that he was to be her rounds partner instead of Rolanda.  She might even touch his arm again, as she was wont to do. Severus’ mind wandered unbidden, the vision continuing: Hermione’s hand would caress his bicep before rounding to his shoulder.  She would lean in close, her breath tickling the pale scars on his neck. Meanwhile, her fingers would deftly travel across his chest and continue down towards… With a start, Severus realized that his own hand and soapy luffa were following the same imaginary path.  He immediately turned the water to blistering cold. For fuck’s sake, man, get a handle on things, Severus thought as he leaned into the jets of icy water willing it to cool off his libido.  She will smell the desperation on you.

Severus had a sudden epiphany under the flood of cold water, Gods, I have been lonely, haven’t I?   After decades of being under the thumb of another, it had been freeing for Severus to be in charge of himself.  But instead of exploring his new freedoms, he had harshly isolated himself anew, hadn’t he? He spent his solitary evenings doing tedious teacher bumf, woke in a cold bed, and spent summers researching.  All alone. Little surprise that an innate craving for companionship had been awoken by Hermione’s lovely concealed laughter in the Great Hall. Severus’ mind and body were in agreement: Hermione would be an exceptionally well-matched partner.

The pair of them were intellectual equals; he had yet to encounter someone as equally as well-read as her.  During the War they both had made sacrifices for the Greater Good and they persevered regardless. Severus would say that Hermione’s loyalty to Potter was just as important as his was to the world that Lily desired before dying.  Both of them were dedicated and well respected in their fields. And together? Together their successes would only grow. On a personal level, Severus would finally have the aggressive boundless support of someone who cared for him.  Merlin, I really don’t want to be alone anymore.  At the morose confession, Severus finally felt his stubborn anatomy deflate into submission.

He pressed his forehead against the shower’s wall, and waved his hand in the general direction of the valve to shut the water off.  This future that he was imagining with Hermione was all conjecture, anyway. Severus needed to know if she shared his feelings. He already knew that it would be difficult to keep his feelings to himself much longer past tonight--he was truly lost to her.  Severus let his mind run rampant; what if, for once in his misbegotten life, events turned his way? What if their conversation led to both of them confessing their feelings? Would the night eventually lead to him pressing Hermione against the wall in the seventh-floor corridor for a kiss?  How would her body feel against his as he nibbled her neck? There was that alcove there behind the statue of Saint Fiacre, wasn’t there? No, no, no, Severus admonished himself as his cock bobbed back to life.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken Hooch’s offer after all.  In addition to nerves, Severus was going to have an inordinate case of blue balls by the end of the evening; he might even develop a limp by the end of rounds.  Hermione would be very concerned about his health. Perhaps she’d want to play nursemaid and massage… Severus turned the cold water back on with a shaky hand.

---

Twenty minutes later, Severus was shaving with his flat razor with a far steadier hand.  He altered from his usual routine by applying an aftershave; something that reminded him of spicy cloves and exotic shores.  As he perused his wardrobe he discovered that his attire--while practical for teaching--was not at all suited for impressing women.  Everything was heavy, dark, and had enough buttons to keep the manufacturers in business for decades. Are all these buttons really necessary?   Did he even have any casual wear here at the Castle?  Was it particularly vain to ask a House Elf to go to Spinner’s End and collect some of his shirts or a jumper?  I’ve really grown into quite an old fogey.  Sighing heavily, Severus selected the only things available: a crisp white shirt and pressed trousers.  

He became indecisive just before leaving.  Severus did settle on wearing his frock coat-- Even more damnable buttons! --because the Castle was notorious in its inability to retain heat in the winter.  But was the outer robe too much? Would he freeze without the extra layer? Would the garment’s natural billow be a repellant?  Severus grimaced at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. Conceding that practicality should overrule aesthetics, he shrugged on his robe.  Watching himself button his sleeves, he sighed. Severus looked the same as always. Dark, brooding, annoyed. This was not the impression he wanted Hermione to see tonight.  Not when he was hoping to reveal his feelings to her. In an effort to loosen up, he unclasped the top button on his neck.   This will have to do.

---

Severus resisted the urge to pace menacingly in the Entrance Hall as he waited for his patrol partner to arrive.  If he was going to confess his feelings or otherwise woo the witch into admitting her own, he had to control his nerves.  So, instead of polishing the granite stones with the soles of his shoes, he stood rigidly with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.   Severus attempted a simple Occlumency exercise from his youth, something that would ease himself back into daily practice. He needed to regain some of his self-discipline.  He already accepted that he would not be able to manage his reaction to seeing her tonight.

Severus heard her approach from behind.  Hermione’s dull steps indicated that she had chosen sensible shoes for the evening.  Her scent wafted to him--an earthy pine. It was unexpected and new. She usually smelled of a sweet citrus.  Hermione cleared her throat, alerting him of her presence. Like I would not know, Severus thought with a small smirk.  Although… the rough, scratchy sound she had made indicated to Severus that Hermione might have caught a cold.  Wouldn’t it just be my type of luck to have to postpone my plans based on illness?

Severus closed his eyes, careful to cultivate this moment to enjoy later upon recall.  Finally, they would be alone without the meddling of students or peers, and they would have hours together.  He might be able to express his feelings, and--he hoped--that she would return his feelings in kind. Severus slowly turned to greet the woman who had filled his thoughts for an entire evening.

“Professor Snape.”  The croaky, masculine voice was definitely not one he expected to hear.  Hermione must have the flu. Because she sounds like…. She sounds almost like… but that should be impossible. 

Severus’ eyes snapped open.  “Argus,” he breathed out into the Entrance Hall.  He suddenly felt like the room was spinning, the floor wobbly as the blood rushed through his ears.  Standing before him was not Hermione. It was Argus Filch, the very old and equally cantankerous Caretaker.  Filch’s greasy hair glinted in the light, the stringy strands framing his balding head. The man then did something completely unexpected.  Argus smiled at Severus, his mouth full of tea-stained yellow teeth.  

Filch, completely oblivious to his rounds partner’s inner torment, said, “It has been quite a while since we’ve been on patrol together, hasn’t it?  Sort of reminds me of old times. Well before… you know.” He gestured downward with his hand and whistled low, mimicking a descending rocket. Seeing the shock on Severus’ face the other man continued, “Oh, that was indelicate wasn’t?  Professor Granger often tells me that I need to think before speaking.”

“She does?”  It was Severus’ turn to sound croaky.

“She’s very kind, isn’t she?” Filch said as he stepped to the side.  “Now that she is an adult and not a meddling child intent on stealing and sneaking around, that is.  Do you remember when she stole all those ingredients from you? Must have been at least ten galleons worth.”

“I, uh,” Severus was still adjusting to the idea that Rolanda had just passed him off to patrol the corridors with Filch for six hours.  But they talked of a cipher… and a cat…   Uncomfortable, he clasped the top button at his neck.

Filch mistook his unease for the current topic of discussion.  “Oh, I suppose that’s also a hard subject, ain’t it? To be bested by a student?  Mrs. Norris would agree.”

“Mrs. Norris?” Severus rasped, a piece of the puzzle falling into place.

The Caretaker smiled.  “Aye. She’s about thirty now.  It’s why she doesn’t patrol anymore.  I keep her as comfortable as I can. Finds accordion music very soothing, if you can believe it.”

Severus answered sincerely, “I can’t.”  Is this really happening?  Have I really been pining over a woman all day and won’t even see her?

Filch took out his pocket watch.  “We should get a move on if we are to cover all the hiding spaces before midnight.  Did you want to start in the dungeons or the seventh floor?” He sniffed the air. “Did you have an accident in your lab, Professor?  You smell… different. Sort of musky.” The older man’s nose wrinkled in distaste.  

Severus’ legs automatically moved towards the dungeons, whether it was a subconscious ploy to flee this situation or not, he did not have the brainspace to interpret it.  I.  Am. Patrolling.  With. Filch.  

Ignorant to Severus’ thoughts, Argus fell into step beside him.  He continued eagerly, “What was I saying? Oh, Mrs. Norris. Yes, accordion music.  I was skeptical myself but Professor Granger mentioned it. Some days Mrs. Norris even joins in with some howling.  We make quite the musical duo.”

Is there a way that I can ditch him myself?  Fall down these stairs perhaps? Maybe Hermione playing nurse isn’t as far-fetched as I thought… “Hermi--Professor Granger--gives you advice, does she?”

“Oh, much more than that.  She introduced me to cryptology!  Have you heard of the Caesar Cipher?  Letters are replaced by others in a fixed number pattern.  Very clever for secrets. She says I would have been a good Arithmancy student.”

“That does sound like her.”

“Did she ever give you a good lashing about what your snakes did to her table?”

“No,” Snape answered firmly.  Although, I am finding myself to not be opposed to the idea.  

“She’s a soft touch,” Filch sniffed with affection.

Severus spoke before thinking, “She’s perfect.”  He felt his cheeks warm at Argus’ sharp look. “Allow me to clarify, she’s a perfect example of what a professor should be.”

Filch’s conversations grew more lively and all-encompassing as they descended further into the dungeons; he discussed the merits of pictorial nonograms, do-it-yourself iron chain making, geese, and a county law that forbids one to beat a shag carpet after eight in the morning.  Severus felt his left ear becoming numb already and they still had five-and-a-half hours to go.  I may not survive this.   On the way out, looping past the Hufflepuff Common Room, they heard a disturbing braying sound floating out of an unused classroom.  

Merlin and Zeus, please do not let it be those rutting sixth-years, Severus thought as he hesitantly charmed the door open.  

When the door swung open, however, it revealed Peeves sitting on a stool in the middle of the stone-walled room playing a trombone.  Badly.  

“What are you doing here, you blasted poltergeist?” Filch growled as he entered the room ahead of Severus.

Peeves chuckled manically.  “Practicing, old-timer.” Looking Severus straight in the eye, he blew out a chromatic descending scale of four notes.

Peeves cackled again as he floated up into the ceiling.  The corporeal trombone he was carrying could not physically follow and therefore clattered loudly to the floor.  Severus couldn’t help but feel like he was just mocked.

Chapter Text

Severus was hunched over the High Table, his arms resting on either side of his plate of uneaten toast.  The angle of his body was so pitched that his dark hair had fallen on either side of his face effectively blocking out the rest of the hall from his scorn.  If it were scientifically possible, the condensation from Severus’ steaming form would have created a fogbank along the dais; there would be no mistaking his sour mood with such a visual.  Alas, his body language was having to do the work for him. Thankfully, it seemed to be a good enough orator as his peers had, so far, given him a wide berth. Which was just as well, Severus’ temperament was not suited for congeniality this morning.  Bloody fucking rounds with Filch… up at the arsecrack of dawn like usual… today is terrible and I very well hate everything.

The scent of oranges momentarily floated over him as someone walked behind the table.  Severus felt his shoulders relax as he recognized the aroma. “What’s that sound?” Hermione asked as she pulled out her ladderback chair and sat down next to him.  A bowl of oatmeal topped with blueberries and a honey swirl appeared in front of her. “Is someone making tea?”

“No,” came a gloating voice a few seats over.  “It’s just Severus hissing.”

Severus’ head snapped up and he spat, “I do not--” before stopping himself abruptly because even he could hear the sibilation threatening to erupt.  He looked down the line of his peers and fixed Hooch with a glare.  

“Oh, that look doesn’t work on me, boyo,” the Flying Instructor said with a genuine smile as she tipped her cup in his direction.  “We’ve been through too much together for you to scare me away.”

“Damn crone,” Severus muttered under his breath as he reached for his own cup, swirling the dark liquid.  He covered his fond half-smile for the older woman by taking a drink. His shoulders relaxed another fraction as the coffee warmed him from the inside out.  The Elves aren’t breeding civets down there, are they?   Severus thought, referencing the famous Kopi Iuwak coffee, worth nearly two hundred galleons per bag, whose cherry-like beans were fermented by the digestive tract of an Asian weasel. 

Rolanda’s voice carried down the table, “What was that, sonny?  You’d have to speak up for someone as old and infirm as me.”

“Oh, stuff it, Rolanda,” Sprout scolded from the table’s left flank on the other side of McGonagall.  “The poor dear was up awfully late last night.”

“What?” Hermione asked, finally entering the conversation after eating some of her breakfast.  Eagerly, she turned to Severus. “What were you doing last night? Do you have a new project?”

The question of ‘May I assist?’ was unspoken but Severus heard it all the same; Hermione rarely passed on the opportunity to learn something new.  Highly aware of all the other eyes in the vicinity, he was careful to not show how much her enthusiasm had warmed him. Severus smiled crookedly at her when he answered, “No, I have no such thing.”  Although, perhaps I should orchestrate some long, drawn-out project if it would guarantee a moment alone with you...

Hooch cackled, “He had rounds last night.”

Hermione, who had turned to look at Hooch as she spoke, returned her gaze to Severus’ face.  She twisted her body closer to his, creating the illusion of a more intimate conversation in the public space of the Great Hall.  She asked low, “Rounds? I didn’t think you had--”

“I switched,” Severus muttered back, his soft volume matching hers.  Dark eyes snagged on to ones the color of espresso.

“Why did you do that?”

Oh, damn.  He had to be careful here at the High Table.  A public declaration of affection had the potential to either spook Hermione into fleeing or drive her to reciprocate out of guilt.  He wasn’t going to put her on the spot like this. Severus couldn’t very well be truthful in front of all these witnesses anyway; they’d tease him mercilessly.  But Severus also wouldn’t lie.

Hermione’s expression was morphing into one of concern and Severus knew he had to reply.  He still wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he started, “Hermione--”

A woman’s voice suddenly rang out into the room, “Darling!”

Simultaneously, Severus and Hermione broke eye contact and turned to see who had arrived at the front of the Hall.  But, just as quickly, they flinched when a booming, joyous voice on the left shouted a reply, “Oaty cakes!”  

It escaped everyone else’s notice that Severus’ hands flew to Hermione’s forearms in alarm and that her fingers gripped his sleeves in kind.  The touch itself was fleeting, they grasped and released each other within seconds; but as Severus turned to locate the source of who had called out the term of endearment his palms tingled.  He had no time to analyze the mutual reaching for each other--the quick confirmation that the other was all right--as a grating screech of a moving chair pierced the silence of the room. 

Hagrid had stood and the man looked as happy as if Norberta had just returned with an entire brood of grand-dragons and that his dreams of being a grandparent were finally realized.  Hagrid began waving his arms--Sprout was forced to lean sharply to the right to avoid being swat--as if he was directing a Muggle Concord Jet transporting a celebrity in for a landing.  Perhaps he was, to an extent, considering who was trotting to the High Table. Madam Rosmerta was weaving between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, carefully lifting her slim legs to step over discarded school bags.  She wore a form-fitting brown wool coat, high heeled tasseled boots, and a beret on top of her loose hair. Rosmerta gave small acknowledging waves to the older students who recognized her. But her large smile seemed to be reserved for only one person in the room.  Rosmerta sauntered up the short set of stairs and rushed around Sybill to Hagrid’s waiting arms.  

The landlady squealed as Hagrid spun her; this time Sprout found it necessary to push her chair directly against Flitwick’s to get out of the way of the dangerously circling legs.  As Hagrid gently placed her back on the floor, Rosmerta exclaimed, “My big burly man!”

“Well, shucks now,” Hagrid said, his entire face turning red.  Severus half expected steam to erupt out of the half-giant’s ears.

Other than Pomona’s act of self-preservation in regards to not being kicked in the face, the rest of the staff at the table seemed shocked into silence as they watched the unexpected reunion.  Severus felt fortunate that his brain had begun working well enough again to sputter out a singular thought. What in the ever living hell is this?  

Hagrid continued, “What are yer doing here? I was goin’ to come down this afternoon.”

“I couldn’t wait that long,” Rosmerta cooed, sliding her hands down Hagrid’s front while wiggling against him.

Minerva cleared her throat, being the first to recover, reminding the two-- Lovers? Severus thought incredulously--adults as to where they were.  Most pointedly, that they were center stage in a room of young children. 

“Oh right,” Hagrid replied, patting his large hand on Rosmerta’s back.  “We need to set a good example for the students. None of all that, now...”

Rosmerta giggled as she twirled to face Minerva, her coat fanning out around her.  She slid her hand down Hagrid’s chest to clasp his meaty hand with both of hers. As she leaned her frame against Hagrid’s side she asked formally, “Would it be alright, Headmistress, if I visited Rubeus for the day?”

Severus wasn’t sure where to look.  Either the public display between the half-giant and the buxom village barmaid or the very pinched face of the Headmistress.  Damn, that pulsing vein is back.  I may need to slip her that Hypertonie Draught after all.

“You’re both adults,” Minerva replied slowly.  “Hagrid is off duty today and therefore--”

Rosmerta’s delighted squeal echoed around the chamber.  Hagrid’s blush returned two-fold. The woman began to pull Hagrid out the side door.  Before the pair had disappeared completely Minerva harshly reminded, “Remember the children!”  The door slammed and an elated “Oh, my squishy pickle!” was heard through the thick walls.

Severus blinked at the door, completely at a loss for words.  The students nearest the High Table looked shocked and slightly sick.  One intrepid sixth-year--Henriksen, alcove rutter--wrote a hurried note in the margin of a book.

“What - just - happened?” squeaked Flitwick.  

A sharp clap interrupted any forthcoming response.  Immediately, an Elf appeared next to Minerva. “Headmistress called Tansy?”

“Yes, after our Groundskeeper and his friend return to his home please do the following: cast a strong student repelling charm around the area of Hagrid’s hut.  A circumference of thirty feet should be enough.” Minerva paused and Severus felt her indignation rolling off her in waves.  “And a silencing charm. A strong one.” Tansy’s ears wiggled in a concerned manner as she took her orders.  

Irma asked pointedly, “Can the staff be included in that repelling charm, Minerva?”

Minerva rolled her eyes.  “Merlin’s pants, this has been a terrible February for this Castle’s occupants.”  With a nod to Tansy she said, “Make it so.”

The Elf bowed low and disappeared with a soft pop.

Hooch spoke up, her voice soft with shock, “Rosmerta told me last week that she had started seeing someone.  Someone whom she considered a friend before suddenly seeing him in a different light. I just didn’t expect… I didn’t….” she trailed off, her voice suddenly lost.

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted that,” Minerva said as several heads swiveled to Trelawney at the end of the table.

The Divination Professor was sitting at her customary place near the end of the table.  Besides Pomona, she had been closest to the amorous display. She was clutching her silverware tightly with white knuckles--a piece of banger still on her fork--and was staring ahead blankly.  Dumbfounded, Sybill’s voice carried across the dais, “It… it wasn’t in the tea leaves.”

“You don’t really think they will require all those precautions, do you?” Sprout asked, her eyes wide and face pale.

“I can’t risk having our students learn the complexities of the sexual experience from our Groundskeeper,” Minerva answered.  She threw her serviette over her half-eaten plate of breakfast. Standing, she said, “Now that I am thoroughly off my…” Her forehead vein pulsed menacingly.  “My toad-in-the-hole… I am going to do some very tedious paperwork away from any windows.”

Casually dismissed, several of the professors--who shared similar feelings about being off their breakfasts--began to scatter to safer areas.  I suppose there’s marking to do...

As she stood, Hermione looked over at Severus and said, “I was going to take a walk around the grounds, but I, um...  I love Hagrid, understand, but I would rather not…” She gestured vaguely in the air. “I think I’m going to go to the library instead.  Would you like to join me?”

Severus didn’t think about a response for long at all, the answer was easy.  “Yes.”

---

Severus deliberately slowed his gait as they walked to the Library.  He wasn’t in a rush to end their close proximity or forgo the opportunity to talk to Hermione privately.  Admittedly, the public display between Hagrid and Rosmerta had put him off from immediately revealing his feelings to the woman at his side.  The timing would be too suspicious, similar to the faux pas of a wayward beau proposing marriage at a wedding; he didn’t want her to think he was simply caught up in the sentimental moment and wasn’t genuine.   

“That,” Hermione said, referencing what had just occurred in the Great Hall, “was….”

“Horrifying?” Severus supplied.  They turned a corner in the corridor and their arms grazed briefly.  The contact reminded him of their flustered touch in the Great Hall. He had truly not been thinking when he reached out to her; the grasp was instinctual more than anything, a quick verification that things were as they should be--a reminder that even in a jarring moment they were safe.  Whether that reminder was meant for him or for Hermione, Severus wasn’t sure. And she touched you back, didn’t she?  The suspicion about the extent of her feelings grew, warming his chest.

She breathed out a laugh, “I was going to say unexpected… and sort of nice, in a way.”  Hermione shrugged casually, swinging her arms.

Severus felt his eyebrow raise on its own accord.  He deliberately kept the cynicism out of his voice when he replied, “Nice?”

Hermione’s cheeks became pink.  “Well, yes. Hagrid is a dear old friend, and it is nice to see him so happy.  He has been awfully lonely since he fell out with Madame Maxime. But it’s specifically that he found someone who was…”  Hermione drifted off, her eyes sliding to the row of windows overlooking the Quidditch Pitch on their right. “Nevermind.”

He felt a smile twist across his face.  There was something becoming about her sudden shyness.  “You have my morbid curiosity piqued, Granger.”

“Well, just what Madam Hooch said, about how Hagrid and Rosmerta’s relationship evolved, so to speak…”

“You mean,” Severus said carefully, remembering the shocked and stilted conversation at the High Table from earlier, “when she said Rosmerta had considered the pair of them friends first?”  Is this an invitation to discuss the possibilities between us or merely a coincidence? 

They arrived at the staircase and Severus paused momentarily to step behind her, giving Hermione the railing.  He felt her absence at his side as she briefly hesitated on the landing before following him. Once she reached him mid-way up she said, “Yes exactly.  That the pair of them were friends before becoming… intimate.” Hermione turned away from him then, her cheeks becoming scarlet.

Despite the lovely sight of a flush that highlighted the freckles across her nose and ran down past her ears onto her neck-- How long does it go on for? --Severus had to repress a gag.  The mental imagery of the sexual gymnastics and amount of lube required to make the logistics feasible between Rosmerta and Hagrid was enough to put Severus off from his next three meals.  

Her soft voice gratefully broke him of the disturbing visuals, “Do you think that’s ever a good idea?  To be friends first?”

Severus instantly grimaced, the dark memories of his broken friendship with Lily suddenly descending upon him like thick smoke.  His shoulders sagged under the weight of decades-long guilt. This isn’t the way I expected this conversation to go ... “I don’t have much success with that sort of thing…” he confessed quietly as they reached the first floor.

The admission snuffed out the warm feelings that had been flourishing in his chest at Hermione’s proximity.  Instead, Severus was filled with a flood of insecurity. What makes me think that things would be any different this time?  One misstep from me and I would lose her friendship… it’s too risky.  Potter was right all those years ago. I am a coward.  

Hermione gave him a sad smile, the corner of her mouth upturning slightly.  “No, neither do I.” She laughed hollowly, and her shoulders tensed. “Geographic barriers kept me from pursuing anything serious with Viktor, and Ron was always more like a brother to me.  I haven’t had many opportunities for relationships since.” She finished quickly as if to erase what she had just said, “Seems like it worked out for Hagrid though.”

“Seems like.”  Severus felt the tightness in his voice, and he had to suppress the panic that felt like he was suffocating under his emotions of a long-dead woman.  No, no, no … he chided himself.    I did right by Lily by winning the War.  Hermione is not like her. She has never given me any indication that she would ostracize me if my feelings shifted from mere friendship and I later made a colossal fool of myself… she accepted Weasley back after he abandoned them in the woods…  she laughed when my snakes made a mess of things… 

“Would… assuming, of course, that the person wasn’t an old love, so to say… would you ever be willing to pursue a relationship with someone who you consider a friend, again?  Like someone you’re friends with now?” her uncertain, low voice cut across his thoughts.

Severus’ Slytherin sensibilities were suddenly on alert.  The question itself was one of extreme liberty taking; he had always considered himself to be a very private individual.  But if there was any validity to the evidence of her feelings for him--the touch over breakfast, the smiles that reached her eyes, the hand-delivery of the manchets, and the determined defending of his students--the question could be Hermione’s less than subtle way to ask if there was a chance for the two of them to be more than friends. 

But that whisper of doubt, egged on by the preceding memories of Lily Potter née Evans, made his feet too heavy to cross the line.  Severus desperately wanted to be more than a friend to Hermione… but the fear of rejection was too great and he felt unable to take the blind leap of faith.  Anxiety spoke for him when he murmured, “Is this rhetorical or is there someone you already have in mind for me?”

They rounded the last corner to the library.  Suddenly annoyed, Hermione threw up her hands before resting one on his bicep and hissed low, “Severus--”

She stopped abruptly and her hand clutched at his sleeve, silently urging him to come to a halt.  In the middle of the corridor was a large, orange-furred mass. The animal’s squished face rounded to scowl at them, his yellow eyes glinting in the light.  He scrutinized the pair of them and based on his expression he didn’t like what he saw.

“Crooks?” Hermione asked slowly.  “What are you doing out of our rooms?”

Crookshanks twisted suddenly, hunched and then--

“Crooks, no!”

Crookshanks began to undulate rapidly, his flat-face contorting.  A disturbing horking sound echoed around the corridor. He isn’t really going to… but Severus wasn’t able to finish his thought before the remains of a regurgitated field mouse--or what he chose to believe was a mouse--were thrown up in a pile of gooey spittle in the middle of the floor.

“Oh Crooks… this is not proper behavior for in front of the library...” Hermione scolded as she stepped closer to her familiar.

Brown and Marsh--third-years, proficient gobstone players--walked into the corridor from the same way Severus and Hermione had come.  Brown, who was behind his friend, warmly greeted his Potions Professor before running into Marsh’s back. “Good morning Professor Sna--Oi, what gives?”  Brown peeked around Marsh to see a very disgruntled over-sized cat whose owner was attempting to wrangle its withering, stubborn body into a cradle hold.

The boy’s gaze fell to the floor and the smelly wad of vomit that currently rested on the flagstones.  Brown immediately bent at the waist and threw a hand over his mouth. He moaned low.  

Marsh, understanding what was happening quicker than the adults, muttered “Oh no!”  He began to dig feverishly in his sleeve.

“Brown, are you alright?” Hermione asked as she vanished Crookshanks’ mess.

Embarrassed, Marsh said, “I must have left my wand in the Common Room.”  He began to pat Brown on the back, which unfortunately only made Brown audibly gag.  “Quick, Professor,” Marsh motioned to Severus, “he’s a sympathetic vomiter, he’s going to need a--”

Suddenly, the situation’s perilousness became obvious and there was a real possibility that Severus was going to end up with bile splashed onto his shoes if he weren’t quick.   Alas, after rapidly scanning the hall, there wasn’t anything to transfigure into a bucket. Coming to the grim conclusion that there were no better alternatives, he gripped the bottom button of his frock coat and pulled it off.  Hermione gasped and Severus knew that he only had seconds to spell the fastener into a receptacle.  

As soon as the button was made into a bucket Marsh yanked it out of Severus’ hands and placed it in front of Brown.  The boy quickly lost the entirety of his breakfast. Severus turned slightly to give him the illusion of privacy and caught Hermione’s gaze.  She looked thunderstruck, although he couldn’t fathom why. Her smile, upon realizing that he had turned to her, had brightened even further and it suddenly reignited the fondness in his chest.  Severus felt his stomach flip, and it had nothing to do with the gastrointestinal distress occurring to his left.

Another student moved into the corridor behind him and hollered, “Hey, are you two coming to play gobstones or what?”

Panicked, Marsh responded shrilly, “No!  Don’t come any nearer! It’ll happen to you too!”

Novák--fourth-year, Quidditch Keeper--stepped up beside his classmates.  Disbelieving, he asked, “What are you talking about?” Only for it to be quickly followed by, “Oh gods, you were sick weren’t you--” and then clutched his stomach as the smells and sounds of regurgitation washed over him.

Severus had to repress a sigh as he passed the bucket to Novák.

“This is soon becoming a circular disaster,” Severus drawled.  “Time to get you all to the hospital wing.” He began to usher the students back down the corridor, the nauseating bucket-of-sick floating obediently to the side.  There was a sense of loss as he turned away from Hermione. Their conversation had been interrupted and now things felt like they had to continue to be left unsaid for just a little longer.  Perhaps I should have been more forthcoming… have I missed the opportunity to make my case altogether?  

He turned before rounding the corner.  Hermione was still smiling. After a quick adjustment of her hands, jostling her hissing cat in the process, she gave him a small wave of goodbye.  Severus returned a half-smile and looked down at the feline. Maddeningly, the little bastard looked smug.

Chapter Text

The Elves had refused to brew coffee for two long, terrible days and counting.

An outsider might question what catastrophe had occurred to warrant such an incident. Surely, the kitchens must have collapsed or vanished. Perhaps a wayward student--bets would be on Poole; a fifth-year with pyromaniac leanings and who was also an avid fan of that Muggle program, Ready, Steady, Cook--had flame-broiled a beef tenderloin until it resembled charcoal, resulting in smoke damage rendering the kitchens temporarily unusable. Another possibility could be that the Giant Squid had found a mate, and in a pheromonal frenzy had contaminated the water supply with his overjoyous ink.

Or, more realistically, it was the sweeping rebellion of the student body who had refused to eat in the Great Hall after witnessing the disturbing amorous display between Hagrid and Rosmerta. The shock of the public broadcast that their presupposed sexless professors were not actually celibate proved to be too much for their sensitive stomachs. Instead, the students had chosen to create long queues that serpentined around the dungeon corridors to use the kitchens. A few hundred wrapped takeaway toasties, while gooey and delicious, had forced every Elf to be on stove-top duty.

One instance like this an Elf Matron could forgive. Two consecutive meals in a row pushed her good graces. After Minerva had allowed the students to repeat the farce a third time, the Matron took things into her own hands. The food coming out of the kitchens hadn’t been the same since: broccoli instead of blueberries in the oatmeal, roast beef breaded with Sugar Puffs, or--to Severus’ great dismay--the outright refusal to brew coffee.

In short, Severus was looking down an empty coffee cup Tuesday morning. Gods, he missed coffee. The prune juice Poppy had been forcing on him was as palatable as a glass of cold sick. Yes, he had brewed coffee this morning in his sitting room like usual. However, that was only supposed to be his preliminary dose, and compared to the Elves his coffee brewing was regretfully subpar. He simply could not live on one cup of half-decent coffee per day.

“It isn’t going to magically fill, no matter how long you stare into it, you know,” Hermione murmured next to him, holding a strip of soggy toast delicately between thumb and forefinger. She frowned as her breakfast dripped on to the tablecloth. “Merlin, did the Elves march this straight from Glasgow?”

Severus scowled. “Granger--”

“Granger, is it?” Hermione asked, sitting a little straighter in her chair, slapping the piece of bread on her plate with an audible splat. “I recall you calling me Hermione the other day.”

The lack of caffeine compelled his acidic tongue to run away from him, “Just because you have taken the liberty to address me by my given name in public does not mean that I share the same piss-poor manners.”

“Circe, you really are grumpy without your coffee; I thought Rolanda was just having me on.”

“Granger--” Severus flinched when her foot purposefully crushed his toe whilst she leaned across him to move the unaltered fruit bowl closer. Hermione’s refreshing citrus scent wafted over him, and her angle gave him a peek of her décolletage; her creamy pale skin was lovely outlined by her v-neck the purple color of decanted Dreamless Sleep. Three days ago, Severus would have blushed at the dual stimuli occurring in front of him, but this morning he was dangerously under-caffeinated. He seriously doubted anything short of a dark, bitter espresso would cure him of his souring mood. First, I am without coffee. Then Hermione leans over me with her cleavage on full display, and I can’t even revert back to a primitive chauvinistic nature and fucking enjoy it. Severus threw his serviette down over his plate in frustration.

Hooch, hearing her name from down the table, spoke up, “Don’t take it personally, Hermione, he would bite off anybody’s head who had the misfortune to sit next to him on this, The Happiest Day of His Life. Even Minerva wouldn’t be safe if he weren’t afraid she’d fire him.”

Severus scowled at Hermione’s huff of laughter. It was suddenly all too much. He stood, his chair clattering back along the flagstones. “Given that I have Minerva tethered to me in perpetuity due to her unnecessary Gryffindor Guilt, I am hardly living in fear of being sacked--and really, Min,” he stopped to spear the Headmistress with a pointed look, “you were supposed to hate me, that was the bloody point of the whole ruddy charade.” Severus turned back to the woman sitting on his right. “Besides, you witches have forgotten one important fact.” As he stormed away from the table Severus pitched his voice low and theatrical to pronounce the three words held most holy in academia: “I have tenure.”

---

Severus received a missive at the start of the second block of the day. If the third-year delivering the note--Chu, a Muggleborn; knitted hats for her toad familiar--seemed to think it odd that she was playing messenger between her Arithmancy and Potions Professors, she didn’t let on.

With one long finger he cracked the charmed wax seal on the parchment. At first, the words in front of him were all jumbled up and Severus feared that he was suffering from ocular degeneration on top of caffeine withdrawal. And wouldn’t that just be my luck, too? After a moment, the letters shifted on their own and Hermione’s recognizable neat handwriting became legible. She’s spell protected this letter, he realized with approval. Clever woman...

Professor Snape,

I owe you an apology. Please join me in my quarters at tea time.

Hermione

P.S. I have Ethiopia Genika.

Severus had to stifle a gasp in front of his class. Ethiopia Genika… Immediately, he could recall the thick spicy, chocolate aroma of freshly crushed African beans. Severus had discovered the decadent, rich coffee decades ago while trekking through the underbelly of the dense Ethiopian jungle during his apprenticeship. Upon Severus’ return to Great Britain, he had discovered that the roast’s import rate was exorbitant, especially on his pitiful apprenticeship stipend. While he was comfortable within his monetary means now, inflation had done its part to keep him apart from this particular roast. How can Hermione afford it on her modest teaching salary?

The answer was immaterial, at best, as he realized his mouth had already begun to water. Severus was indeed hard up for a caffeine fix; if Hermione could supply him with it, all the better. He had a fleeting worry that he would have accepted the invitation from anyone, up to and including Narcissa, as Severus was that desperate for a decent cuppa. Even an afternoon of sitting in an ostentatious sitting room while simultaneously having his wispy figure mothered over and chided about his long-lasting bachelorhood would be minor annoyances in exchange for having House Elf brewed coffee.

Therefore, Severus was inordinately pleased that the first one to offer an invitation to enjoy a rather delectable blend came from the woman he had been trying to secure a quiet moment with for a week. Thank Merlin for that typical Gryffindor Guilt. Feeling fortunate for this second chance he thought, And no more waffling around, it’s time to tell her how I feel! Severus vowed that he would not repeat his previous folly and allow anxiety to get the best of him.

Yes, today would be the day--over an intimate setting of coffee--that Severus Snape would share with Hermione Granger how his feelings for her had evolved. If he had any unspent luck remaining she would reciprocate in kind, and there would be many more opportunities for joint coffee breaks in the times ahead.

Unfortunately, the Castle had other plans for Severus today.

---

The first sign that something was amiss occurred with fifteen minutes remaining until the lunch hour. Ominously, the sconces in the dungeon classroom began to flicker, something that had not happened even during the Battle of Hogwarts. Slowly, each light petered out until the room was only lit by the flames under the bubbling cauldrons of a dozen Swelling Solutions. The luminaries refused to re-light, even with a Lumos. Reminding the students to remain calm, Severus transfigured several quills into floating candles. It wasn’t perfect, but it would get them to the end of class. It’s just a coincidence… Severus had no desire in entertaining the idea that things would get progressively worse. His denial increased when he thought, The lamps are simply out of oil… that happens all the time in a magical castle… I had just never noticed before.

Thankfully, everyone was able to vial their potion for grading without coming to harm and having to make a trip to the infirmary for a dose of Contracting Salve. As Severus was writing a reminder to Filch to re-oil the lamps, he had to swat away a pesky candle that insisted on bobbing next to his face. Looking up after the note vanished to Filch’s inbox, he suddenly realized that his students had yet to self-dismiss and were instead huddled around the entrance.

“What is the problem?” Severus asked briskly, stalking across the room--candles twirling in his wake--to the flock of loitering third-years. Why aren’t they getting a move on? Some of us want to get on with our day. After lunch there would be only one academic block remaining before the tea hour. A short three hours remained between Severus and a cup of heavenly Ethiopia Genika… between him and a tantalizing Hermione…

“Professor?” Lawson--a natural talent for Charms--softly interrupted his thoughts.

Severus blinked. Coming back to the present, he uttered, “Apologies, Lawson, what did you say?”

Now it was Lawson’s turn to blink. An apology from the Potions Master was as rare as a Nundu sighting. “Well, sir,” she gestured towards the wall, “it appears the door has disappeared.”

At this announcement, Severus snapped his gaze to the wall before him. Lawson was correct. Indeed, the wooden door frame was in the usual place below the arch’s keystone. However, it sorely lacked an accompanying wooden door. It was as if the Castle had bricked them in.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache fermenting behind his eyes. Oh, Merlin’s saggy bullocks! Is the Castle working in tandem with the Elves now?

Thinking quickly, Severus mentally played through the various consequences of herding twenty students through his cramped office. It was either that or the lot of them settling down for an unwanted dungeon picnic in his classroom. And with the Elves behaving as they were, they would probably be served a feast of aerosol cheese and cheap petrol station water biscuits. He repressed a shudder at the thought.

“Right, follow me, then.”

Severus’ robes rippled loudly behind him as he made haste to his office’s entrance next to the students’ supply closet. He grimaced at his over-extravagant billow, for in his coffee-less state he found it more irritating than dramatic. Upon his arrival, another problem soon became apparent.

The door to his office was stuck. The doorknob turned languidly in his pale hand, but that was all. Severus clenched his jaw. His suspicions about the Castle’s true allegiance became more solid. He growled and he slipped his wand from his sleeve. “I don’t want to do this,” he muttered, visualizing the most explosive fire spell he knew that was not technically categorized as Dark Magic. Minerva would really have my head if I ignited a repressed arsonist. Fortunately, the Castle seemed to sense what he was planning and gave him one, single reprieve by unlatching his door with an audible click.

Severus ushered the students through his office without delay--“Do not touch anything, Gorley”--and was relieved it was not the disaster it could have been. Blessedly, the students seemed to be more concerned about getting out of the predicament the Castle had put them in rather than causing mischief by fiddling with his specimen jars and breaking one. Which was fortunate as the stench of formaldehyde had a tendency to seep into everything within a ten-foot radius, even after several cleansing charms. The third-years followed him out into the corridor like a gaggle of tottering ducklings and Severus glanced to the left.

He did not like what he saw. Forebodingly, the stairs leading to the ground floor looked rather slanted from his position in the middle of the hall. It’s just an optical illusion, Severus pleaded to himself, willing it to be true. However, upon his careful approach the situation’s reality was confirmed. The Castle had indeed made the stairs into a slide.

Severus cycled through several emotions in quick succession. The first was rage that the Castle was acting out in such an immature manner. Even if it was working in conjunction with the Elves, it was putting its human occupants at a grave disadvantage. Then curiosity took over; did the Elves control more of the magical foundations of the building than they received credit for? Based on the current evidence an affirmative verdict seemed likely. Next came the cold, unsettling feeling of resignation. There was no skirting around the truth here; the stairs were a slide. Severus and his brood of pupils were reluctantly and oppressively separated from the rest of the Castle’s residents. How was he ever going to engineer their escape? The afternoon’s pleasurable agenda was on the line if he failed!

He stared at the slide-steps blankly, trying to formulate a solution. One option was to divert foot traffic to the other wing, but there was no guarantee that the west stairwell had fared any better and they’d be right back to where they started. Severus scanned his charges’ anxious faces and suddenly realized that this was probably the most worried some of these young children had ever been at school. Years ago, he may have felt irked by that--at how sheltered they were--but now, he was satisfied to know that he had helped pave this road of stability. The reminder that Severus had a duty to protect those in his care renewed his focus to find a solution.

Pushing aside his personal disappointment about the prospects of this afternoon--There’s still enough time for everything to work out! I mustn’t give up all hope!--he recalled something. There was a lesser-known hidden stairway behind the onyx obelisk in the corridor off of Sprout’s quarters. The only issue with exposing that back door would be that the dungeons would need a new escape hatch. As it stood, the Castle didn’t seem amenable to taking requests at the moment.

Just as Severus began to think that he’d have to summon his Patronus to fetch aid from above, a sixth-year--Webb, a legendary loud sneezer, who, after prematurely startling awake an entire row of Mandrakes four years ago, had only limited access to the Nursery Greenhouse--came shooting down the slide-steps and landed with a thump on their rear end. Webb turned to call up to the ground level, “Yeah, it does end in the dungeons! You owe me five chocolate frogs, Val!” He turned to Severus and greeted him with a cheery, “Hello, Professor!”

Severus hid his surprise over the sudden appearance of a student by pinching the bridge of his nose, a tension headache blooming with the ruthless vengeance of Devil’s Snares. After a moment he drawled, “Webb, that was quite the foolish gamble. You had no guarantee that you would end up here. You could have landed in the lake, for all you knew. Was the risk really worth...” Severus sighed heavily and finished sarcastically, “...a measly sum of five chocolate frogs?”

Webb shrugged, nonplussed by his Professor’s reaction. “It’s good candy, sir. Besides, it’s fun.”

As Severus contemplated the intelligence of that statement, half-a-dozen students followed Webb’s example and squealed down the slide in increasingly reckless ways. Backwards, on their stomachs, or rolling down on their sides, the children proved that youths rarely think things through. If any of them had broken a bone or concussed themselves on the flagstones--What if the Castle transforms the chute back into stairs while one of them is halfway down?--medical aid would take an extended time to reach them. Severus hadn’t set a bone or cauterized a wound in several long years; he would rather not take the risk unless it was completely unavoidable. Finally, at the end of the queue, a small figure wearing stylish poulaine shoes came barreling down the slope with a shriek. Severus had to step aside to avoid being bowled over entirely.

To a chorus of enthusiastic cheering, Filius Flitwick sprang up from the floor in glee. Exhilarated, he rubbed his hands together. “Ah, Professor Snape,” he squeaked, “you’re here too!”

“And where else would I be?” Severus asked with an exasperated slant.

“Chin up, lad,” the Charms Professor continued on, ignoring Severus’ tone, “it’s only a spot of fun. It would do you some good, you know, to loosen up a bit.”

Remembering the last time he had given himself some slack, in the form of an unbuttoned collar only to be greeted at rounds by Filch rather than Hermione, Severus muttered, “I’m afraid that’s not worked well for me in the past, Professor Flitwick.”

“Professor Snape,” Filius said, whipping his wand out of his sleeve. “I say this as someone who has known you for almost forty years, and been your colleague and friend for a good thirty of them… you really could use an actual holiday. And not one of those working ones you’re so fond of.”

In another lifetime Severus would have taken high offense to that remark. He had a duty then and simply was not afforded the luxury to bustle off to Majorca for a long weekend whenever he pleased. The price of lowering one’s shield and doing the unthinkable—relaxing—ranged between being cursed continually until he soiled himself and was left as a twitchy mess on the floor, or slipping enough that it tipped the scales of a war that threatened to spill over Britain’s borders like an unchecked disease.

However, before his mind took him further down that morose path, the ridiculousness of the current situation took hold of Severus. The Castle’s misbehavior, coupled with the giddy demeanors of the students who had slid down into the dungeon and topped off with Filius’ rather unsettling actions and accurate observations had all combined to make quite the farce. After all, Severus was many years removed from the circumstances that would have forced his continued self-martyrdom. Perhaps an actual sojourn--Maybe somewhere with some sun? I increased the new anti-burn salve’s SPF to two-hundred--was long overdue. The thought of being daring shifted into something else novel: the lovely woman upstairs who had extended an invitation for afternoon tea. And just maybe I could have company on that adventure as well...

The hopeful notion buoyed him, and Severus slid his own wand from his sleeve. He muttered darkly with a hint of humor, accepting that it was high time to shake things up a bit, “And don’t I know it, old chap?”

Filius’s answering laugh echoed off the walls. The students in the corridor, watching the conversation with heightened interest, also visibly relaxed. See, even the dungeon-bat can be fun, Severus thought to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

As one, the two Professors turned to face the stairwell and began to cast Finite Incantatem repeatedly, with the hope of curing the stairs of their tilted nature. Unfortunately, the Castle proved to be a rather stubborn patient and required a more creative prescription. All told, it took a frustrating forty minutes to put things to rights, a singular step at a time. While the students were able to partake in a rushed lunch, neither Severus or Filius were given such a boon. They still had to solve the mystery of the Potions classroom’s door that had inexplicably gone missing.

For fifteen solid minutes the pair worked along the wall, sweat beading across their brows as their spellcasting became increasingly more desperate. Finally, on a lark, Flitwick tickled the fourth stone from the bottom. The ministrations had a rippling effect across the wall, causing the door to shimmer back into place.

Unfortunately, while this was timely for Severus’ fifth-years, it did mean he had to inhale his emergency tin of Ginger Newts in the privacy of his supply closet in the middle of the block. Other than the usual student mishaps (slicing instead of dicing or three-and-a-half turns instead of three-and-a-quarter) the brewing of Befuddlement Draughts went largely as planned. The classroom floor shook nearly imperceptibly towards the end of the class, but as the sconces flickered back on and his door stayed in place, Severus was willing to look past his paranoid concern.

After all, he was only several minutes away from being in Hermione’s company. Maybe the Castle is over its temper tantrum.

Severus confirmed that the stoppered vials would be safe on his desk in his absence, and followed his charges out of the class. Most naturally, the sconces had stayed lit until he waved them out with a swish of his hand. The door did not vanish as the class exited, nor did the Castle rudely encase someone within the wall itself. When he locked and warded the room, the door obediently stayed in place. Reaching out with his fingertips, Severus nudged his magic against his wards. They remained intact. Maybe that shudder they all felt was the Castle’s last reminder as to what it was capable of doing: a warning as it signed-off from meddling for the rest of the day.

Indeed, the corridor looked the same as usual as the class made way for the stairs. The suits of armor at the bottom of the stairwell were their typical sparkling chrome and inactive. The cobblestones beneath their feet had not yet turned into a moving walkway reminiscent of the Heathrow Airport terminals. Gladly, things appeared altogether normal.

The taste of victory--which, unsurprisingly, resembled Ethiopia Genika--only became all the richer as he ascended the stairs. Ah, yes, things are back to how they should-- That happy thought was crushed when Severus stepped into a puddle about a quarter of the way up the staircase. He looked down at his shoe before lifting his gaze to the ceiling. It appeared dry, indicating that a leak from above was not the source. The students ahead of him had grown quiet, glancing down at their soggy shoes, as they carefully navigated the stairs.

Grimacing and hoping he hadn’t just stepped into something unsavory, he bounded up the next few steps. In rapid order it was soon apparent that the trouble was not merely an isolated puddle. The entirety of the staircase was growing quite wet, water dribbling over each stair’s lip onto the one below. The hem of Severus’ trousers was uncomfortably moist by the time he finally reached the Entrance Hall.

Severus looked over the heads of his students and found the source of the deluge to be obvious. One of the largest paintings in the gallery, a beautiful landscape of the Hogwarts grounds, had sprung a leak. The water from the painted Black Lake was streaming over the frame loudly, flooding the foyer. The water gushed over the cobblestones and washed away the detritus in the corners of the room; with it, Severus’ expectations for a quality cup of coffee drained away. This problem would need to be dealt with first before he could even entertain that notion again. The students who had congregated in the large room were shocked silent, mesmerized by the chaos unfolding before them. In quick succession the painting disgorged a school of fish with a disturbing slurp, leaving them to flop along the cobblestones. A trio of students along the wall slipped knitted hats out of their pockets and pulled them tightly over their heads.

“At least,” muttered one of the students in the crowd, “it’s not that painting of a conquering hoard of Visigoths on the fifth floor. I mean, could you imagine?”

At that moment, a tendril of seaweed--or perhaps a sea snake?--slipped between two fourth-years whose shrieks echoed loudly within the hall, breaking the otherwise silent introspection. Panicked, the students scrambled for the moving staircases in an effort to reach higher ground.

The staircases groaned under the sudden weight of three dozen students. The group of pupils yelled as the bottom set of stairs began to shift away from the wall. To Severus’ horror, several students took their chances and attempted to leap to the next landing ahead of the staircase. Flicking his wand in a large arc, he was able to cast a Volitare, halting their attempts to unintentionally high-dive, and float them across the gap unharmed. The water, meanwhile, gushed out at an alarmingly faster rate and began to slosh over Severus’ ankles.

He took a step back, to better assess the condition of the hysterical youngsters, and almost stepped on a flopping iridescent fish.

A voice called out, “Don’t step on it, sir!”

From somewhere on the stairs a voice rang down, “Miles, what are you doing?”

Miles Burchard walked around Severus cradling the fish gently. “Catching you this fish.”

Doyle--a prefect like Burchard and Trelawney’s teacher’s pet--leaned over the banister as the stairs rotated to their next position. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder. Bewildered, she asked, “And why are you doing that?”

Observing the movement of the turning staircase, Burchard leapt easily onto the bottom step as it passed. Respectfully, he gently offered Doyle the fish as he moved upwards. “For your interest in Icthyomancy, of course. The scales look particularly--”

Skeptical, Doyle crossed her arms. “And what do you know about Icthyomancy?”

“I’ve done some reading--”

“You’ve read about Divination? I thought you detested the subject!”

Burchard’s ear’s pinked. “I’ve gotten up early for the last two months to do so and--”

Without warning, Doyle lunged towards Burchard and kissed him firmly on the mouth. The shock, unfortunately, meant that the boy dropped the fish, causing it to tumble ungracefully down the stairs; with a look of wall-eyed fishy surprise it plunked back into the cool water which had risen to shin height.

Blinking rapidly at the public display of affection--First Hagrid and Rosmerta, and now this? If the bezoar had had any effect I would begin to suspect that there was a love potion diffused in those Weasley Whizz-Bangs--Severus attempted to refocus on the task at hand. “Mind yourselves, Burchard and Doyle,” he barked as Doyle’s hands gripped Burchard’s hips. Aghast and cranky due to low caffeine, Severus thought, this situation is hardly romantic, in fact it’s--

His mental examination was interrupted by the sound of a pleasant voice overlayed with alarm called down from above, “Professor Snape!”

Severus’ eyes snapped up to the vision of Hermione Granger standing at one of the upper landings. Suddenly, the misery of missing a palatial cup of coffee was not at the forefront of his mind. Taking in the sight of her wild windswept hair, flushed cheeks, and heaving bosom he inferred that she must have sprinted from her quarters once she had heard the students scream. Gods, she is beautiful.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus caught the movement of another student-made-daredevil attempting to leap to the landing ahead of the stairs and cast another Volitare. Meanwhile, once the stairwell closest to Hermione clicked into place in front of her, she cast what must have been a personal version of the Sticking Charm; Severus recognized it by the wand movement. Despite being held fast the stairs attempted to turn away. Groaning, its aggrieved trembling was felt on the ground floor. Severus couldn’t make out Hermione’s response from this distance, although it did look heated and colorful. Obviously annoyed, she gave the floor a forceful stomp.

The handful of students that had not yet been able to scurry to safety were finally able to do so thanks to Hermione’s ingenuity. As she rushed down to lend her aid, Severus reluctantly turned from her. The flooding had not subsided during the students’ escape and required more of his immediate focus. How am I going to fix this? Severus eyed the leaking painting with animosity. A tentacle rose from the glittering lake on the enchanted canvas in either a greeting or a threat, he wasn’t sure of which. Slicing his wand through the air he cast a Reparo. It had no effect. Severus bit back a sigh. Charms were never a great strength of his, and this mess was only getting worse. At this rate the entire dungeon will be underwater by dinner!

Hermione leaned over the railing as she waited for the next set of stairs to slide into place. She raised her voice to be heard over the rushing torrent of water, “Is that the only painting causing a problem?”

He answered smoothly, “It is.” Severus cast another repairing charm. However, instead of mending the rip, Consutam only made the painting tear open further. A sturgeon squeezed through the opening and popped out into the flooded room like a seed pinched out of its pod. “Christ on a bike!” he exclaimed, eyeing the painting with considerable frustration.

“Wait for me!” Hermione pleaded as she rushed down the last remaining staircase. Severus turned his head as she grew near.

In a last act of defiance the stairs attempted to shift as she neared the bottom. She snarled, whipped out her wand, and warned menacingly through clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t.” The staircase jerked but stayed in place long enough to allow Hermione to step into the flooded Entrance Hall. She sloshed through the knee-high water to reach Severus’ side.

Grabbing his sleeve she spoke quickly, “Severus, I’ll handle this,” she waved her wand to the troublesome painting. “You should go inform Minerva. She was supposed to meet with the Elf Matron during tea. The Castle’s ridiculousness must be adding pressure to speed their negotiations.”

“I hardly think that Minerva needs me to--”

“You’ve worked with the Matron before, you’ll know how best and most swiftly a consensus is to be reached.”

Remembering his attempt to tack on the secret of the Elves’ coffee brewing techniques to his teaching contract, he scoffed. “Not bloody likely.”

“Exactly.”

Severus raised an eyebrow in reply.

Hermione continued, “You must convince Minerva to agree to whatever they want. We can’t continue on like this. Besides, haven’t they earned it with all their centuries of faithful service?” She turned to face the painting properly but spoke over her shoulder, “Try reverse psychology; we Gryffindors are astoundingly susceptible to it.”

He didn’t hide his smirk. “Are you certain that you have things well in hand here?”

She twirled her hand in a pattern Severus didn’t recognize. Thin blue ropes burst from the end of her wand and covered the painting like a web. “I stuck the stairs, didn’t I?”

Her expertise delighted him. Some of his admiration seeped through in his tone when he replied, “So you did.”

Hermione stretched her wand above her head and made a small circular motion causing the web to tighten. Softly, she said, “Go. I’ll find you later.”

Before turning away, Severus allowed himself a moment to watch Hermione work. Her expertise with charms was a marvel to witness. Magic sparked in the space around her as she bent it to her will leaving no doubt that Hermione was a powerful witch. Her control over her strength was immensely pleasurable to watch and Severus felt his affection for her grow. He would have been content to watch Hermione’s spellwork for the rest of the afternoon. Sadly, duty called him away. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed for Minerva’s office to render aid in the negotiations against the most ruthless battleaxe he had ever come across. Minerva doesn’t stand a chance.

---

Several hours later, Severus sagged on to a wooden bench in the third-floor corridor. As expected, negotiations had been a bloodbath for the Matron proved to be as unyielding as the Castle’s foundations. She wasn’t at all interested as to the reasons why the students had suddenly descended upon the kitchens for sustenance. The Matron had rightly argued that it had been unreasonable to expect all the on-duty Elves to work the stovetops (and deplete an entire month’s supply of cheese) without proper warning. However, she was willing to overlook the misstep if the kitchen equipment was updated to modern magical Culinary standards, but she didn’t mean new cauldrons or an extended pantry. No, the Matron had her protuberant eye on two dozen Rangemasters, a line of high-end, very expensive cookers displayed on a glossy page of an abandoned Argos catalogue the Elves had found in the Staff Room many months ago.

Minerva had balked at the demand, of course. Charming such a large area of the Castle to accommodate Muggle technology would be an exhausting, Herculean endeavor and before that could even occur, the Headmistress would have to bully the Board of Governors to attend an emergency all-hands meeting mid-week. Once that was done, she’d have the grim task of convincing them to approve an exorbitant expense of nineteen thousand galleons to yank the Hogwarts’ kitchens into the twenty-first century. Minerva knew her goose was cooked when she was reminded by the Matron that dinner was soon approaching, and it would be a shame if everyone was served a thin, soupy gruel or hotdogs on marshmallow buns.

Tired, Severus rested his head against the cool stone wall behind him and closed his eyes. I don’t envy Minerva in this. She’s going to have a hell of a time persuading the Board to bend to her will tomorrow morning. He was grateful, now more than ever, that he had turned down a position in administration when he had returned. He wasn’t interested in shouldering that level of responsibility nor the accompanying arm-twisting.

Finally having a chance to rest after an exorbitantly long day, Severus became aware of how tight his body was with tension. Breathing evenly, he began to purposefully relax each muscle in a decompression exercise.

Several minutes later, he smelled her approach. Hermione’s normal citrus--satsuma or was that mandarian?-- had been subverted by a new unfortunate underlayer that instantly catapulted Severus back to the summers of his youth. He had spent many pleasurable afternoons at the popular Cokeworth waterhole just upstream of the mill; to his mother’s dismay, he would return home reeking of fish and algae. It reminded him that--at one point in the very far past--he had been carefree and not stuck in a rut. As he’d grown to manhood, Severus had carefully cultivated a rigid routine for survival. It was all rather unnecessary now; his habits had become deadweight instead of ballast. Severus was being tempted to exist outside of his comfort zone and Hermione was the catalyst for this change.

Sensing her near, Severus finally opened his eyes.

“I’ve finally found you,” she said low into the empty corridor. “‘Christ on bike’ was about right. The mess downstairs rivals any of Fred and George’s stunts.”

He felt his jaw go slack as he took her in. Hermione was Thalassa reborn; damp and exhausted, she carried herself with the air of satisfaction that only comes from accomplishing a hard-fought victory. Hermione’s eyes softened as she caught his gaze. Her face was dewy and glowing as if she had just showered rather than battled a leaking painting into submission. Stringy green stalks of seaweed were tangled in her hair, bringing to mind Venus rising from the sea. She’s exquisite…. Severus, even with the putrid lakewater smell beginning to overwhelm the space between them, found his attraction to her not dimmed in the slightest.

At some point during her spellcasting Hermione had discarded her outer robe. Severus found his full attention drawn to the low neckline of her purple shirt... a wet shirt that was clinging to the shape of her round breasts and outlined her bra with perfection. Fuck me.

Out of politeness, Severus had to close his eyes lest he lose complete composure, descend into being a complete lech and make her uncomfortable. Merlin, but she’ll be the death of me, yet...

“Oh,” Hermione breathed out into the hall. “I’m a right mess, aren’t I? I stink of lake water and… other things.”

“It’s not as bad as you think,” he muttered, focusing on pushing the image of her to the back of his mind.

“What I need is a good cleaning charm.” So saying, her nonverbal spell rippled softly through the space around them; Severus’ fingers tingled under the gentle caress of her magic. After a moment, Hermione settled next to him on the bench. “I take it negotiations went badly.”

“No,” Severus said evenly, angling his body towards her. “It went just as expected for Minerva. The elves had a unique--and bloody expensive--set of demands, though.”

“What were they?” Hermione leaned in a little closer to him.

“The Rangemaster line of stoves out of an Argos catalogue.”

Hermione scrunched her nose in confusion. “How did they even get their hands on that?”

“The Matron said they had found it in the Staff Room over the Christmas hols.”

“Oh damn!” She sat upright and smacked her thigh. “That was me! I was looking for gifts for everyone. I had assumed I just misplaced it in my quarters.”

“Well it appears like you were finally able to find the elves an acceptable gift, Hermione.” A side of Severus’ mouth twitched as he turned his head to catch her gaze. Her initial look of shock melted into one of warmth. Overcome with a sudden bout of laughter, Hermione bent at the waist. As she tried to catch her breath she unexpectedly rested her hand on his thigh. Severus’ touch-starved body flinched as pleasure flooded his blood.

Obviously misunderstanding his reaction, she jerked her hand away and her laughter immediately subsided. Severus felt remorse that he had probably been the unintended reason for it.

Blushing, Hermione straightened. She wasn’t looking at him when she spoke flatly, “I guess they really didn’t need a foolish little girl to be their champion, did they? They’ve had control over everything this entire time.”

Severus measured his words carefully. “Caring about others is not foolishness.”

She shrugged half-heartedly in response. The energy between them was rapidly cooling from companionable to awkward and Severus began to panic. No, no, no! I need to tell her how I feel before I lose yet another opportunity!

They spoke at the same time; their overlapping names were murmured in hushed tones into the quiet of the corridor.

“Hermione--”

“Severus--”

They both paused, eyes on each other. Considerate and aware of her declining mood, Severus said, “You may go first.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times as if she was trying to get her words in the right order. Finally, she sighed and uttered, “I, uh, was going to ask what you were doing over the Easter Break.”

He was unconvinced that she had really meant to ask that but he answered her all the same, “I am on pastoral duty the first week but haven't made plans for the second half yet.” Remembering his conversation with Flitwick hours before, Severus amended, “Although, I recently came to the conclusion that it may be high time to experience a proper holiday. I was thinking somewhere warm.”

Shocked, she asked, “Really?” Her eyes scanned his body. “You don’t seem like the type for sun.” Flustered at his raised eyebrow she continued unsure and haltingly, “I mean just that… your pale skin… I mean, your complexion… your...” she touched his sleeve, her dainty finger rubbing across one of the buttons, “your black wardrobe…”

Severus quirked an eyebrow, not wanting to dislodge her hand from his person a second time. “I stoppered death. I should be able to figure out how to avoid something as benign as a sunburn.”

Hermione let out an amused huff. “I suppose you will.”

“And you?” he asked, his gaze coming to rest on her hand she had yet to remove.

Realizing where his attention lay, she quickly pulled her hand back into her lap. “We have a similar schedule. I haven’t quite decided yet what to do with the last half either. Theo wants me to go to Sigtuna with him. His sister is hosting the holiday this year and I’ve never been to Sweden. It may be fun.”

Blood rushed through Severus’ ears. Theodore Nott… of course. She isn’t single at all, is she? Nott, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, had joined the staff shortly after Hermione. The two professors, both from a generation divided by war, had pointedly put aside their past differences and were openly committed to forging new alliances. They often requested to be paired for collaborative projects, and frequently were found researching together in the library.

The revelation that Nott, a pureblood with a prejudiced family tree, had invited Hermione to his kin’s traditional holdings in Sweden was a massive indication of his high regard for Hermione. Not only would Nott be publicly acknowledging a tie to her, he would essentially be showing all and sundry that his lineage did not define him, nor was he adhering to his father or his grandfather's ideals as heir apparent of the estate.

Severus felt simultaneously cleaved in half and doused with ice water as he followed that line of thought to the obvious conclusion. Have I really been so unobservant that I missed all hints of a relationship between the two? If Nott is going through all of the trouble of taking her to his family seat, he must be preparing to propose to her. It wasn’t that I missed my chance with Hermione… I never had one to begin with. I’ve confused an interest that was obviously intended to be friendly with romantic foolishness.

Used to utter isolation out of necessity, and more recently habit, Severus struggled under the influence of the dangerous siren call of a woman’s laughter. Hermione, unknowingly, had ignited a fledgling desire for companionship. Depressingly, now the tiny spark was snuffed out and he felt the intense burn of crushing loneliness. He regretted how his relationship with the woman at his side would have to change, for she could never know. Hermione never asked for me to fall for her… and she would likely feel nothing but pity for me if she ever found out.

Severus felt himself begin to spiral into the murky waters of self-disparagement. I’m too old and too jaded to have caught her eye, even if I had been able to before she caught Nott’s attention. Besides, I carry a far more tainted reputation than a man who merely dabbled in pureblood politics as a youth. What could he do? He felt the weight of his past hanging around his neck like a damned albatross.

How will I ever get out from under it? Suddenly aware of just how much he had been stuck treading water by returning to teaching, Severus thought, I have done myself a great detriment in staying at Hogwarts, haven’t I? I didn’t have to return. I could have gone into research or taken a position at St. Mungo’s. Developed my own path. Why did I come back here, like a rabbit fleeing to its den?

Severus had wanted to be comfortable, first and foremost. Starting a business or lab from scratch, even with his Order of Merlin stipend, would have been a colossal undertaking, and he hadn’t had the patience for it a decade ago. Surprisingly, he had found teaching tolerable when he wasn’t beholden to two masters, and he craved the familiarity of the day-to-day routine. Severus had finally been given something that he had long been denied: ownership over his own life, with complete control over his own affairs. But once more the halls of Hogwarts were beginning to no longer represent a safe place. Severus truly didn’t want to resign, but how could he bear standing by as Hermione’s relationship with Nott flourished and her kindness was turned to an infinitely more worthy recipient?

Before his brain had time to torment him further, the buzz in his ears had receded allowing himself to hear Hermione again. “I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to visit with Harry if I do go, though.”

Severus attempted to Occlude, determined to not show how much he was hurt. To his great consternation, his voice was thick when he replied, “I’ve heard that the Nott estate is picturesque this time of year. I’m sure Potter would understand if you… desired to spend your time there.”

“He may actually feel a bit--”

Severus’ Occluding was failing, his emotions were still too raw to be shut away. I need to get away from here--from her. Cutting her off he said, “Excuse me, Granger, I have something to do.” He stood suddenly and without turning back to face her he muttered over his shoulder, “Have a good evening.”

“Severus?” Hermione’s soft voice wafted after him in the corridor.

He stuck up a hand in a wave of dismissal as he stalked away from her, retreating to the familiarity of his isolated dungeons. Severus was at an utter loss. He didn’t want to lose Granger’s friendship, nor create a wedge between himself and Nott. He was floundering spectacularly, just like the trout that had been spit unforgivingly onto the cobblestones from the canvas hours earlier, and Severus was highly cognizant of it.

Fuckity fucking fuck! He cursed silently as he fled. What am I going to do now?

Chapter Text

Every morning for the next several days Severus would assure himself that he wasn’t a coward. Cowards hid. He was most certainly not hiding, rather he was simply circumventing an awkward situation. It was a tactical maneuver, nothing more.

While the average person might rely on the support of their friends or family in times of great emotional upheaval, Severus found that he could not. His social circle was quite small and he didn’t wish to humiliate himself any further by confessing his folly to the likes of Lucius or Minerva. Moreover, he was already knee-deep into work as it was--how could one not be if one lived where they were employed?-- a situation that lent itself best to withdraw. He needed time alone to tend to his bruised ego, and ponder how much interaction was absolutely necessary with the Arithmancy Professor going forward.

Truly, there were some peers he barely interacted with, their respective disciplines so vastly different they hardly crossed paths naturally. The monthly staff meetings and meals made up the sum total of his interaction with Sinistra, Hagrid, and Trelawney. He could, with confidence, orchestrate the same measure of contact for Hermione… at least until he recovered from his foolish crush. Obviously, based on their conversation regarding her upcoming Swedish holiday, she was already spoken for; it wasn’t her fault Severus had fallen so quickly head over arse that he hadn’t done the research. It was far better for everyone involved if he kept his distance, and perhaps with time he would regain control of his juvenile emotions.

Severus put his former spy skills to work and successfully avoided Hermione for the rest of the week. He took several meals in his rooms, slipped into secret passageways at the sound of her voice floating around corners, and feigned a headache when it came time for the Heads’ Tea. He may have gotten away with his evasion longer if Sprout hadn’t brought him bad news late Friday night.

“Severus!” Pomona called as he passed her office on the way to the kitchens. He suppressed a groan of frustration. She is supposed to be tucked into her sett, not burning the midnight oil. Damnable cravings, I should have stayed locked up in my rooms! Pomona moved frighteningly fast down the hall, intent on her mission to accost him. “How is your head?” she asked, giving him a critical motherly eye. “Have you taken any riboflavin for your headache today? It’s supposed to help.”

Gesturing to the kitchen a few steps away, he lied, “I was going to inquire in the kitchens as to what foods would be best to aid in that very endeavor.” Severus already knew that he wanted a slice of the decadent Black Forest Cake instead.

Pomona’s face cheered, pleased to hear he was taking proper care of himself, and Severus felt guilty for deceiving her. “Wonderful! By the way,” she dug into her pocket, “you left Filius’ in such a hurry last week--and you didn’t attend earlier--so here is your copy of the new duty roster.”

Severus plucked the sheet of paper from her outstretched hand. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the tidy grid and a mild panic replaced his guilt. Oh, buggering shite. He was listed as chaperoning tomorrow’s Hogsmeade excursion. With one Professor Hermione Granger.

He was so fucked.

---

The following morning, after a piss-poor attempt to brew a decent cup of coffee in his sitting room and devouring an extra slice of Black Forest Cake for breakfast--I’m a fucking adult and I can do what I want, he reasoned sulkily--Severus found himself brooding in the Entrance Hall. A black-clad column in the otherwise barren space, he tightly wrapped his cloak around him to keep out the February chill and his unwelcome emotions.

Despite Severus’ best efforts to separate himself from Hermione he was now going to be forced into her company for the better part of today, and in an unstructured setting to boot. Much to his chagrin, he had discovered that his feelings for her had not abated; rather, they ached with intensified longing. While he’d managed to avoid her thus far, his campaign had been continuously derailed by encounters with innocuous things that fondly reminded him of her--a hastily knitted scarf, her preferred type of biro, or a discarded Tim Tam wrapper--stymieing any progress he could have possibly made.

Behind him, the volume in the Great Hall reached a fevered pitch, the students’ enthusiasm for a little escape greatly evident. Severus sighed and he began to occlude to shut off his tempestuous feelings. He needed just enough of a mental barrier to strengthen his resolve against Hermione’s lovely sunny disposition; to extinguish a tangible reaction to her kind face, and latte colored eyes.

The clock tower began to chime the top of the hour, indicating his time to prepare was at a close. Three… two… one…

Bang! The oak doors ricocheted off the stone wall and a sea of eager students flooded into the space around him. Even amongst the obscuring winter gear it was easy to spot the Gryffindors as they all wore matching scarlet beanies, bobbing alongside their peers like a school of virulently red fish. Despite the excited crowd muting most of his senses, he immediately picked up on the enticing scent of citrus that wafted through the air. Subconsciously, he tightened his crossed arms closer to his chest.

Hermione appeared at his side and tilted her head in greeting. She began to wrap a scarlet scarf around her neck, the collar of her orange jumper visible beneath her heavy winter coat. “Professor Snape.”

Unfortunately, Severus immediately had a visceral, heated reaction as his mind confronted him with the memory of the last time he had seen her in that rollneck jumper. His occulmancy had utterly failed him. Steady on, man. “Professor Granger.”

“Well, at least it’s stopped snowing overnight,” she said brightly. “The walk down to the village will be that much easier.”

Intent on keeping his tone neutral, he replied, “Indeed.”

Hermione leaned closer to him, her hair slipping off her shoulder; the winter light brought out the warm highlights of her curls in a distraction most enchanting. She lowered her voice, “Severus, did I do something wrong? It feels like you’ve been avoiding me the last few days.”

Oh, fuckfuckfuck. “No,” he answered quickly, not quite meeting her gaze. “You did nothing wrong. I had…” he trailed off, wrenching his eyes away, ostensibly to scan the heads of his students for misbehavior and give himself time to formulate the best way to indirectly explain. I don’t wish to lie to her. “I had the wrong idea about something and it has put me in a rather foul mood.” That should be enough to satisfy her.

Of course it wasn’t. “Care to elaborate?”

The conversation was going south faster than a migratory swift in mid-July. I need to remove myself from her before I admit any more. “Not particularly,” he muttered before slipping away from her, the sea of students parting to grant him access to the front door.

After issuing a strict warning to the jittery masses that any disorderly conduct would result in the loss of their Hogsmeade privileges, as well as the responsibility to scrub the algae off the giant squid at the first thaw, the merry travelers were on their way.

With the exception of one.

Duty bound, Severus led the shoal, however, he was constitutionally incapable of merriment.

No, rather, he was reminiscent of an exasperated electric eel as he whipped down the hill, peevish and harshly lashing out to all who dared to cross his instructions or path. For example, Hunt--fifth year, budding photographer--lost ten points for Hufflepuff when he stopped abruptly in front of Severus to take a photo of an overburdened tree bough dropping a sheet of shimmering snow. Stalking through the school gates, Severus pressed his gloved hands tighter into his oxters as a stiff wind picked up, his grey scarf unfurling behind him.

The memory of Hermione’s whispered query reverberated within the recesses of his mind, and just like the wind-kicked snow it stung with intensive force. Severus, did I do something wrong? Fuck. He should have pretended everything was fine and kept a metaphorical distance from her. I have made things worse. If she has caught on to my absences, what must she think of me? I don’t want to lose her friendship. Buggering hell. I do this every time, I make one idiotic mistake and compound the next, and then the next...

Severus’ thoughts darkened as he brooded the entire way to the village. Breaching the outskirts of town, he arrived at the conclusion that Hermione’s relationship with Nott was both eminently desirable and superior compared to anything he could ever offer her. He should be pleased on her behalf. Nott didn’t make nearly as many social faux pas given his upbringing, nor did the confident young wizard waffle on acting on his feelings. Given all that, Severus really never had a chance in hell to woo Hermione.

Dejected, Severus had one final thought while enroute: As ever, the story of my life.

---

The Hogwarts hoard gleefully descended upon the village, their happy shouts announcing their arrival. The students zipped to their destinations with boundless youthful exuberance. Severus took a moment to debrief the on-duty prefects regarding the current interhouse hostilities before dismissing them with a flourish. That accomplished, he made his way towards High Street. However, his plan to inquire about the latest Potions text was abruptly dashed when he caught sight of Hermione entering the bookshop ahead of him. Distractible books. Narrow aisles. Too risky. Spinning in the opposite direction he sought solace in The Three Broomsticks instead.

Blinking rapidly upon entering, it took his eyes several seconds to adjust to the dim interior light. The inn was welcoming, warm, and blessedly only half full this early in the trip. A gaggle of locals were tucked in the booths along the wall and the massive form of Hagrid commandeered the bar space, sitting across two stools. Rosmerta’s eyes flickered over to Severus as he entered, straightening from her suggestive lean across the counter, a position that had undoubtedly put her cleavage on prime display for her lover.

Severus repressed a shudder. I forgot that they were courting.

“Are the students finally on the way?” Rosmerta asked as she pulled up her blouse, reclaiming a veneer of modesty.

Severus took a step further inside, rubbing his gloved hands together to warm his cold fingers. “They’re already here. I’m chaperoning today.”

“Aw,” Rosmerta cooed as she turned to pluck a clean glass from above the counter. “You poor thing. Are you with Filius this time?” She began to pour Severus’ usual hot cider.

“No, I’m with--”

The door opened behind him, the cold air licking his back. Hagrid’s gaze slid to the newcomer and a wide smile cut across his face. Bellowing, he announced, “Hermione!”

“Hello all!” Hermione nodded as she passed, brushing against Severus’ arm. She unraveled the shabby red scarf as she crossed to the bar, her deft fingers plucking it from inside her collar. Rosmerta placed Severus’ drink at the end of the counter before turning to Hermione, an eyebrow raised in query. Hermione answered with a smile. “Hot chocolate, if you would.” She shrugged out of her coat and magicked it to a nearby hook.

“Professor Snape,” Hagrid said, beckoning him with a large meaty hand. “Join us!”

Severus felt his feet harden like lead at the invitation. His regard flicked to Hermione’s profile. Pointedly, she stared down at her mug topped with whipped cream and a peppermint stick. Snowflakes still glistened in her wild amber hair, twinkling in the sconces’ lights. When she turned towards him he observed that her blush continued down under her orange tit-hugging jumper’s neckline. She was absolutely beautiful.

Oh, shit. I don’t want to publicly humiliate her, but how else am I going to escape this? He was completely powerless to stop his gaze from homing in on her, the rest of the inn fading completely away. Was Hagrid still babbling? Severus couldn’t tell; he was utterly lost to everything but the awareness of Hermione. She smiled at him, a soft shy grin, and he swayed in a rush of vertigo, the room teetering out of focus. Blinking rapidly, Severus suddenly came back to himself, the volume of the room instantly overwhelming him. Hagrid, Rosmerta, and Hermione were all looking at him curiously and a steel band of anxiety tightened painfully within his chest. I need to get out of here.

Therefore, he did what he had excelled at for the past week; he circumvented an awkward situation.

Severus fled in a disorderly tactical retreat.

---

If Severus had expected to escape from reminders of his present and future loneliness, the shops did not grant him a safe haven. Merlin, he thought as he squeezed by a canoodling couple in the Historical Fiction aisle in the bookshop, is everyone paired off but me? There was an obscenely long wait at Dervish and Banges due to a giddy couple asking to see every stirring rod behind the counter, only to reject each sample with revoltingly juvenile innuendoes. The post office was full of patrons sending off nauseatingly sweet Valentine’s, his plain unadorned envelopes to supply contacts on the continent a grim contrast. Severus finally had enough when he passed the front window display at Scrivenshaft’s where a bespelled cupid was shooting suction-cup arrows at the window above a frilly, pink, Amortenia scented stationery set.

Gods, this was intolerable.

Thankfully, finding an appropriate outlet for his ire was easy in the blessed escape of the nearby wilds. Dozens of saplings emerged from the snowbank along the tree line, their spindly limbs burdened with snow. Flicking out his wand he zapped the first one with aggressive glee. Severus inhaled sharply through his nose at the feel of his magic funneling out of his hand. The stress in his shoulders released, and he cracked his neck before continuing down the line. The next sapling burst in a flurry of white, the force dislodging some of the snow off of the branches of nearby trees.

I am a miserable, cold bastard and will die like one--ZAP!--I am destined to spend my evenings alone with nothing but a Ginger Newt tin--ZAP!--My nose is too big, my skin is too pale and--

Just as he had worked himself up in a true mental lather, and was ready to blow another sapling out of the ground, a shadow fell beside him. Severus knew without looking who it was. Her scent gave her away.

“What in the world are you doing?” Hermione asked.

Frustrated at the interruption, he ground his teeth before answering, “I am enjoying this scenic winter wonderland.”

“Severus, what is wrong with you? I haven't seen you this upset since Hufflepuff edged you out of the House Cup by two points three years ago.”

He gripped his wand, resisting the urge to turn to face her. “I appreciate your concern, Professor Granger, but I assure you that it is both misplaced and entirely unnecessary.”

“That’s a load of dragonshite, and you know it. Severus, you’re my friend!” Hermione replied hotly. “I have every right to be concerned about you whether you like it or not. You’ve been acting off all week.” He couldn’t ignore the tremor in her voice as she continued softly, “I actually thought that you--”

Alarm replaced Severus’ ire. Oh fucking bollocks, I can’t stand it if she cries! In an attempt to comfort her Severus cut her off with more venom than he’d intended, “I’m happy for you, if you must know.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he did want the best for Hermione, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

“Well you have a funny way of showing it!” she spat. “What do you even mean by that? Happy for me?”

“You and Nott.” He shrugged, finally turning to meet her angry gaze. Her cheeks were red from the cold and her eyes glistened. “Sweden.”

Hermione’s face twisted in confusion. “Me and… and …” Exasperated, she snapped her hands to her hips. “I’m not dating Theo, you berk! He’s dating Harry.”

Severus blinked. “What?”

“Severus Snape, how can you be so bloody brilliant yet so dense at the same time?”

Before he could process what she had just said, she closed the space between them in two strides. Showing absolutely no hesitation, she gripped his cloak’s collar and pulled him down with surprising force, kissing him squarely on the mouth. It took another second for his mind to catch up to current events. Oh… oh! His hands, as they had only in dreams until now, cradled her face as his lips broke through the shock to deepen their kiss.

She sighed and pressed herself against his chest. Hermione tasted of sweet peppermint and cocoa. Another snow-heavy bough gave way behind him, and the wind gusted, sending the curtain of glittering snow over them.

This was a perfect moment, one that he’d remember until his last breath.

Severus’ heart soared. It was me! It was me all along!

Not one to leave even moments like this unexamined, Severus was overcome with an inkling that something in the experience wasn’t quite right. He pinpointed the cause with haste. It was quite simple: his damn gloves were impeding his need to properly touch her at long last.

He pulled back. “No, no this isn’t quite right.”

Dazed, Hermione asked, “What?”

Severus caught a glove’s finger with his teeth and pulled it off, quickly followed by the other. Noting the look of hurt on her dear face, he raced to explain, “My gloves. They were in the--” He didn’t even bother with finishing the sentence, preferring to show her the difference. He cupped Hermione’s face, his calloused fingers snagging on to the soft curls at her nape, and slanted his mouth over hers. Now it’s perfect. Severus relaxed into the kiss, a giddy warmth spreading through him, making his toes tingle.

His witch was not one to stay still under any onslaught. She opened her mouth and answered his passion with her tongue, her action curling his toes in his dragonhide boots.

After several well-spent minutes and the best snog of his life, he emerged from the embrace flushed; their heavy breathing fogged the air as they stilled at last, foreheads touching. “How long have you...?”

She groused, “Ages. Positively ages.”

Merlin, he really was a dense bugger.

Chapter Text

One Year Later

Severus had grown complacent during the last year. It was easy to do, being loved and loving another in return. If he had any sort of foresight at all, however, he’d have been able to avoid the calamity that was about to befall him during breakfast. He could have done it easily if he had only bothered to reference a calendar; Gryffindors were anything but subtle.

Severus woke at his normal half-past five on what could charitably be termed a brass monkey of a February morning. Gazing up at the ceiling, his breath made little steamy clouds in the chilled air. Leisurely, he stretched his arms, a hand bumping the shoulder of the person next to him.

Hermione didn’t stir.

Whereas he would wake at the slightest creak in the castle’s foundation, she could sleep through a Manticore stampede. Not that Hermione would be able to hear it over her snoring... which, according to her, she never did. For the moment though, the sound of her breaths were comforting, only marked by soft dainty whistles.

Severus smiled into the darkness. I’m not alone anymore.

He scooted closer to her, seeking her warmth. Hermione’s wild chestnut hair had been tucked away in a silk pillowcase overnight, a small mercy as the seemingly self-aware locks had tried to suffocate him on more than one occasion. He curled around her back, tucking his arm into the dip of her waist. Severus breathed in, savoring her scent.

He had finally deciphered the specific citrus over their summer holiday. They had spent a long week networking in Southeastern Asia to bolster Severus’ list of stable ingredient suppliers. A day before they were due to journey onward to Australia they had stopped at a bustling open-air market in Bangkok. He had never seen so many oranges in plentiful supply, it was the perfect opportunity to figure out which fruit was in Hermione’s shampoo. Irritatingly, the label merely said ‘citrus’ which was incredibly unhelpful. While Hermione had been charmingly distracted by all the shiny baubles on offer, he followed his formidable nose down the aisle of oranges until he narrowed the source down to the correct stall.

It was clementine. Crisp, sweetly multi-toned, with the subtle notes of a classic floral. The scent suited Hermione perfectly and it had completely bewitched him. Pulling on the comfort of that memory, his lungs filled with her soothing fragrance, mixed with the aroma of clean silk sheets, and lulled Severus back to sleep.

He woke again thirty minutes later and reluctantly peeled himself away from Hermione and out of bed. As was his habit, he performed his morning ablutions with regimental precision. Nine minutes later he was rinsing the conditioner from his hair when Hermione’s silhouette appeared on the other side of the frosted glass.

“Good morning.”

“Is it?” he asked. “It has to be zero degrees outside today.”

Hermione pushed aside the glass door. She was nude, her curly hair barely covering her breasts. Despite the cold blast of air that accompanied her intrusion, Severus’ cock bobbed to full attention with keen interest.

“Poor darling. I can think of something that’ll warm you up.”

---

Thirty-five minutes later Severus lounged in front of the fire in his sitting room, his head resting on the back of the sofa, his starched shirt only half-buttoned, having just finished a cup of delectable Ethiopia Genika. The rich dark liquid had the strength of a divine benediction, and proved to consistently be a very fine way to start the day. Having a lover who had been a Curse Breaker with the African Fellowship certainly had its perks. Hermione’s former mentor, Kabede, was their inside supplier of the delectable blend that had eluded him for most of his entire adult life.

Hermione crossed his line of vision, pouring herself a cup. His eyes followed the curves of her body, deliciously emphasized in her pencil skirt and tucked in singlet. She gracefully swirled the mug below her nose, breathing in its earthy aroma.

“How was it this morning?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the coffee beans that were delivered yesterday.

“Immensely satisfying.” Severus’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile, for he wasn’t talking about just the coffee.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his double meaning, and leant against his metal tea cart. “Hmm, sounds like someone knows their beans.”

“Quite.”

Hermione smiled over her mug’s rim and a warmth permeated his chest.

Merlin, I really do love her.

Severus’ initial reaction to domesticity had been the soul of trepidation. He had been lonely, yes, but he was accustomed to the peace of bachelorhood and had resisted the usual trappings of relationships. Moreover, Severus had a perfectly crafted and time-tested solitary routine. He didn’t yearn to jostle elbows to use the sink in the morning, or to have his quiet morning coffee interrupted, or even to curtail his evening academic pursuits in favor of chatting over the events of a day which were more than adequately covered over dinner in the Great Hall.

And then Hermione had shattered all of his preconceptions. Truly, as it turned out, Severus had nothing to worry about.

Hermione was a like-minded creature of habit and understood the importance of a routine. However, she had this inexplicable way of twirling into his space with an irritatingly vibrant energy that none the less left him feeling bereft at her absence afterwards.

By August, a bare six months after the start of their relationship, Severus had found himself wishing for them to occupy each other’s quarters more freely, even if that meant he had to share his coffee supply. If he was willing to share his prized coffee, there was very little else that would hold him back from deepening the relationship.

It had to be love. There was no other explanation for it. The gravity of his sentiment was a revelation that probably surprised no one but himself. After the preliminary shock and fear had ebbed from his mind, Severus had found himself quite content to allow the attachment to stand. He had been alone for long enough. It was time to properly live.

And so his daily routine had altered slightly, but he was none the worse for wear. At a quarter after seven, Severus held out Hermione’s robe for her, and nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scented shampoo as she slipped into the silk. She giggled before turning to slip his frock coat’s buttons into place. He had balked the first time she had done it, the intimate act of being dressed by another striking him as unnecessary and embarrassing.

Let me take care of you, Hermione had insisted, and she was nothing if not persuasive.

Being a smart man, he had eventually conceded, reflecting that it was rather pleasant to be fussed over (even if her ulterior motive was to have an excuse to run her hands over his buttons). Finished with her task, Hermione’s delicate fingers smoothed away unseen errant folds on his robe, ensuring that his sartorial armor was in good nick. On their way out, he made a final adjustment to his cuffs and snapped them into place.

Yesterday’s correspondence lay forgotten on his desk.

The walk up to the Great Hall was largely uneventful. Much to his uncharacteristically unsuspicious delight, the students had been behaving for several weeks now and Severus hadn’t assigned any detentions within the last month. Even the Bloody Baron was without news of any forthcoming unrest. Severus was mollified by false pretenses, although he couldn’t have known that, as his mind was overwhelmed by the delicious distraction of the witch at his side. Pausing within the Entrance Hall, Severus’ eyes wearily swiveled to the painting of Hogwarts that had burst rather unbecomingly all over the floor last year. Frosted over, the scene’s landscape mimicked the weather outside, the snow twinkling in the morning light.

Thank Merlin that entire lurid mess is behind us, Severus thought, mentally referencing the now-legendary Great Elf Kitchen Revolt of 2008. Indeed, after the installation of the highly expensive, intensively magic-modified cookers in the kitchen the Elves had been much happier, and amazingly, so was the food. It was apparent at the End of Year Feast that the upgrades were well worth the price, Severus couldn’t remember ever having roast prepared so perfectly.

The murmur coming from the Great Hall reached a crescendo at their approach.

“Circe,” Hermione muttered. “It sounds like we’re the last to arrive.”

Concurring with an apprehensive tilt of an eyebrow, Severus opened the side staff entrance for her. She smiled as she passed through, brushing a hand lightly against his arm. Stepping inside, Severus observed the room at large and determined that most of the student body was in attendance. The Gryffindors were still wearing hats, as they had done all year; curiously, they seemed increasingly flamboyant today as many adorned feathers. Lockhart would be proud, he thought with a sneer.

“Ah, there you two are,” Hooch teased as they passed her chair. “We were taking bets on if you’d actually show this morning or if you’d remain insensate from cupid’s arrows.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Rolanda,” he warned as he pulled out Hermione’s ladderback chair.

He took his usual seat next to Minerva who greeted him with a moan and eyes rolling clear to the back of her head. Is she having a stroke? he wondered in alarm. “Minerva--”

She waved her fork, half a grilled tomato still pierced on the end. “The full English is absolutely divine today.”

Rolanda cackled at the other witch’s theatrics. “You would have missed it too, lad, if you two lovebirds were unable to come up for air like Hagrid.”

“What of it, Rolanda?” Sprout asked from her side of the table. “Let the youngsters have their fun. It’s not as if you haven’t missed a meal or ten when you've cozied up with your latest conquest.”

“Might we please,” Severus interjected in a pained tone as his customary two slices of toast materialized in front of him, “change the topic? Or I will have no choice but to hex the lot of you just to ensure that I can keep this toast down. And you know that I’d get away with it, too. May I remind you that I have--”

“Tenure!” Hooch crowed.

Hermione swirled her oatmeal. “Capital idea. I’ll choose the next topic,” she offered primly. “Anyone care to share their Easter plans?” Severus caught the movement of her hand, slipping out of view under the table. What is she up to?

Seconds later, Rolanda leaned to the side and scratched her leg.

Ah, that’s my clever witch.

Hermione turned to him with a beatific smile before smugly returning to her breakfast. Not only had her swift actions silenced Hooch--no doubt suffering under the effects of a subtle itching jinx--but his love also successfully swayed the conversation away from their private life.

Truly, she is a remarkable woman. Growing more relaxed, Severus allowed the conversation to wash over him as he ate his toast in peace. Flitwick shared plans to travel to New Zealand to visit his extended family, and then Pince expounded upon a line of research she was hoping to accomplish at an extended visit to The British Library.

Alas, if Severus had followed his usual habit of surveilling the student body rather than listening to Hermione deftly adjudicate the conversation happening at the Staff Table he might have noticed the signs of the relative calm before the storm. Certainly, he might have observed four students from Gryffindor strategically placing themselves along the edges of the room in an eerily reminiscent formation. Severus would have been gripped by the unsettling sensation of déjà vu. If he had picked up on it, that is.

“Shouldn’t the owls be here by now?” Hooch asked, fidgeting with a small stack of envelopes, apparently meant to be sent off. She grimaced, adding, in what the uninformed might have felt was a glaring non sequitur, “I think the Elves may have changed laundry detergents.” She scratched her back. “I’m going to need to change out of these robes before the first class lest the students think that I’ve come down with a raging case of the--”

The hatch on the ceiling opened with a loud creak, and Rolanda sighed in relief. “Finally!”

However, the owls didn’t descend. At the same time as hundreds of eyes swiveled above to discern the problem, a loud warbling erupted at the Gryffindor table. Severus’ gaze snapped back down, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Are they... hooting?

The--until that moment--unnoticed students hidden along the perimeter of the room took their cue and flicked their wands in the air, causing a torrent of white slime to erupt out of their corners, utterly covering the student body. Their housemates at the Gryffindor table howled once more and released jets of sparkling magic into the air, mixing with the white goo.

Stunned, their mostly hatless peers sat motionless in their seats, their tables and food covered by rainbow glitter-encrusted slime.

For once, his reactions failed him and it was only Hermione’s rapid actions that saved him; at the first howl, she plucked something from her robe’s pocket and enlarged it.

Swiftly pulling the sturdy, wide-brimmed straw hat down on her head she gave Severus a wry smile. “Gryffindors should always wear hats.” Generous to a fault, she leaned closer, bringing him under her hat’s protection, and magically adjusted the brim to block the chaos of the Great Hall from their view. Severus sensed that Minerva had come to her feet at his side, intent to put a stop to these juvenile theatrics. Despite the riot of disorder and mayhem swirling around them, Hermione’s eyes danced with mirth. “This is going to be a disaster to sort out. But first, since I have you where I want you…”

Hermione closed the gap between them, brazenly claiming a kiss.

At first he didn’t react, a lifetime of repression reminding him that it was wrong to share a romantic embrace in such a public space, and in front of the students no less. However, the mirth--the joy and deep love--that danced in Hermione’s warm gaze as she kissed him easily banished another one of his boggarts. Feeling safe tucked under the brim of Hermione’s hat, well away from meddling eyes, he returned the kiss with vigor. Severus slid a hand to cradle her head, gratified when she leaned further into him, humming her approval.

Severus registered an unmistakably affronted gasp from the vicinity of the Gryffindor table. Morris--second year, still proficient at ballet and now tap--was as short as she was nosy, and had been sitting on the end of the bench, thus in an optimal position to see what was going on behind her Head of House’s large hat. Severus’ ire instantly bubbled to the surface, however, it was pushed back by Hermione’s delightful tits as she pressed closer. No, he decided, their public snogging may not be the source of the offense. That sound could have easily come from any student, and naturally so when covered in a torrent of flying slime.

Yes, Severus thought, not caring about the real answer, as they sheltered in each other’s arms, I really do love Hermione Granger.

FIN