"Go bugger yourself."
Severus squinted at the mirror hanging over the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who seemed to be swearing in his general direction. Through the haze of stale, cigarette-smoke filled air and the layer of fat burning lamp residue he could only get a vague impression of a strange furry hat, set snugly atop the head of what appeared to be an alarmingly swaying person standing behind his right shoulder. Damn. He'd been having a perfectly pleasant evening getting drunk at the end of a difficult year and an even more difficult war. Both of his spymasters were finally dead, and he was free. He'd come to this obscure bar in Hogsmeade hoping to avoid anyone who might recognize him. Obviously that hope had been for naught. With a sigh he turned precariously on his bar stool to confront the possible enemy, only to find himself faced with an ex-student.
"Miss Granger?" What he before had thought to be a furry hat was actually Hermione's unkempt hair, curls twisting and whirling about her face. From the redness of her face and the way she was tilting and leaning like a person on a ship at sea made it quite clear that she was on her way to getting gloriously drunk. Her outfit was a far cry from her school uniform, baring an indecent amount of skin, (the skirt was much too short to be much more than a scrap of spare fabric) an infraction that he still itched to deduct points for. Yet the way that her clingy silk top revealed shifting glances of deliciously flushed skin made him want to hook a finger into her neckline and tug her close enough to…. He blinked guiltily back up into Hermione's face where she was attempting to uncross her eyes enough to tell if he was actually staring at her cleavage. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"I said, go. Bugger. Yourself," she repeated, a very smug look on her face as she crossed her arms, unconsciously pushing her bosoms to greater advantage and easier observation. She seemed to think she'd made a very clever comment, but he was too distracted by all of the terribly tempting urges flying through his mind to really care. He wanted to tell her exactly how her skimpy outfit was affecting him, throw her over his shoulder and carry her away to thoroughly exhaust her in as many ways and times as possible. And he had just enough alcohol burning pleasantly through his bloodstream to consider doing just that.
"Well, I could do that. It would certainly not be an unfamiliar activity for me, but I must confess that I am rather tired of handling that particular need myself." He tossed back a shot, thumbed out a few bills and stood, stepping closer. "Would you care to join me instead?"
He was rewarded with the perfect view of her face going slack in confusion a moment before it changed to righteously indignant shock.
"Excu-use me? How dare you insin- insinunate that I would do such a thing?" Her word was broken by a nervous hiccup and he lifted his hand to rest against her jaw, thumb making restless circles across her cheek.
"It was just an invitation, sweetheart. You can take it or leave it. I was simply letting you know that the option is there." Silence was his only answer for so long that he sighed and stepped back, turning to leave before things got ugly. At least he'd tried. But she had turned with him and summoned her purse from where it lay on her empty table across the pub, knocking a person or two in the head before it made it to her hand.
"Fine. But you won't tell anyone about this and try not to enjoy it too much because it probably will not be a performance that gets repeated."
And with that she pushed open the door and strode away, marginally unsteady on her high heels over the cobblestones. Snape simply stood still, for a moment afraid that he'd had more than he thought and was hallucinating. But then she turned around and made an impatient gesture and he hurried to comply, not hesitating to offer an arm when it seemed that she might fall without it. As they crossed the darkened city arm in arm, a smile spread across his face. Go bugger who now?